‘Hello, young man. Is Susan expecting you?’ Her voice has lost all of its singsong warmth and almost makes me shiver. She looks up at me standing on the doorstep. She’s not in her usual long cotton things, but still manages to look completely round in a baggy T-shirt and long skirt.

‘It’s you I came to see, Mola,’ I begin, but then, from behind her, Susan comes down the hallway. She looks at me in surprise. It’s a sunny day, and I’m sweaty from running here.

‘Hello. You look terrible, Malky. Come in. What is wrong?’

I look between the two of them and they are both frowning.

‘It’s Seb,’ I blurt out. ‘He’s not woken up. We were dreaming, and I can’t wake him, and he’s being held captive by the big guys, but Dad’s taken the Dreaminators to hospital, and Mam’s there, and Fit Billy’s at home, so …’

‘Whoa, young man! Shh. Steady,’ says Mola, holding up her palms. I stop talking, realising that I’ve been gabbling. She tips her head on one side and looks at me, curiously, like you might gaze on an interesting exhibit in a zoo, then she nods, slowly. The whole thing is oddly calming. ‘Come. Follow me.’

We go out into the garden where there’s a wooden picnic table and the remains of breakfast. Mola points to the bench.

‘Now then. Sit down and have some tea.’ Her tone is still brisk: her offer of tea is like a nurse prescribing medicine, but she sounds a tiny bit friendlier.

‘I don’t want any tea …’ I begin, but then I see her eyes, gentler now, and I stop. ‘It’s Seb,’ I say, again still wondering how much Mola actually knows, worried that she will be angry.

What does it matter, Malky? She already knows, and who cares how angry she gets?

We sit at the table in the shade, and I tell them everything about the Stone Age dream, and Seb being captured.

Neither of them gets angry. Neither says, ‘I told you those things were dangerous, you stupid boy. Look at the mess you’ve created. Why were you so irresponsible?’

No, they both just listen without commenting, without judging.

Then Susan says, ‘What happens now?’

‘No idea. The doctors are investigating. They say he’s “stable”, that it’s like a coma. It might even be a coma, and that people usually … come out of comas, but you can’t tell how long …’

I trail off. It was saying the word ‘usually’ that tripped me up.

‘Oh, and one more thing …’ I say and I tell them about Seb’s wrists looking red, and the dream I had when I was attacked by Cuthbert, and the pain I felt and the marks that were left when the crocodile bit my arm.

‘But … but that cannot happen,’ says Susan. ‘It is actually impossible. Are you …?’