EVERY NOISE MAKES me jump. I imagine the man coming. Hear the sound of his heavy boots behind me. Hear him breathing in the bushes. Then the noises in the bushes take on the sounds of smaller bodies, smaller furry bodies, with teeth. Do I smell like you? Can people smell it on me? Do they know? Animals know. I imagine their sharp whiskery faces twitching behind us. The smell of me making them salivate. Who would notice if I disappeared? Splinter keeps himself pressed into my hip, flicking glances at my face. I scratch his ear and he licks his nose and huffs a sigh, satisfied. We’re back on the paved footpath now, the shadows of parked trucks replaced by the solid outlines of warehouses and the lights of proper houses up ahead. I count. From the corner it should be about fifty-seven steps to our front door. I’m up to forty-two when a voice to my left makes me skitter into Splints.

“Bit late for walking the dog, isn’t it?”

It’s the old woman from next door, the one you called a funny old goat. Out on her porch again.

I loosen my grip on Splints’s lead and continue counting steps in my head, forty-three, forty-four, forty-five.

“Didn’t your mother teach you not to ignore people when they’re speaking to you?”

Fifty, fifty-one, fifty-two, fifty-three, fifty-four, fifty-five, fifty-six—

“Rude little bugger.”

Fifty-seven.

“No manners these days. That’s the problem. Unsupervised, mannerless kids running wild.” She’s pretending to talk to herself. But talking loud enough for me to hear.

I shove the key in the lock. “Nosy old goat.” I mutter it, not quite under my breath.

“I heard that!”

I ignore her and slam the front door shut behind us.

The smell of you greets me. The vaporizers need topping up. I forgot. I lean back against the door with the dark and the smells. The smell of you, the smell of the man in the park, and a new one, my smell, the smell of my fear.

I lock the door and grab a chair from the kitchen to sit under the handle. I check the back door, top up the vaporizers. Make sure the curtains are shut.

Splints and I sleep on the couch, lights on, TV on, sound off so I can hear. I put the subtitles on and read about home makeovers in Britain.

Splinter rests his head on my lap. His ears are down, his eyes closed.

I concentrate on relaxing my jaw.

DAY 31

TUESDAY

WHEN I WAKE the sun’s creeping across the floor. I’m gonna be late.