“What?”

“Odynophagia. The pain when you swallow something that’s dry.”

Lettie snorts. “Learn that at school, did you?”

“No. From the dictionary.”

“You read the dictionary?”

“Sometimes.”

Lettie nods. “Good for you.” She shoves another chip in her mouth. “It’s a good word. Much better than ‘that pain you get in your food pipe when you swallow something too heavy.’ ”

I lean across her and grab another chip. “Esophagus.”

“What?”

“It’s your esophagus, not your food pipe.”

“I was playing for laughs. You’re a tough crowd, kiddo. Anyone ever tell you correcting people is really annoying?”

I drop my chip back into the box. “Yes.” It comes out quiet. Lettie hears, though. She puts down the box of chips and sighs.

The seagulls edge closer.

“How’s that leg anyway?”

“It’s okay.”

“Not hot? Or red? Or oozing anything we should be worried about?”

“Nope.”

I pull my pants leg up a bit so she can see the dressing. It’s been bleeding a little, but the skin around it looks good. “Just a little sore still.”

“Right.” She looks off down the beach. “Because that councilwoman was asking some questions. About you. And your mum.”

My arms and legs go heavy, my edges blurring with the cold bluestone of the wall.

“She asked for your mum’s number.”

My torso solidifies to join my arms and legs.

“Don’t worry. I gave her a firm what for about involving other people in my private business. Privacy and confidentiality are very big these days.” There’s movement on the wall next to me. Lettie thrusts something in front of my face. “She gave me a card to pass on to your mum.”

I stare at the crisp white rectangle, impressed that something so pristine came out of Lettie’s pocket. I think she wants me to take it, but my hands have melded with the wall, joining my stone legs and arms. She drops it in my lap. I stare down at it, willing the wind to take it away.

Lettie sighs. “You can’t ignore this, kiddo. That council lady will make enquiries.”

The wind is not cooperating.

Lettie picks the card up out of my lap. “You’d better call her, Rae.”

“The council lady?”

“Rae.” That look. I don’t need to see her face. I can feel it. Rae. Why do people always use your name when it’s serious? Makes you not like hearing it. “Your mum. You need to call her.”

“She’s working.” I mumble it to the wind.

I can feel those beady eyes on my face. “I’m not an idiot. Call her. Tell her she needs to come and sort this out. Before someone who’ll make it their business finds out you’re at home alone.”

The shadow-rat vomits freezing acid into my veins. It makes my fingers twitch. I watch them. “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“She’s not contactable.”

“What?”