They all had made-up names, as if they were comic book characters rather than real people – Spider Boy, Betty Bubble, Legs, the Pink Surfer, Flubberguts, Fish-Face, Trinity. They’d come up by another staircase and had erected what looked like very basic scenery from a school play. There was some shredded green and brown paper hanging down like curtains or leaves in a forest of some sort. One or two of them had gone behind the ‘curtain’; the rest were sitting around on the platform, some on the floor, others on the various chairs and sofas. A couple of them looked excited, pumped up and ready for the show, but most were quiet, watchful and wary. As were Blue’s lot, who were sitting where they could, waiting for the show to begin. A few of his party, however, including Achilleus, had stayed downstairs. Maybe they hadn’t been comfortable, were worried that they wouldn’t be able to stop themselves from sniggering with embarrassment.

Blue had no idea what this was going to be all about, but he’d watched TV Boy climb awkwardly under the table where the old television sat. Like a long-legged crab crawling into a hidey-hole. And now silence slowly settled over the platform.

TV Boy had lit some candles around the table and they illuminated the TV with a soft yellow glow. It was getting dark in here. It was later in the day than Blue had realized. He had a stab of guilt when he thought of Big Mick stuck out in the reception area and the kids they’d left behind in the church. He had wanted to get back there by nightfall, but they hadn’t picked up any supplies yet and they needed to know who these kids were and what their story was.

Someone put a record on the ancient wind-up gramophone, a jolly number, bouncy and crackly, sounding like an old children’s song from years ago.

And then the kids started to sing over the top of it …

‘We are the Twisted Kids. Tit-fed gits, the gifted twits!

We are the screwed-up, twisted kids.

Our backs are bent, our knees bend back,

Our heads have tails, our bones are whack.

We’re freaks and that is plain for all to see!

Our guts hang out, we scare good folk,

We’re God’s bad joke, the moulds got broke,

With arses where our elbows ought to be …’

Blue caught Einstein’s eye. WTF? The day was getting weirder and weirder. Now TV Boy popped up, inside the set, looking out at them all, with only his head and shoulders visible. When he appeared the warehouse kids clapped and whooped and cheered. TV Boy stayed like that, staring out at them, waiting for everyone to settle down, and then finally he began to speak, making his voice deeper, serious, posh. A TV announcer’s voice.