Their disappearing act almost makes me laugh. It’s not really that funny, though.

DAY 21

SATURDAY

IT’S JUST GETTING worse. Now I can’t go in the kitchen without gagging. I light more incense sticks and keep the vaporizers topped up. I hold my breath, and I go out and tip more bleach onto the towels at the door. I don’t think about what I’m doing.

I tape the kitchen windows shut.

We leave the TV on and go out for a long walk.

DAY 22

SUNDAY

SPLINTER’S NOT COPING too well with being locked inside so much. I’ve started to let him out the back for longer sessions—more than just a quick wee or poo. At first I tried keeping him on the lead to do his business, but he’d look at me with his brown eyes, and I got the point. I always found it hard to go when you were standing in the bathroom doorway telling me to hurry up. I don’t bother with the lead now. If he’s not on the lead I don’t have to stand with him, and it’s cold out there. Colder than the rest of outside.

I ignore the hole he’s dug near your shed door. I ignore the small dark shapes he chases. I know what they are. That first night, one of them came crawling through the back, wiggled its way under the house and clawed up through the wall, between posts and plaster. It popped out an air vent and scrabbled down into the lounge. I didn’t see it, but I know it happened because while I was sleeping it crawled up on the bed and climbed inside me. I woke with it in there, nipping and shifting, scratching and clawing. Eating away.

I stand at the window and watch for Splints. I don’t like him chasing sharp-toothed shadows. What if he catches one? What if he eats it? Everything eating everything. I don’t think about that. I stand not looking, just watching so I’ll know when he’s ready to come in.

The grass is getting long. I’ve watched it grow, not looking out the window waiting for Splinter, and it’s nearly halfway up your shed door now. I can’t see the towels stuffed at the bottom anymore. It’s all long and straggly, lanky, like it’s working to make your shed disappear. The thistles are getting higher too; spiky, like the creepers in my head when you used to read Briar Rose.

I like that things are growing out there. It means it’s different every time I open the door.