She stands up again, her knees cracking loudly as she sits back in her chair. She gives Splints a pat with her foot. “A good name, though. He looks a bit like a mangy old rat, except with longer legs.”

I don’t disagree. “That’s what Mum reckoned.”

“What is he? A deerhound? A wolfhound?”

“Maybe. We got him from the Lost Dogs as a puppy. They weren’t sure.”

“I bet he was one funny-looking pup.”

I smile.

She scratches Splints’s shoulder with her shoe, and he opens his eye and tries to give her foot a lick.

“What do I call you?”

“What?” The change of subject seems to confuse her.

“What do I call you?”

“Oh. I thought you knew.” A shadow scuttles across her face, deepening her brow wrinkles. “Of course you don’t remember. You called me Nenee.” She smiles at me.

The name catches me by surprise. “I did?”

“You did.”

So you didn’t delete her completely. “Should I call you that again?”

“If you like.”

Splinter claw-scrabbles to sit up and drops his head in my lap with a sigh. I consider if I should tell her, so she knows you kept a part of her with us.

“I have a bunny, a toy, called Nenee.”

She smiles. “That gray one? With the big ears? I gave you that.” For the first time she speaks like she’s not measuring each word, and her eyes crinkle at the edges. “I never could work out if I was named after the bunny or the bunny was named after me.”

I stare at her. For a split second you were looking out at me. When she smiled.

I don’t like it.

DAY 55

FRIDAY

ALL MY STUFF’S in boxes. Lucy and I packed it last night, all the things I wanted to keep with me. There wasn’t much. It fills three cardboard cartons and a couple of small bags. My books, Bunny-Nenee, my clothes. I packed your duvet and dressing gown. Lucy didn’t question it, she just went and found one of those big checked laundry bags to fold them in. I put your broken alarm cube in with a bag of my books. We don’t have a lot of photos. I packed what I could find, along with your phone and laptop.

When we were done I stood and looked at everything that was left, our whole life in objects. Lucy says people will come and pack it, put it in boxes, all labeled so we’ll know where everything is. I don’t know how I feel about that. More strangers touching our things. Part of me doesn’t want our life boxed up; part of me wants it to go into the boxes and stay there.