“She was from the council. She wanted to see inside my house.” Lettie’s voice makes me jump. Hot chocolate sploshes out of my cup to land hot and wet on my leg. I rub at it, picturing the inside of Lettie’s house.

“Did you let her?”

“No.”

We sip at our hot chocolate.

“Why?”

“What?”

“Why did she want to see inside your house?”

“Someone reported me.” Lettie glares down the street as she says it.

“Reported you for what?”

“Environmental health and fire risk, apparently.”

“What does that mean?”

“That someone thinks my house is a health and fire hazard.”

I focus on swirling the hot chocolate in my cup.

Lettie clears her throat. “Yeah, all right. Be quiet.”

“I didn’t—”

“You didn’t have to.”

I think of the cardigan sleeve, the official-looking clipboard. The council car. “Will she be back?”

“Yes.”

I chew my lip. “What will she do?”

“Stick her nose in where it’s not wanted, no doubt.”

You can see our backyard from Lettie’s backyard. I can smell Lettie’s from ours. I know what that means. “Can she make you let her in?”

“Probably.”

“What did she say?”

“Gave me a form to fill out to help me see there’s an issue.” The voice she imitates pronounces issue with an e sound. Eeshew, like a sneeze. I wonder if Lettie knows what color her carpet is. Or even if she has carpet.

Lettie gives me a side-eye. “Your silences are really annoying, you know that?”

“Yeah. I’ve heard that before.”

Her side-eye turns to a stare, and I lean down and wiggle my toes under Splinter till he sits up, his big head blocking her gaze. “If you fill in the form, will she leave you alone?”

I catch a movement from the corner of my eye. Lettie shrugs. “Depends.”

“On what?”

“What my answers are, I suppose.”

I think of that council car again, of people poking around Lettie’s place, looking over the fence. Getting rid of all her smells. “Maybe you should do it, so she leaves you alone.” I adjust Splinter’s collar, spinning it so the tag hangs down straight.

I can feel Lettie watching me. She clears her throat. “Yeah. Maybe. We don’t want people like that poking around, do we?” She reaches down for the biscuit tin and holds it out. “Don’t worry, kiddo. I’ll sort it out.”

I ignore the biscuits. I’m not hungry anymore. “When do you have to finish the form by?”

“She said she’d be back in a couple of days.”

Wednesday, then. If they come at the same time I’ll be at school. I have time to make sure the back’s tidy, perhaps I could hang out some freshly washed sheets before school. Light a mosquito coil, or four. I feel myself relax a little. “I could help. If you like.”