Will should have been sleeping. The numbers on his digital clock shimmered softly in the half light: 12:05am. His dog, Rollo, a honey and black hairy mixture of collie and sheltie, lay sleeping at the foot of his bed, farting nosily, disturbing the still air with the smell of eau de cabbage. The sound of Will’s mum’s gentle snores filtered into his room. He sighed, and twitched open the curtains beside his bed, exposing the inky starlit sky.
You might wonder what Will was doing awake at this hour when most children are tucked up dreaming of unicorns, or becoming a famous footballer or persuading Miss Caudwell, the science teacher, into doing more Bunsen burner tricks with screaming Jelly Babies.