I raise my voice, increasing the volume with each word. “You’re still doing it. You’re still watching.” I make my voice high and tight. It’s not such a stretch. “Stop it. Stop looking at me!” I take a big obvious breath, ready to scream.

“You should be at home.” But he scampers.

I finish pulling up the geraniums, being careful with the roots.

I don’t push my luck. When I’m done we head home, the plants tucked gently around me.

Lettie’s not on her porch. The skips are gone from the front of her place. I don’t look too closely at her house. We sneak in quietly. The TV’s still on. I put the plug in the bath and run in some cold water before gently taking the plants out of the bag and your pockets and placing them in to soak. It’s too late to cook. I tip some food in Splints’s bowl and turn the kettle on. Pot noodles again. I sit on the couch wrapped in your duvet and eat.

I can’t get warm.

The windows to the backyard are still ajar.

You fill the house.

DAY 42

SATURDAY

MY MIND’S AWAKE before I am. It’s been planning in my sleep. I’ve got two days, I reckon. Two days at most before the cleaners get through the mountain of stink inside Lettie’s and make their way out the back. I don’t think about Lettie’s dark porch last night, or her sleeping in that house. Or what I said to her.

I get up instead.

I make tea, Russian Caravan with milk and honey, like you’d make on cold Sunday afternoons before sitting on the couch to read. It’s smoky and sweet. I drink it slowly, then make another. I stand with the cup at my chin, warm smokiness curling up my nose as I stare out the back window at the Sleeping Beauty garden. The sun’s not up yet, it’s just pushing light into the sky so all the colors are a version of gray. The weeds are up half the height of your shed door now. I watch for insects. They’re not up yet either but I know there’s less than before—they’re in quiescence now. I learned about that the first week. I was worried about flies. And what came after: little things that eat. I was worried about you, I guess. So I googled insects in winter and I learned quiescence. It settled over me like a blanket. It was me too, before I started talking to Lettie. Before the outside started creeping in like meltwater through the cracks. The grass is touching the bottom of the washing. One of the towels is gone.