When Jake, to his relief, found himself safely ensconced in his armchair, sitting opposite Heather, whose nose was buried in a book, he discovered that despite all the adventures he’d witnessed stretching over days if not weeks, time had not marched on back home. He checked the date and time and worked out that he’d been away for less than an hour! If he had been away. Heather didn’t seem to be startled by his reappearance. She looked up and smiled. “You’ll be interested in this. There was a poet, a contemporary of Shakespeare, it seems he wrote about your famous Red Horse. Look here,” she passed over the book, and as he read, his head began to whirl. He gripped the book until his knuckles were white and thought frantically, Oh, no! It’s happening again! Why can’t I be like other people?
