Cone of Silence

Cone of Silence

‘Wake up, Horse, wake up! Out the window, quickie-quickie!’

But I can’t wake up, I can’t make myself move. I can hear Shandy from far away, but I can’t move one single muscle. I can feel her tugging at me, and at one point I roll off the sofa to the floor. There isn’t one single dust bunny under that sofa.

A man’s urgent voice says, ‘Call 999, Kay!’

‘No, please don’t, we promise we don’t mean any harm – look, we even took off our shoes—’

Now it’s the old lady’s turn. ‘Don’t move! Stay right there – what drugs is that girl on? Does she need an ambulance?’

I’m trying to sit up and I can hear noises coming out of my mouth but they sound like monster wildebeest noises even to me.

‘I think she’s had a seizure,’ Shandy says. ‘I know this looks bad, but I can explain. Please.’

‘I knew it! You told me I’d won those tickets so you could rob us while we were out,’ the man says. ‘It’s a good thing we came back here instead of going to the Savoy. Can’t believe I was so stupid. You looked like such a nice young person—’

‘Mr Shoji—’

‘Everybody calls me George.’

‘Of course, George, I promise, I am nice. I’m really, really nice. We were looking for our cat— No, OK, just, look, just call this number. This is Roman Pelka, he’s with the Met, he’ll explain.’

‘Roman isn’t really with the Met,’ I try to say, but it comes out, ‘Glug gluh wah wah ooogh.’

‘This is just a Spacetime address,’ Kay scoffs. ‘This could be anyone.’

‘They’re the Dream Police,’ Shandy says. ‘We’re investigating your upstairs neighbour, the tall guy? Oh, how did you like the chocolate?’

‘Chocolate?’ George groans. ‘That was from you? What kind of psycho are you? I accused my wife of having a fancy man when I saw that gift.’

Shandy breaks into a chortle, but Kay tugs on her husband’s jacket sleeve.

‘Oh, George, she’s talking about that weird lad upstairs who talks to himself! They’re investigating him!’

‘No, I don’t trust them. There’s no such thing as the Dream Police.’

George stands across the doorway, brandishing a large umbrella. He’s ninety if he’s a day.

‘You’re right,’ his wife says with a sigh. ‘Listen, girls, just sit there and wait for the police. I will make tea. You can tell the real police whatever you want about the Dream Police. My husband and I need to know we can sleep safe at night.’

That’s all any of us wants, isn’t it?

‘So how was the show?’ Shandy asks, weakly.

* * *