‘I know what a dream-catcher is, Ms Lydon. What I don’t know is why you’re calling me up first thing in the morning to ask me such a personal question.’
It could be worse. It wasn’t like I was asking her to describe her underwear drawer. ‘Please,’ I say. ‘I know it sounds strange but it’s, um, research I’m conducting for my work. There aren’t many people these days who I can ask.’
Rawlins, thankfully, seems to buy my explanation. ‘Then the answer is no, I do not own a dream-catcher.’ Disappointed, I’m about to thank her for her time when she continues. ‘I’m not sure how much good one would do me anyway. I rarely see my bed these days.’
I freeze. ‘You’re on night shift?’
‘Twelve till twelve,’ she says. ‘Yesterday, today and tomorrow. Government cutbacks.’
I make a noise that hopefully suggests commiseration and hang up. I didn’t share my mother’s dreams because of the dream-catcher and I didn’t share Sergeant Rawlins’ dreams because she didn’t sleep.
I swivel round and stare at the diagram. I think I’m starting to understand what’s going on, even if I don’t have the faintest idea as to why.
***
I’m desperate to get back to the Dreamlands and find Ashley again. I’m certain she’ll provide me with more answers. But, thanks to my enforced solitude, I’m no longer as trusting as I used to be. I want to test my theories first before I trust a stranger who may not even be real. So I decide to try and enter another person’s dream first, and forego the Dreamlands for a night.
I start by ordering in groceries. My fridge and cupboards are fairly full, and I’m aware that deviating from my routine might mean I end up with a different delivery person to the one who usually calls. That does my terror-filled agoraphobia no good but I swallow my fear and force myself to shake the hand of the spotty kid who eventually shows up with my bags.
Once that ordeal is over, I call Interflora. I’m aghast at the prices – I don’t even like cut flowers – so I order the cheapest bouquet. When it comes, and I’ve brushed the hand of the woman who hands them to me, I’m pale and sweating.
Three, however, is supposed to be a lucky number so I call MailQuick to pick up a delivery for Jerry. It’s nothing urgent, just some papers that needed signing. Once it’s done though, I feel relief rippling through me. The odds of all three of my delivery personnel having blocked dreams is too unlikely.
I go to bed early, taking a Valium for good measure. Even with the drug it takes a long time to drop off. When I finally feel the now-familiar ear prickle, I smile. Here we go.
I’m beside a river. There’s no sound, despite the fact that it’s extraordinarily wide. In fact, the water doesn’t seem to be moving at all. Beyond it is a majestic mountain range, fringed with trees of all hues. There’s something oddly flat about it, though, as if I’ve stepped inside a postcard. It’s pretty – but it’s not real.
I turn to my right. There’s a person there, whom I immediately recognise as the kid from the supermarket. He’s crouching down, throwing fish into the river. It makes little sense until I realise there are several bears there, lined up and waiting their turn. They’re not the sort of mountain-dwelling bears you’d expect to see in this kind of landscape – they are all manner of shapes, colours and sizes; I’m sure I can even see a polar bear. All the animals are large and healthy with glossy coats and shining eyes.
I grin. ‘Well, this is almost bearable,’ I murmur.
I stride towards the kid but he’s engrossed in his task. I clear my throat, then speak to him but he continues tossing fish into the yawning mouths of the animals. I watch for several moments until my attention is caught by the appearance of a small fluffy shape by his side. It’s a puppy with long floppy ears and chocolate-brown eyes. It sniffs the basket of fish and wags its tail. The kid reaches down and pats its head and the puppy groans in delight. I can’t help smiling.
I’m about to try to attract the puppy’s attention when there’s a deafening roar. One of the bears has snapped its jaws shut and is staring not at the man but at the little dog. Its eyes are round and black and I feel a sense of foreboding. I bend down to pick up the puppy but my movements are too slow and too sluggish – the bear is already moving. It swoops down more swiftly than I’d have thought possible, grabs the puppy in its mouth and shakes it from side to side.