The woman’s expression changes, softens a bit. Her eyes, which were screwed up in a glare, relax. She gives a curt nod and a tight little smile, then pulls her head back in as the rear window goes down. The girl from last night with the night-black hair – Susan, was it? – sticks her head out.

‘Get in, Malcolm. We’ll give you a lift!’

‘Ah no … no … thanks. I’m happy to walk,’ I say. I’m embarrassed: I don’t know her, I’m scared of the old lady, and I’m still in a world of my own about the dream I had last night which is connected to the Dreaminator, and … well, everything.

The old lady says, crossly, ‘Don’t be stupid! Get in! Hurry, hurry.’ She revs the engine, then her angry face changes again to a peaceful smile. It’s as though she has flicked some unseen switch and it is very strange to watch. I find myself obeying and I get into the back seat next to the girl.

She looks even cleaner than last night, with her brand-new Marden Middle School uniform: grey skirt, the whitest socks I’ve ever seen, maroon jumper, all perfect. There’s a shiny black instrument case on the floor of the car. (It’s not violin-shaped, that’s all I know.)

The old lady’s head is not much higher than the seat back. I can just see her grey-streaked hair.

‘How’s that wound you got, huh? Bleeding stopped?’ she shouts back at me over the coughing engine. Honestly, it’s like I’m being given a lift to school in a tractor.

‘Thank you. Yes, much better.’ It improved overnight, in fact. I was careful in the shower and I don’t think I smell of yak butter.

‘Yak butter, yeah? Dri is the best, no? You rubbed it in good?’

‘Yes,’ I say. The packet is still in my bedroom, still smelly. ‘I rubbed it in very, erm … good.’

Beside me, I hear Susan give a quiet snort, and when I glance over she has covered her mouth with her hand. Is she laughing at me?

I hope not. I don’t even know this girl. Not yet, anyway.

Chapter 18

The basic back-to-school stuff is the same every year.

To be honest, I’m still not really paying much attention to any of it because I’ve already decided I’m definitely in trouble. I’m simply waiting for the call to Mrs Farroukh’s office, where there will be (I’m guessing) Valerie the counsellor, plus the policeman who comes to talk to us about drugs and online safety and stuff, and the woman who chased me down the lane last night. They’ll bring Mam in, and Mam will tell Dad, and he’ll take back my phone because it was sort of given to me on condition I stay out of trouble …