I bang a bucket into the sink and watch hot water mix with cleaning fluid to make steaming soap bubbles. The warm oily smell of fake lemons billows around my face, and the hair against my cheek curls in the mist. I slop the bucket to the floor, spilling suds onto the tiles. I add some bleach to the mix, the smell eye-stingingly strong. I start with long slow sweeps and work my way in. I focus on the floor and the darker lines of clean I create and not on the footprints I’m mopping away.

THE WASHING MACHINE’S hissing away in the laundry when I sit down at the table with your laptop. I pull out your diary with all the passwords helpfully written in the back. I’m just a kid and even I know that’s a dopey thing to do; useful for me, though. Your attempt at a code isn’t hard to work out. I’ve seen you flip to the back of your diary often enough to know what they’re for.

BAun: bank account user name

BApw: bank account password

I log in. You’ve even favorited the log-in page. I pay the gas bill. The money’s going down. I scan over the numbers. A few weeks ago out went one big whack with Rent next to it and Automatic payment. I thank your crappy memory for that too. I look at what’s left and do some calculations. If the last month is about normal for spending and bills, I have enough left for about a month, maybe. I look at the amount on the gas bill. Hopefully. I stare at the cursor. I don’t think about the then what. I’ll think about that when I have an answer. I snap the computer shut and finish cleaning the house.

The bathroom sparkles and vacuuming has made the house warm. It feels better warm. Safer. I let Splints out of your room and shut the curtains. I turn the heater to low, shutting all the doors so it only has to heat the lounge. Splinter hates it; he sits near the door panting with a face that asks what he’s done to deserve the heater. I think of the money in the bank, turn it off and pull on another jumper.

WHEN IT’S DARK I put on your jacket and take Splinter out. We walk past the old goat—Lettie.

She nods at me.

I nod back.

Splinter and I stick to the lit streets now. The ones with cars and buses. No more dark parks or trees or bike paths. Or people’s front yards. If he’s disappointed, Splints doesn’t show it. He’s happy to be walking next to me, to be with me. The thought bruise-aches. I press on it again; I’m enough for him, at least.