It’s the sound of her voice. The feel of it, too much like you on a storm cloud day. The feel of you is pushing into my ears from Lettie’s porch and it makes you more here and less here at the same time. Are these sound waves crashing into your ears too? I think of the shadows, Do you still have ears? and my yogurt from recess lurches into my throat and I move away from the back door, from the back of the house. I can’t think about that. I can’t. I focus on Lettie’s voice and what it’s saying, trying to find the words in the noise to trap my thoughts, keep them still and stop them going somewhere else.

I sneak into your room and peer out through the curtains; they smell of damp and not so much of you. I’m not here for you. I press my cheek against the glass and try to see across to Lettie’s porch.

I can see half another person. A woman, cuffed sleeves and a neat-looking cardigan. A business cardigan, you’d call it, the sort you see on bank tellers and doctors’ receptionists. She’s gesturing, but gently. Like someone trying not to startle a small animal. I wonder if the small animal’s Lettie. I hear a bleat and a screech, and the hand comes out from the business-cardigan cuff, the one not holding a clipboard, and smooths the air, palm facing down. Lettie’s voice settles to a high whimper. Of course the animal’s Lettie. I think of her sitting, watching everything from her dark porch. A night goat, definitely.

After a while the woman leaves. I see neat hair, glasses on a fine chain and sensible pleated pants. She gives Lettie a little wave as she pulls the gate closed behind her. I can’t hear what Lettie mutters but it isn’t a polite bye-bye.

I wait for the car to drive off. I don’t know if I should go over. She’s not my friend. She’s not not my friend either. Strange women in cardigans are never good news. My breath fogs the window, my cheek aching from pressing against the cold glass. I look at Splints. He’s facing me, panting, his eager outside face on. He gives his tail a swish. I bite my lip. He barks.

“You can come out now, nosey parker. The witch is gone.” Lettie’s voice launches from her porch, familiar again.

I consider pretending I’m not here. For all she knows I’m inside watching telly. Splints shifts his weight and wiggles his eyebrows, bark brewing. I go to shush him but he’s up, bum in the air, forelegs spread on the floor between us. He barks again, three short shouts, loud enough to make my ears hurt, his tail spinning like a flag behind him.

“Yep. I can hear that too.”