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—”

My fork slips out of my fingers. Concerned. The magic word that makes my stomach hurt. Concerned pretends care but it’s all about making you do things. Concerned means I know best; I know better. Concerned is when your life is not good enough. Your mum is not good enough. You are not good enough. Concerned is a load of shit. It’s a clanging warning bell to get the hell out of there, the sign that the person saying it can’t be trusted. It’s a door-slam of a word that means a storm is coming that will upend my life and I will have to leave. Again.

This time without you.

I didn’t expect it from Lettie.

“Don’t look at me like that, kiddo. I just think it’s time you let me give your mum a call, okay?”

“No. Not okay.”

“Kiddo.”

“Just leave it, Lettie.”

“I can’t, Rae. You understand that, don’t you?” Her voice is kind. Her face is kind.

My chest hurts.

“You shouldn’t have to look after yourself. You need your mum. She should be here.”

I stand. Splinter yelps. I’ve pushed the chair back over his tail. My fork clatters to the floor. I can’t hear properly. Lettie’s gesturing for me to sit down. Her mouth’s opening and closing like there are words coming out.

My ears ache. “Don’t yell at me!” Splinter’s barking. I can’t breathe. “Stop shouting.”

“Rae, I’m not.”

“Stop it. You don’t know what I need. You don’t know anything.”

“Rae, please—” She stands and reaches out, her hand stretching out from your tracksuit top.

“Leave me alone.” I think I must have screamed it, because she steps back, shocked.

I run for the door, Splinter at my heels.

And we’re gone.

We don’t go home.

We just run.

IT’S COLD. NO-CLOUDS, pinprick-stars cold. I fog my breath in front of me; it points the way, we follow.

It’s too cold to stop. Too cold to sit. My back’s still stiff from the floor; it feels good to move. We walk in step, Splinter’s head pressed against my hip. I curl my fingers into his scruff and every now and then he turns his head and licks my wrist. We do our streets. There are new pots and chairs to replace the ones we took. We keep moving.