I reach under the pew and bring out a flat box, wrapped up like a birthday present. ‘Go on,’ murmurs Mrs Farroukh. I stand up and walk slowly to the front, where I place Kenneth’s gift-wrapped, burnt-out Dreaminator on top of his wooden coffin. Kez’s dad, standing at the side of the church in his undertaker’s dark suit and tie, has no idea what is inside, or how I got it, and never will.

‘Thanks for your help with Cuthbert, Kenneth,’ I say, too quietly for anyone else to hear.

Outside the church, there’s a freezing-cold wind and we’re all sort of hunched up, not quite sure what to do. Andi says to us, ‘Well, that explains that,’ and gives a little nod of satisfaction.

‘What explains what?’ I say.

‘The people at Helping Hands, the care agency I work for, never really knew who paid Kenneth’s bills. A “mystery benefactor” would deposit money every month to pay for his care. I guess that was that Robbie fella’s way of making it up to him.’

A few metres away, something is going on between Mrs Farroukh and Kez’s dad. They are deep in conversation and Kez’s dad is nodding a lot, then he has to go and supervise the loading of Kenneth’s coffin into the long black car.

(I’ve already looked, and there doesn’t appear to be any damage on the car bonnet from where me and Susan jumped on it.) Mrs Farroukh is beaming.

‘Well, that’s all sorted then,’ she says. ‘I’ve just cleared it with your father, Kezia. You, erm … opted out of community visiting, although your dad says he has no knowledge of your, er … phobia.’

I glance over at Kez, whose expression is stony.

Mrs Farroukh continues: ‘So I’m assigning you new duties with COMMS. From next week, you will be leading a new initiative: the Great Beach Clean! From Tynemouth to Culvercot, keeping our wonderful beaches clean of marine waste, broken glass and dog mess! Thank you so much for agreeing.’ She claps her hands. ‘Isn’t that marvellous?’

Kezia’s face is a picture, and it’s all I can do not to laugh at the thought of Kez collecting dog poo. She replies with as little enthusiasm as she can get away with, ‘Yes, miss. Marvellous.’

Susan and I are standing with Mola and are just about to get into Mrs Farroukh’s car to go back to school when Andi comes over. ‘I almost forgot,’ she says, breathlessly. She hands me a carrier bag that she’s had with her all morning.

‘Kenneth often told me about his dreams. None of them made sense. But after you’d left the last time – you know, when we met on the river path? – he told me, “Give the lad this. I think he might need it.”’