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wall and
then—'
    I've got hold of one arm, Harry grabs hold of the
other. Flynn shoves us off him, hard, and overturns
the tin of paint.
    'Ha ha ha! You wanna play catch? You think you can
get me? You think you can catch me?' He leaps effortlessly
up onto the table. I grab the tail of Flynn's shirt
and hang on for dear life. Flynn drags himself away
from me and the shirt rips in my hand. Harry grasps
hold of one leg and Flynn kicks him away. Harry
staggers backwards, gasping, holding his side. 'I'm calling
the police—'
    'No! Call an ambulance – just call an ambulance,
please, Harry.' I am almost sobbing. Harry staggers from
the room. I crawl up onto the table. Grab hold of
Flynn's arm and hang on for dear life.
    'Flynn stop – please stop – just sit down – Flynn, please! ' I am clawing at his clothes, trying to drag him
down from the table. He pulls away easily, leaps onto the
back of the sofa, then starts climbing onto the bookshelves.
He pulls out a handful of books and hurls them
down into the growing pool of black paint. 'It's art, it's
art!' he whoops. 'Can't you see? It's modern art!'
    Harry is pulling me back by the arm towards the
open door.
    'No, Harry,' I protest. 'We've got to—'
    'They're coming, the ambulance is on its way.'
Harry's grip on my wrist is like iron as he forces me out
into the corridor. He closes the living-room door and
holds onto the handle.
    I try to force my way back in. 'No, Harry, no!' I
protest frantically. 'The window – he might jump!'
    'He's getting violent!' Harry shouts back. 'We've got
to stay out here!'
    My knees give way and I sink to the floor. Harry is still
hanging onto the door handle. From inside the living
room, the crashing continues.
    'We've got to try and help him!' I beg.
    'Believe me, this is the kindest thing we could do,'
Harry says quietly. 'The last thing he'd want would be to
hurt you.'
    And so he restrains me until the wail of the
ambulance rises from the street.

Chapter Four
FLYNN
    There are bright lights and busy corridors. Lots of
corridors, lots of people. Everyone is tall. The people
around me are green. One is pushing this chair, the
other is walking. I am gliding along in this magic chair.
The speckled lino keeps disappearing under my feet.
The ambulance was tiring. Everything is tiring. All these
corridors, all these white lights, all these people.
The corridors are very long. At the end of each one
there is another. And another. And another. And
another.
    Finally we stop. There are lots of voices but no
people. There's a bed. Curtains drawn around me and
the bed. The first green man says, 'I better stay with this
one till the doc comes round.' The second green man
says, 'I'm going to head back. I'll catch up with you
later.' The second green man disappears through a gap
in the curtains. The first green man sits down on the
edge of the bed. I close my eyes.
    There is a hand on my arm. A woman in a white coat
is sitting opposite me. She has curly hair. 'Hello,' she
says. 'I'm Doctor Stanton. Do you know where you are?'
    I look at her. I blink.
    'What's your name?' she asks.
    I look at her some more. I say my name in my head,
but no sound comes out. My lips have been glued
together.
    'You're at the Chelsea and Westminster Hospital,' the
woman says. 'You were brought in by ambulance
because you'd been acting strangely. You've been given
a large dose of sedative, which is why you're finding it
difficult to talk right now. But I want you to try. Can you
remember what happened?'
    Her eyes are green. With little flecks of gold. Just like
Jennah's.
    'Flynn, open your eyes a minute.' Her voice is very
loud. 'Open your eyes. That's it. What's all this black
stuff on you? Is it paint? Do you remember the paint?'
    Her eyes are like Jennah's. But her face is not. Her
face is nothing like Jennah's. Even her hair is different.
    'Right,' says the woman. 'The nurses are going to
clean you up. Then we'll get you into bed.' She puts a
hand under my chin and shines a