I LEAVE YOUR damp dressing gown on the floor, crumpled in my outline like an old shell that doesn’t fit. I pull on socks, a jumper, your jacket, a beanie. I’m still cold.

Splints sticks like a shadow, his nose glued to my leg. He’s so clingy I don’t even bother with the lead. I just put my hand down and there he is. I sink my fingers into his coat. They’re the only warm part of me.

There are lights on at Lettie’s. I can see through gaps in her curtains. I can see floor. I knock. She opens the door and nods for me to come in.

The house smells less chemically. Smells like food, even. Lasagna. I wonder if she can hear my stomach growling. She sits me at the table. She’s bought some mince for Splinter. He inhales it from a plate in the corner—it literally takes less than a second. I watch her move around the kitchen. She has to keep checking to see where things are. She opens the same drawer three times before she pulls out a large serving spoon. There’s a pile of empty tomato cans, rinsed and stacked in a box next to the bin.

She’s still wearing your tracksuit.

She serves me a plate full of steaming lasagna. It burns my mouth but I eat it anyway; it scalds my throat as I swallow, making my eyes water. But there’s heat in me now. I feel it radiating out of my belly.

I take another mouthful. It’s good. I shove another forkful in before I’ve finished the first.

Lettie picks up her fork. I ignore her.

“So, it’s Friday today.”

I keep eating. “It usually is after Thursday.”

Lettie rubs at a spot between her brows. “What I mean is, it’s nearly the end of the week.” She looks at me like I should know what she’s getting at.

“Yep.” I speak around the lasagna.

“You told me your mum would be back.”

“Yep.”

“Yes. You told me on Sunday that she’d be back next week.”

I shove another mouthful in. “Well, that’s not till after the weekend then, is it?”

“You said next week on Sunday, Rae. I assumed you meant this week.”

“Well I didn’t.”

Lettie puts her fork down. Rests her hands on the table either side of her plate. I concentrate on my lasagna, now it’s just a gloopy mess in my mouth. I chew it, swallow, take another forkful.

“Rae.”

“Lettie.”

She lets out a hiss through her teeth. “By god, you can be exasperating.”

I keep eating; I must have swallowed some molten cheese because my throat hurts and my eyes are stinging. I take another bite.

“Kiddo, I’m just concerned—”