Roan sat on the edge of the bed muttering, partly to himself and partly in explanation to Mist.

“That was Elmo. Not himself, as you know, not since all that dream stuff. It’s really frightened him. He keeps saying he feels trapped and compromised; and rambling about getting time fixed or fixing time. It’s like he’s losing grip of reality. Mist was trying to listen, but despite her best efforts, found herself drifting, feeling sleepy again. Roan, Elmo and Gum were always going on about some foolishness, inventing adventures.

“That thing he found in his dustbin - he claims he had to fight a rat for it that had somehow chewed a hole in his bin.” But she was slipping deeper into the warm duvet and her soft pillow was just too inviting. “Thought he could get it to work...” and off she went.

Being Mist, she almost immediately fell back into dreaming: she was crouched in front of her wardrobe looking inside for a particular pair of shoes - shoes - so many shoes - there somehow seemed to be more than usual. Leaning inside, she lost balance and reached out a hand to steady herself on the back of the wardrobe, yet her hand seemed to pass through the back surface as if it were fog. She lurched inward, sprawling among her footwear, the apparent mystifying of the back wall continuing until it faded away altogether.

Gradually, before her eyes, space seemed to gather, until the full extent of the wardrobe floor came into view, extending away into the darkness as far as she could see. A huge expanse covered entirely with all manner of intriguing cobblery.

“This must be what heaven is like!” breathed Mist, utterly captivated. She shuffled out from the veil of suspended clothes that separated ‘heaven’ from her bedroom - she could still just about make out the familiarity of her room beyond the hanging array of dresses, skirts and colourful salwar suits still swinging from her entrance. It was gloomy in here, the horizon indiscernible in distance and shadow - but the shoes! Mist began meandering among the various slingbacks, sequined sandals, casual trainers, high heels, wedges, platforms, stilettos, boots - oh so many shoes!

Meanwhile, Roan was still talking to himself, unaware of Mist’s return to sleep, when the doorbell rang. Self-conscious in just his boxer shorts and a T-shirt Roan went down the carpeted half-flight of stairs and called through the door. The sarcastic reply was Gum’s, Heather with him.

“Oh, great,” said Roan, opening the door with a grin that defied them to point out his apparent laziness whilst they had clearly been up for ages.

“It's great you were able to come.”

“Me and Hev happened to be in the area when we got your message.” Gum replied. Still in bed I see!"

“I said we'd end up here,” Hev added.

“You seemed concerned?” Gum said.

“Come on in. Mist’s still in bed but...” he hesitated and then changed tack, “Actually, perhaps we should just get going.”

Roan disappeared briefly, returning fully-dressed, jacket in hand and with something obviously on his mind.

“Come with me,” Roan said, rather enigmatically as he headed back down the stairs on his way out.

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“Where are you going?” Gum asked, somewhat put out.

“Where we're going,” Roan said, closing the door behind them. “Look, it’s Elmo. I’m worried about him.” Roan's voice was grave, his face set.

“We're going to Elmo’s,” Heather said as they headed for the car.

“Yes, that's right.”

“Mist's not coming.”

“Mist’s fine,” Roan took Heather's words as questions, but you couldn't always tell from her intonation. He indicated that Gum should drive.

“Well this is welcoming,” Gum said, acerbically. “We haven't seen you for a couple of months and as soon as we’re here we’re hustled off somewhere.”

Roan directed Gum to Elmo’s home, it wasn’t very far, just a few minutes in the car. On the way he explained his fears about the phone call from Elmo: “He was more jittery than usual. Actually, he sounded pretty paranoid, talking of dreams, being compromised and some ‘Rimgumbaldy’. It’s like he’s adrift in his imagination - he had this tone to his voice - sort of hunted.”

Roan’s idea was to try and catch Elmo and Holi before they set off for their holiday that morning, see if they were alright.

“This is a rather nice car,” Roan noted as they stopped at some lights, “What happened to the Lexus? Got fed up with it?”

“No, this is a hire car, the Lexus is being valeted. I spilled coffee all over the driver’s side carpet. Not to mention myself.”

Heather gave an audible groan from the back seat, indicating that this was something to be expected from her husband. She had told him on the way that it was an accident waiting to happen. Roan grinned, imagining the scene, when they pulled up outside Elmo’s place.

“I think they’ve already gone by the looks of it.”

A brief knock at the door and some peering through the windows revealed that the couple had indeed left the house.

“Maybe we can get a coffee somewhere and think things over,” Gum suggested, provoking a cautionary scowl from Heather.

“There’s a place just around the corner,” agreed Roan, “I’m seriously worried though, maybe we should drive up there to Yorkshire. I know it’s a long way - but, I don’t know...” He sighed. “Maybe he’s best left to relax. The break might do him good.”

Shortly, Roan held two coffees as Gum tried to balance his American-football player physique, on a stool at a breakfast-style bar. Heather, envisioning a lengthy conversation, opted to explore a neighbouring bric-a-brac shop, and maybe shoot some pictures, declaring she’d had her fill of coffee recently.

Roan began telling Gum about Elmo’s recent disturbing behaviour, “It's like he's dissociated from the real world, muddling it with dreams and things that he’s seen in films...” He abruptly stopped and looked pained. Gum frowned as Roan pressed his fingers to his temples and moaned in obvious discomfort.

“Ooh - bright light,” he mumbled, throwing his hands up to his eyes and going pale. Laying his head on the bar, Roan groaned again. He distantly heard Gum saying, “Can you hear me? Can you hear me?” In a flash of vision, a blurred face face loomed at him and a hand reached for his retinas. With another low groan, he pressed his face into his elbow to shield his eyes.

“Do you know where you are?” the voice came again, intense yet displaced, almost as though it was right inside his head.

“Yes. Coffee shop. Near Elmo’s... Elmo? Where is he? ... Ohhh...” White noise sleeted the air.

“Yorkshire.” Gum’s voice sounded odd, fractured, far off and up close at the same time. ‘Yorkshire’, the word resonated.

“Should go there, see if he’s okay... worried. But Mist... What would I tell Mist?”

“You are on holiday in Yorkshire.” The voice again was intense, insistent. Why? What was Gum trying to do? “On holiday!”

It felt like two conversations going on at the same time. There was a crackle of static and the faintness passed.

“Are you alright?” Gum asked, his voice now suddenly flat and ordinary as Roan lifted his head. Gum looked concerned.

“Ohh, what was that?” Roan said, rubbing his eyes, “Why did you ask if I know where I am? What were you thinking?”

“I asked if you were okay,” Gum said puzzled, “You didn’t seem to hear me. Are you okay?"

”I think so; one of those things, I guess. It seems to have passed. I thought I saw the moon.”

“The moon! Well, whatever the case, I don’t think we should do any long-distance driving for a while. Finish your coffee.”