I stay where I am.

“Suit yourself.”

Splints stares up at me and whines.

I pull a face at him. “Fine.” He races to the front door.

LETTIE’S SITTING WITH her back to me. She doesn’t move when I step onto our porch. She doesn’t move when I walk out our gate and over to hers. She doesn’t move when I open the latch, my fingers holding on to the same spot as that cardigan-cuffed hand.

Splinter pushes past and rushes over. She gives his ear a scratch.

“Biscuit?” She holds out a tin.

I stare at her.

She shrugs. “Suit yourself.” She takes one out and eats it. It looks good. It looks really good. My tummy growls, reminding me I haven’t had lunch. “Bought them today. From that fancy shop in Seddon.” She waves the tin again.

I take one and sit down. It is good. Really good.

She smiles and holds out the tin. I take another. I watch her as I chew, crumbs falling down my front. I feel like I should say something.

“Are you . . .” Crumbs fly out of my mouth. She bird-eyes me. I clap my hand over my lips and finish chewing. The biscuit’s turned to clag. I swallow it and try not to gag.

“Am I what?”

“Okay.” It comes out in a croak. “Are you okay?”

She scratches Splints and gives him a biscuit. “I’m all right.”

“Who was that?”

Lettie pushes the lid back on the tin and places it carefully at her feet. Splinter gives it a good sniff and she shoves his nose away gently with her toes. She lifts the lid of the chest and takes out the kettle. “Hot chocolate?”

I nod. Lettie hands me the kettle to fill.

SHE HEAPS TEASPOONS of mixture into each cup, stirring quickly as she pours the water, spoon chiming against the side. She hands mine over but puts hers down on the chest and pulls a small bottle from inside her jacket. In a quick movement she cracks the lid and empties the bottle into her cup before putting the cap back on and slipping it carefully back into her pocket. She lifts her drink, takes a small gulp and smiles at me over the rim.

“Sometimes you just need a little something extra. It’s been that kind of day.”

I recognize the smell. “Whiskey?” Splinter huffs out his nose and shifts his muzzle to rest on my foot.

“I don’t usually, not during the day. But today’s been particularly shi—trying.”

I think about going home. Is it rude to leave before I’ve finished my drink? She sits back in her chair and sighs, her cup resting in her palms. A currawong calls over the distant rumble of the docks. It was only a little bottle. I wonder if she’s got more in her pocket.