Dreamside - By Graham Joyce Page 0,34

you will forgive my guard against credulity however, which springs from years of working in a discipline which has never been more than an Art which believes itself to be a Science. Even so, our capacity for self-deception and the unfaltering pursuit of wishful thinking are probably the most dependable of human attributes."

"So you do think we're making it all up!"

"Not so. Certainly not consciously, as in telling fibs to deceive a gullible old academic with nothing better to entertain him. No. But there is such a thing, to name an example, as a folie a deux."

"Madness between two emotionally involved people," said Brad cheerfully. "Where one feeds off the other's delusions."

"So we're liars or we're mad!"

"I'm not saying you're either of those, Ella, please don't make such a grim face at me. I'm pointing out that there are possibilities of illusory states of mind. Even with or without my spectacles I know you and Lee to be emotionally entangled. We have to consider these things. Now, a third or fourth party entering the scenario would help to confirm things."

"So if a second person sees the unicorn in the woods, it still doesn't exist," said Lee, "but if a third person sees it we'll give it a scientific name!"

"Speaking as someone who is a great believer in unicorns, I'd still want all three of them to have their heads tested!"

They all seemed to laugh longer at this quip than was necessary. The professor concluded the session. "Let's just say that it's much harder for three to keep up a conspiracy of self-deception than it is for two." Whatever that meant, they accepted it in good faith.

Three days later they called around at the professor's house and found him in high spirits. Still breaking open bottles left over from the end of term soiree, he announced his plans.

"It's time for us to find that tree I mentioned."

"What tree?"

"The one for you all to carve your initials on. By which I mean to say we now need to identify a new location as our point of rendezvous, one with which all four of you can have good strong associations, and which can become a new focus for us on dreamside. We are all going on a little summer holiday."

"Yay!When?"

"Tomorrow. Why not? The weather is better than we deserve, and I know a rather beautiful spot where we can spend two or three days relaxing."

"Relaxing! Yo! Where is it?"

"Wait and see. The idea is for us to spend some time there, relax, soak up the beautiful countryside, grow even closer as a group, make associations with the place, absorb some of its nature . . . Are you persuaded?"

"We're persuaded! Let's do it!"

Next morning they travelled southwards, squeezed into the professor's cherished Morris Minor, Burns driving slowly and with exasperating caution. The sun got up hot overhead, bouncing off the polish and chrome of the car and cooking its passengers. The girls' bare legs stuck to the leather upholstery and Lee and Brad both took off their shirts, sitting bare chested and sweating. Burns, dressed in collar and tie, sweater and tweed suit, steered carefully with hands gripped permanently at five-minutes-to-one, resisting all overtures either to drive faster or to reveal their destination.

In Coventry he turned sharply into a one-way street and a flow of oncoming traffic. A policeman stuck his head out of his car window and bellowed at him to pull over. Particulars were noted and Burns, who remained calm and polite throughout, was instructed to produce his driving documents at a police station within fourteen days.

"An unfortunate development," he muttered when they were mobile again.

"It's nothing," said Brad, "all you have to do is take in your licence and insurance and stuff."

"I don't have one. A driving licence I mean."

"What!"

"Nor any of the other documents he mentioned. Insurance and such."

"Eh!"

"I only take the car out once or twice a year, around the block as it were, just to keep it going. I resent having to insure it for that. Is it likely that they will make a fuss, do you think?"

"Just keep going," someone said, "we'll try not to think about it."

"Right; fuck the pigs!" screamed Ella through the open window, and with such revolutionary ardour that Burns was startled, or possibly inspired, into driving marginally faster for the rest of the journey.

They reached the Brecon hills around lunchtime, and Burns drove them to an isolated house, belonging, he said, to a colleague. The place was rudimentary, some kind of