I speak around the delicious glug in my mouth. “I’m just saving you from yourself. You don’t want to get diabetes.”

“You’re too kind.”

I take another bite. “I know.”

“Where’d a ten-year-old kid get such lip?”

“I learned from the best.”

“Your mum?”

“No, you ninny, you.”

Lettie laughs so hard she starts to cough and I have to make her a cup of tea.

WE’RE STILL SITTING on the front porch when the car pulls up. I should have known she’d be back. She steps onto the footpath, all business cardigan and sensible shoes. I can’t get out of there without looking as if I’m running away. I have a go anyway.

“I’ll give you some privacy, Lettie.” I put my cup down.

“Sure.” Lettie motions me to go.

The councilwoman stops me on the step. “Rae, isn’t it?”

I nod.

“Yes. I spoke with your mum. Over here a lot, are you?”

“Not really. I just pop over. I read to Lettie.”

She looks at Lettie. “Is there a problem with your eyesight?”

“No, no no no.” She throws me a death stare. “She just likes to practice her reading.”

“Is this every day?” She looks from Lettie to me.

“Most days.” I give a toothy smile, willing my eyes to sparkle.

Lettie looks like she wants to kick me. The councilwoman looks at her. “Is this a formal arrangement?”

“No. No.”

She turns back to me. “Your mum was aware of the state of—”

“We never went inside. I just visit for a bit sometimes.”

“Hmm. And where’s your mum now?”

I trot out the meeting line, a version of the ones I’ve given to Lucy. It doesn’t sound as convincing in front of this woman, somehow. She eyes me like she’s working out how much I weigh.

“Hmm. What school do you go to?”

Shit. I tell her. Big smile.

Lettie clears her throat. “Should you be getting home, Rae? I’ve got something to take care of here.”

She doesn’t have to ask me twice. I mutter something about homework and slink off.

I check the letter box on the way inside. There’s a notice for you to collect something from the post office that requires sighting photo ID. I flip the card over. Anyone can collect it as long as the back’s signed. I relax and look at the next letter. It’s a fat envelope from the real estate agent. I open it and read the first page.

Rent is late.

I look up to see the councilwoman and Lettie watching me. I give them a smile and a wave.

Rent is 14 days in arrears. I have 14 days to vacate. I put the letter in my pocket and walk Splinter inside, slightly surprised that my legs still work.