It’s really cold now, lip-numbing cold. We move on. The sun’s dipped out of sight, leaving that not-quite-dark light that drains color away. I’m glad of your jacket, the army-green one you bought online from the States. It nearly touches the ground on me, with lining so thick I can’t bend my arms properly, but it’s warm and waterproof. And it has lots of pockets. A car door slams on another street. The smell of woodsmoke takes the edge off the cold in my nostrils. This house has a lantern hanging with a new-looking candle in it. I open the gate and it squeaks ever so slightly, more like a sigh. I step in. There are plants with big soft gray leaves like the ears of a baby animal, and a tiny little snail made from rusting metal. The shell part of its back is actual shell. I crouch down and reach out, the arm of your jacket crumpling softly in the quiet. I close my fingers around it and it sits heavy in my hand.

“Hey!”

I jump up. A woman in Lycra pulls her bike up to the gate. I step back, my foot sinking into the soft soil of the garden bed.

“What are you doing?”

She gestures at the snail in my fingers. I look over my shoulder and shoot a quick glance at Splints. His face pops up out of some bushes.

The woman swings her leg off her bike and click-hobbles closer, her bike shoes making her walk funny on the footpath.

“What are you doing with my snail?”

I drop it back into the garden, and it rolls under some of the lamb’s ear leaves. I point at Splinter. “I’m walking my dog.”

She’s standing in front of me now, blocking the way with her bike. She leans down into my face.

“So, what were you doing with my snail, then?”

“I was just looking.”

“Someone’s been pinching things from front gardens around here.”

“It’s not me.” I meet her gaze.

She raises an eyebrow.

“I was just looking! It’s really unusual. That’s all.”

She straightens up and unclips her helmet, still looking at me. “What’s your name?”

I look back. “Mum says not to give my name to strangers.”

“Did she tell you not to steal as well?”

“I wasn’t! I was just looking. You can’t just accuse someone of stealing stuff. It’s not nice.” I glare at her.

She steps back, hands up. “Okay, okay. Fair enough. You don’t want to give me your name. But it’s getting dark and you must be, what, nine?”

I’m not stupid; I can tell when someone’s trying to trick me into telling them stuff. I shrug.

“What are you doing out here on your own?”