I sit in the kitchen and wait for Lucy to let her in.

She looks like you.

You but not you. I didn’t expect that. Her hair’s gray and her face is fuller, with the lines in different places, but you’re similar enough that if I’d seen her in the street it would’ve made me stop.

She stands in the doorway.

“You look like her.” We say it at the same time.

Lucy laughs awkwardly and offers some tea. Old-you sits down across the table. We look at each other while Lucy boils the kettle and gets out milk and sugar. She makes me an herbal tea, apple and ginger. It smells much nicer than that chamomile stuff Lettie gave me.

“I’ll leave you two to it.” She smiles at us. “I’ll just be in the next room if you need me.” She slips out. I notice she leaves the door ajar.

Old-you clears her throat. “So.”

I take a tiny sip of tea so I can unglue my mouth. “So.”

She doesn’t take her eyes off my face. “I’ve enrolled you at the local school. It’s a nice place. Your mum went there.” I imagine you at school. “You don’t have to go straightaway, of course. If you’d like some time to settle in?”

“I don’t mind.”

She nods and swallows. “Right. We’ll play it by ear and see how it goes.”

We look at our tea.

“How’s your hand?” She peers at my bandage.

I hold it up. “It’s fine.”

“I’m very sorry—” Her voice cracks and she stops. She lifts her cup and takes a sip, swallows. Her hands are trembling and the cup hits the table too hard when she puts it down.

There’s a crash outside the door. Old-you jumps slightly and turns just as Splinter pushes his head through the crack.

“Oh. A dog.”

I get up to open the door for him. He’s stuck. He keeps banging into things and getting his cone snagged. “This is Splinter.” Splints hops in, his back stump still wiggling like he’s moving his invisible leg.

“What’s that plastic thing around his neck?”

“It’s a cone. To stop him from licking his wound.” I sit down again, and Splints hops after me and lays his cone-head in my lap with a sigh. I reach in and scratch between his eyes.

“What happened to his leg?”

I creep my fingers across and massage his ears. “He got hit by a truck.”

“Oh. This is the . . . Oh, I see.”

Splints sighs and goes to sit, and crashes into the table leg. I grab him to save him from tumbling over.

“He’s a bit clumsy, isn’t he?” Old-you is mopping up her tea from the table with a tissue.