Free Dream Guy by A.Z.A; Clarke

the Lamborghini people and discovered they were snotty gits. They were horrified by the whole idea of the prize draw. I rang up the Vehicle Licensing office in Wales and explained the situation. They told me to go to a post office and register the vehicle directly, so I did. Then I got plates for the car from a garage. This car has taken all bloody day to sort out and it’s going to cost us a fortune. But it is a beauty.”
    “We don’t have to sell it?”
    “I don’t know. We’ll have to wait and see what Dad says, but knowing him, he’ll want to hang on to it, at least until he’s had a go in it. The thing is, those guys will be coming back now that they think the car is some sort of knockoff.”
    She levered herself out of the car, then waited until Joe had emerged and closed his door. She pressed the plip button and the car flashed its lights and beeped at them. Then she went over and hauled the garage door down, checking the lock carefully.
    “We can have a takeaway tonight. I have a feeling that sorting out the insurance proposal will take a while. What do you feel like?”
    “Indian.”
    “Indian it is. Liesel will moan, but she always does, unless Ben suggests it first.” She grinned at Joe. “So we’ll just say he wants Indian, and there we go, a moan-free zone.”
    “In your dreams.” It occurred to Joe that he could do something to Liesel in his dreams. It would be cool to have a moan-free Liesel. Very tempting indeed. But he wasn’t quite sure of his control just yet. It was something to work toward, though.
    But Liesel didn’t moan, and Ben was delighted to have takeaway, as it was his night for the washing-up. They were all excited by the car, even though the thousands it would cost to insure made them all gulp. They listened to old Disney songs as they ate their dopiaza and rogan josh, cracked the poppadums and teased Liesel for emptying three quarters of a jar of mango chutney over everything she ate. They took turns to email Dad then they sat companionably on the sofa to roast the candidates participating in some terrible reality contest.
    Joe discovered how tired he was only when Ben nudged him awake. “Hey, sleepyhead, if you’re so knackered, shouldn’t you go to bed?”
    He started up and said, “Knackered?”
    Three pairs of fond eyes looked at him and Liesel said, “You’ve been nodding off for the past fifteen minutes. Didn’t you sleep last night?”
    “Not too well.” Joe extracted himself from the sofa. “I’ll go up. ’Night.” He bent to kiss his mother and found himself kissing the other two as well, something he hadn’t done since he was nine or ten. They were wrangling over the judges’ decisions before he closed the door.
    Too tired to think, Joe got ready for bed on automatic pilot. He remembered to check that his alarm clock was set before he fell back into his bed and was asleep. It was just after nine-fifteen.
    The rise and fall of voices woke him. He was facing the wall. He could tell from the glow that the room was filled with sunlight. He turned over and saw five turbaned men on a golden carpet sitting in the middle of his room. The biggest guy was wearing a lavender robe over a fuchsia tunic and clutching a book in his left hand. To his right sat a smaller man, hunched over, but with a seriously crazy beard. His robe was green with silk embroidery, and his tunic was purple. To the left of the large man were three men, one fat dude in purple and violet who was writing something onto parchment, and to his right, two smaller men kneeling, holding scrolls and wearing red robes. These two looked like servants.
    Green Bushy Beard spoke first.
    “Our esteemed Ahmed Karabashi is, I believe, correct in his view that the provenance of the basin is immaterial. What matters is the pleasure one derives from gazing at the object, not its authenticity.”
    One of the men in red replied, “While we respect a scholar so venerated as Ahmed Karabashi and a writer so