“Oh, kiddo. I think you know what needs to be done here. And we both know me making that phone call is not it.”

“Lettie, please—”

“Call your mum. She needs to sort this out.”

I grab Splinter’s lead and jerk him up. “Thanks for nothing.”

Lettie just nods as I storm off. I slam her gate behind me, not caring that it makes a sound like the latch has been broken.

I DON’T THINK about Lettie, or Oscar and his interfering mum. I make noodles with a fried egg, feed Splinter and turn the heater on. It fills the house with the smell of burning dust. I turn it off again and finish cleaning the kitchen. The sink’s all streaky. I wipe it, first with the dishcloth, then the tea towel. I pull one of those soft white foam sponges from under the sink and move it in circles against the stainless steel, turning the smudges into shine. A drop splatters from the tap, shattering water droplets over the clean. I twist the tap off harder, the metal digging into the flesh of my hand. I mop the drips and go back to the circle work, streaky to gleaming.

There’s only so long you can polish a sink. The house sits hollow around me. I consider going to bed. I haven’t slept in my bed in so long I reckon it’d be damp from the cold. Do sheets go moldy? I settle on the couch. The TV muffles into the corners and bounces too loud off the walls. I’d imagined sitting on the couch feeling satisfied and tired: job well done; crisis averted. But the house is more a stage than ever. The nothingness of it tickles at the back of my neck. I sink lower, pull up the duvet, turn up the TV. I stare at it: some adult in nice clothing being mean to someone for entertainment. I flick: whales dying from eating plastic. The old goat’s right. If I wait for her to save me I’ll be waiting forever. I’ve got used to her porch and warm drinks and it’s made me forget I’m on my own. I’m the one who needs to fix this.

Splinter hops up next to me and lowers his head onto my hip. Your phone, still in my pocket, digs in to the bone. I pull it out. It’s flat. Lettie couldn’t have used it anyway. Splinter raises a furry eyebrow at me and I pat him between his big brown eyes. He’s right. Why can’t I do it? Just because Lettie won’t help me doesn’t mean I can’t learn from her tactics. I can be somebody too.

DAY 43

SUNDAY