I took deeper breaths and calmed down and – so spine-tinglingly strange – so did the storm outside. No rain, no wind. The sun came out. It was the weirdest thing in this whole sea of weird. Sam was staring at me. But now the air felt very warm and close to my skin. Heavy air. Tricky air. People sighed and complained about how stuffy it was.

‘Did you see what happened?’ I said to Sam. ‘Tell me that wasn’t weird. It had to be the creature. Did you see the whole storm thing reacting to me?’

‘I saw … I’m not sure. It was peculiar. What did you do?’

‘I just relaxed and the storm stopped.’

‘But how …?’

I shrugged. ‘It was masterful. Insane! Nearly wet myself!’

But then Mum rounded us up to help with the refreshments. ‘Collect all the used beakers you can see, please, Alfie,’ she said. ‘Use a tray. Then go into the kitchen and start washing them up.’ She still looked at me slightly suspiciously, as if she was trying to work out exactly who Mr Lombard’s problem elements might be.

‘Wash up?’ I said. ‘Don’t they get chucked?’

‘They’re recyclable beakers,’ said Mum, menacingly. ‘They’re indestructible.’

Sam helped.

‘Quick as we can,’ I said. ‘We’ve got a mystery to solve.’

We ditched the boring trays so the beakers could be stacked more ingeniously. Sam worked fast, but I was a tornado. Soon, both of us had a tower of beakers in each hand and could only get them back to the kitchen at top speed by balancing perfectly.

Which was when I almost ran into Mr Lombard.

‘Alfie!’ Mum snapped. ‘Sorry, Mr Lombard.’

He raised his eyebrows and switched his stare between Mum’s white face and my brown one, as if he thought she might have found me on the street.

Lily was in the kitchen leaning against a radiator. I pointed my finger at her. ‘Hey – why aren’t you doing jobs?’

She glared at me, opened her hand and put a biscuit in her mouth.

I whispered to Sam, ‘Look at that! Lily! With a biscuit! My sister never eats biscuits.’

He looked at me sideways, and tipped the beakers into the sink. I suppose you don’t get it unless you’ve had a sister who’s nearly starved to death. He hasn’t even got a sister.

‘Why does a biscuit matter?’ he whispered.

I sighed. ‘It’s not just the biscuit – it’s the whole thing. She got bullied – nearly to death. She was too upset to eat. And now …’ I pointed at Lily with my head.

He was trying to analyse it, I could see. Heaps of people have tried to do that and got nowhere. ‘She’s getting better? And you think it’s because you moved here?’