by Ross Welford
Susan shakes her head. ‘We don’t believe in God. Or at least – not like “God” god.’ She pauses, lets this sink in and I find myself wishing I had paid more attention during our RE lessons with old Mrs Puncheon at school. ‘But we do believe in prayer, and we like to think the winds will carry our prayers of compassion and hope to every corner of the world.’
I stroke a pale pink cotton flag through my hand. ‘They’re very old,’ I say. ‘And faded.’
‘That is a good thing! It means the prayers are being taken.’
We’re both kind of waiting for Mola, who was the one that summoned us to the flagpole, but she is just standing there, silently. Just as it’s beginning to get a bit awkward, she looks up at me with such force that I want to turn away, but it seems rude, so I make myself gaze back at her.
‘I warned you. You remember? I say, “Inside your head is bigger than outside. It is easy to get lost in there.”’
‘Mola,’ says Susan, protesting. ‘Poor Malky’s feeling bad enough already.’
Mola flaps her hand as if my feelings were the least important thing in the world right now.
‘How old are you?’ she says.
‘I … I’m nearly twelve.’
‘Huh. Old enough to know better. My grandfather is a teacher of young children when he is your age. You wanna know what I think?’
She’s being so direct and intense that I hesitate and she jumps in again. ‘Well, do you, Dream-boy?’
Susan replies crisply, ‘Mola. Malky did not come here to be told what to do about Seb by you or by me. It’s not his fault. He’s just scared.’
‘No, Susan,’ I sigh. ‘She’s right. That’s kind of exactly why I came.’
‘Yeah!’ says Mola, pleased. ‘He’s scared! And should be. Messing with things like that. It’s like a video game to you, innit? Bam-bam-bam, now I’m dead, press “replay”, new life. And now you find out it’s real! These things, these dreams, what we call milam … these are the result of years of study, of thought, of meditation over centuries. Centuries, boy! Then this fella comes along with his … his toy –’ she spits the word out as if it tasted foul – ‘and you expect it to be all la-la-la fun-games. Huh?’
What can I say? My mouth has turned down with sorrow and shame, and worse a tear is leaking from one eye. And still this fierce little old lady is going on at me, while Susan stands by, not stopping her. Though how she would, I’ve no idea.
I say it so quietly that I’m not sure it’s even audible above the fluttering of the prayer flags. ‘What should I do?’
Mola steps forward and stands in front of me. ‘You asking? You asking my opinion?’
I nod.
‘Cos, you know, the opinion of one old lady don’t mean much. But –’ she raises one finger – ‘if you asking me, then I say you go back. You fall asleep under your toy and you do the only thing possible. You go back in your dream. And, while you there, you take the greatest leap into the unknown. And you take your brother with you. You can put right what you have put wrong, Dream-boy.’
I don’t understand any of this. It sounds like gibberish. A leap into the unknown?
‘What do you mean, Mola?’ I say, sniffing and wiping my eyes. I’m not going to start crying now, because I am trying to concentrate on what this strange old woman has just said.
‘You need to go to the edge of your dream and then go further. Go beyond.’
I blink at her, desperate to understand, and she smiles back at me.
‘You’ll know when you get there. Sometimes the greatest journeys have no map.’
Then she places her palms together and says, ‘There. Now it is yoga time. Excuse me. May all things be well – tashi delek.’ She turns and walks back into the house, leaving me and Susan standing by the flagpole.
Go to the edge of your dream and then go further.
Simple.
Only – with no Dreaminators, how am I supposed to get there?
I take out my phone and look at the time: forty-five minutes have passed since Dad left in the car to go back to the hospital. There are no new messages, but that doesn’t surprise me. Mam and Dad are pretty preoccupied.
There’s a mossy stone bench in the garden that Susan and I sit on. I think Susan’s a bit embarrassed by her grandmother. She says, ‘I’m sorry about Mola.’
‘It’s okay,’ I say. ‘She might be right. But, even if she is, it makes no difference. I can’t get back to the dream. The Dreaminators have gone.’
‘What?’
I explain about Dad taking them to the hospital for examination. ‘And he definitely won’t bring them back home. Especially if I ask him to. He thinks it’s dangerous nonsense. He’d get on well with Mola.’
Susan reaches out her hand and squeezes mine. I’ve never seen another kid do this. It’s strange but … not embarrassing. I turn to look at her and she seems almost as sad as I am.
She says, ‘If only there was another one. A Dreaminator, I mean.’
I stare at the rattling prayer flags. They flap and flutter in the wind.
And something snaps into focus in my mind – an image.
‘There is another one.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘A Dreaminator. I know where to get one.’ I stand up, quickly. ‘Come on. We haven’t got long.’
We have about an hour left. That is not long to:
1. Confess to Mr McKinley that I stole the Dreaminators from his shed and that I’ll return them as soon as I get them back from the hospital. This part is going to be tough, but, as Susan pointed out on the way here, it was part of the original plan, anyway.
2. Explain to this very old, sick and confused man that – thanks to his invention – Seb is now in a coma, trapped in the Stone Age, in Cramlington Hospital.
3. Persuade him, in the meantime, to lend me the only remaining Dreaminator, currently hanging over his bed, so that I can use it to go and rescue Seb.
Put as bluntly as that, it sounds ridiculous. But it is also true, and the only way I can see of getting out of this mess.
‘So – in and out, yeah?’ I say. ‘We have to keep this quick.’
‘You said that the first time we came.’
It was only yesterday that Susan and I had last stood at the top of the yellow-grey sandstone steps that lead up to Kenneth McKinley’s front door. Everything looks the same: the hardy shrubs in the little rockery, the big bay window with its permanent thin coating of salt from the sea breezes, and the weathered black paint on the front door – but everything feels different.
I press the bell. We wait a moment, then I press again. They weren’t expecting us, or perhaps Andi’s got her headphones in, or he’s in the bathroom …
Susan and I both turn and look over the fields and gardens, towards Collingwood’s Monument and the Tyne path. We know that Andi takes Kenneth there for some fresh air, but he’s nowhere to be seen.
I really don’t want to give up. I’m pressing the bell for a third time when I hear movement on the other side of the door. Andi opens it, and she looks tired. She’s not wearing her carer’s smock and her shiny skin seems paler and dull.
‘Oh. Hello,’ she says, trying to smile but failing.
We all stand there, a bit awkwardly. Why isn’t she inviting us in?
She says, ‘Did you not get the message?’
‘Which message?’
She sighs, deeply. ‘I told your Mrs Farroukh. But it was only a few hours ago.’
We both shake our heads.
Andi takes a deep breath. ‘I’m sorry to tell you this, kids. Mr McKinley died last night.’
It takes a moment for this to sink in.
Like an idiot, I say, ‘Are you sure?’
Andi gives a sad little laugh. ‘Yes, Malky, pet, I’m sure. Late last night. Just like that. In his bed. He was very old and … I think he was almost expecting it. I’m sorry you found out like this.’ She’s still hanging on to the front door and we stay on the steps.
> I’m wondering what to do. I don’t think I’m even sad, not yet. Instead, I’m seeing my only chance of rescuing Seb evaporating.
Susan blurts out, ‘Can we come in?’
Andi gives her a funny look and Susan’s bottom lip quivers. ‘It’s just … he reminded me of my grandad, and I’d like to take a last look around.’
For someone who never lies, Susan is pretty good at it when she has to be.
‘Erm …’ says Andi. ‘Yeah. Why not? Come in.’ She clearly thinks this is strange and I don’t really blame her. She stands aside and we enter the tall dark hallway. I feel I need to say something now.
‘I’d just, you know, like to see his room one more time.’
Oh no. That really does sound suspicious. And morbid. It’s not like we knew him well. Andi shrugs and shows us in. I reach for the hand-san and then realise with a pang of genuine sadness that I don’t need it any more.
I suppose that is when it hits me. I liked Kenneth McKinley. His chair is in the same position. The strange thing is that the cushion where he used to sit is still indented, like Seb’s pillow was. I never thought that a bum-print from a dead man could be so sad.
I clear my throat to speak and it sounds loud in the huge room.
‘Where is he? I … I mean, his body?’
Andi is staring out of the huge bay window and doesn’t turn round. ‘The funeral directors came first thing. It was all written down. He had moments of pure clarity, when he knew he didn’t have long, and he could be very precise. There’ll be a funeral, but, like I say, he didn’t have any family.’
‘There’s Uri,’ I say.
‘What?’ says Andi.
‘Uri. His son.’
Andi sits down heavily on the green buttoned sofa. ‘Malky, Susan. There is no Uri. At least, not now. Kenneth lived in his own little world half the time. Uri died years ago. Decades. Kenneth used to comfort himself by imagining he was still with us.’
‘But … the phone calls?’ I say, pointing at the old telephone next to his chair.
‘A remote timer. One of Kenneth’s … fans, I suppose, from the old days, set it up for him years ago, apparently. It would ring every few days at the same time. He knew, of course, but he just liked pretending. He used to say he could reconnect with his son in his … his …’
She trails off, staring out at the sea.
‘In his dreams?’ I say, and she turns back sharply.
‘Yes. Exactly. It was all part of, I don’t know, his “cosmic vision”. His hippy stuff. You know he used to be on the stage?’
Susan and I nod. ‘We saw a bit on that tape,’ she says.
‘I thought that was what that was about,’ murmurs Andi. ‘He did a mystery and mind-reading act, I think. Reckoned he could float!’
I remember the TV show we watched. I say, ‘Wasn’t it all just a trick?’
‘Eeh, I don’t know! Probably! But then he got into all of this dream carry-on, with that thing above his bed, and he gave up show business, and he ended up here, forgotten. And now … now … Oh, sorry, kids.’
Andi digs out a tissue from her sleeve and starts dabbing at her eyes. ‘He was a difficult old so-and-so sometimes, but his lonely heart was in the right place and I’m sad he’s gone.’
Almost instinctively, I think, Susan goes over to Andi and sits next to her. She doesn’t hug her or anything: she just sits. Andi swallows and smiles bravely.
‘May I use the bathroom?’ I say. I’m now acutely aware that the minutes are ticking by until Dad will be home. It’s also not impossible that Fit Billy has been upstairs to check on me and seen that I’m not there.
‘Yes, of course. Out in the hall on the left.’ Andi doesn’t turn round as I leave.
I don’t bother with the bathroom, but instead make straight for the room where Kenneth slept. The door is shut and the handle is stiff to turn. There’s a loud click when I open the door and I look round, startled, in case Andi comes, but she doesn’t. I’m guessing that Susan will have engaged her in a grown-up conversation to distract her; she’s good like that, is Susan.
The room is neat. There are still clothes laid out on a chair. But there is only one thing I have come for. I look up at the ceiling above Kenneth’s bed.
It isn’t there.
How can that be? Why isn’t it there? Who’s got it?
I step further into the room. Perhaps it has dropped down on the other side of the bed? I find myself tiptoeing, even though I don’t need to because of the thick carpet. It’s nowhere to be seen, and I’m considering pulling open the drawer of a chest when Andi says, ‘This is the second time, Malky!’ I swing round with a gasp. ‘Just what on earth are you up to?’
‘No … nothing,’ I say, stupidly. The look on Andi’s face shows she doesn’t believe me.
Andi sighs and unfolds her arms, coming further into the room, followed by Susan who is wearing a pained expression on her face and mouthing ‘sorry’ for allowing Andi to escape.
‘Come on, son. Out with it: what’s going on?’ she says.
There’s nothing I can do except try the truth. ‘Have you, erm … have you seen a thing that used to hang here? It was like a decoration,’ I say, pointing at the empty hook above Kenneth’s bed. Andi nods.
‘It’s gone with him. His instructions were pretty clear.’
‘Well, who’s been here?’ I say, a bit too urgently. I sound rude and Andi looks taken aback.
Patiently, she says, ‘I found him … deceased … late last night. A doctor came first thing to issue the death certificate. The funeral directors arrived a bit later to take away the … Kenneth. Did you think you’d just come in and take it? Did he say you could have it?’
My silence is all the answer she needs.
‘One second,’ says Andi. ‘Come with me.’ She marches out of the bedroom that Kenneth died in and where I am beginning to feel very uncomfortable. Susan and I follow her back to the big room.
Andi takes a sheet of paper out of an envelope. She unfolds it and her eyes flick over the lines written on it.
‘Buried with him. He knew he didn’t have long, poor old soul. He left instructions on here: his “final performance” he called it. He wanted to be buried in his kilt along with his “dreany-mator” or whatever it was.’
Andi’s mispronunciation annoys me. ‘It’s a Dreaminator, and …’
‘Well, whatever it is, Malky, it’s been taken by the funeral directors and placed with him. Dying wishes. I’m sure you’d want to respect them. And whatever the heck you’ve been up to ever since that first night ends here and now, all right?’
She looks at us as though she’s expecting a response. Susan says, solemnly, ‘Of course.’
Andi seems reassured. She repeats, ‘Of course. Now, if there’s nothing else, children, I need to get on. I’m very sorry that this has happened. I was with him for three years. I know for a fact that he enjoyed meeting you.’
‘There is one more thing,’ says Susan. ‘What happened to Dennis?’
Old Dennis! How could I have forgotten about him? Admittedly, he never actually did much except make foul smells and sleep (often together), and I don’t think he ever quite forgot that his first encounter with me was that time in the backyard, but still …
At the exact moment Susan says his name, there’s a scuffling sound from under a couch, and Dennis’s old head appears.
‘Dennis!’ exclaims Susan, and crouches down to scratch him. I honestly don’t think I have ever seen a sadder-looking animal. His big amber eyes look up wetly at Susan, and he’s not even bothered by my presence. From under the couch, I hear the thump of a single tail-wag: his way of acknowledging Susan’s kindness.
‘Do you … do you think he knows … about Kenneth?’
‘Oh aye,’ says Andi, solemnly. ‘He was lying next to him. How he got up on the bed, I’ll never understand, but he managed somehow. He understands everything, that dog. And, if a dog’s heart can break, then his is in a million pieces right
now.’
We’re back outside, Susan and I, and neither of us knows what to say to the other, so we walk along in silence until we get to the bench by the sailing club where we had sat before, and it’s like we both know that we’re going there, and that we’ll sit down in the same place. I feel it’s something we need to do, having just learned that Mr McKinley is dead.
I wonder if either of us is going to cry, and I keep shooting little sidelong glances at Susan to check, but, every time I do, she is just sitting with her eyes closed, her back straight and her face tipped up slightly into the wind coming off the sea, the wind that carries prayers around the world. So I try it too and we both sit there silently for a while like that. I don’t know how long for: probably only a minute or two, but it feels much, much longer.
Susan says, ‘They were more alike than either of them would ever think, you know.’
‘Who?’
‘Mola and Mr McKinley. Do you remember that thing he said the first time we met him? Something like: better to keep your mouth shut and be thought a fool, than to open it and remove all doubt. It’s a bit like what Mola says about silence not being empty …’
I complete the sentence. ‘It’s full of answers.’
Susan sighs and nods, slowly. ‘What are we going to do, Malcolm?’
We. I like that.
But it doesn’t mean I know what to do.
I’m back home and upstairs minutes before Dad gets in. Billy hasn’t noticed my absence and shoots off, leaving his Xbox behind. I don’t think Dad likes him. Susan said she’ll message me later, to check on Seb.
I can’t concentrate on anything. I keep replaying in my head the conversation we had with one of the doctors when he said that Seb might be in this state for days, but that they didn’t know, and they’d have to wait for the results of tests, and that they were consulting with another doctor in California, but there’s an eight-hour time difference …
And now everything is lost. My one chance to get the world’s last Dreaminator snatched from me.
Dad comes in and flops down on the sofa opposite. I don’t even have a chance to say, ‘How is he?’ He starts talking straight away, in a kind of monotone.
