Emee glances at me, frowning. “What do you mean, ghettos?” I give a shrug, trying to calm the thoughts in my head. I hadn’t meant to start talking like this. “Go on,” she persists. “You brought it up, now you must tell me, instead of being mysterious about it.”

“I’m not being mysterious.” I’m grinning: I like being called mysterious.

“Well?”

She can be very haughty, the way she sticks her chin in the air and looks down her nose at me. “I can’t explain,” I admit, “though maybe I’ll show you one day.”

Seemingly appeased, the girl turns her attention back to the dog, which is resting on the ground beside her, its tiny paws crossed. She picks up her drawstring bag – made of some delicate, embroidered fabric – and takes out a small box. She lifts the lid and Min-Min sits up expectantly.

“You know what’s in here, don’t you, my precious,” she coos. And, to me: “His treats. Cook made some this morning especially.” She takes something out of the box, and holds it out to the dog.

The savoury scent makes me take a deeper breath. “What is it?”

The dog has the thing now between his paws, gnawing.

“Chicken giblets,” says Emee, watching the dog. “Roasted in goose fat with herbs.”

My mouth fills instantly with saliva. I swallow and clear my throat, but the words come out husky, my voice breaking. “Can I try one?”

“What?” She laughs, her eyes twinkling like I’ve made a joke. “But it’s pet food. Nobody eats giblets.”

“Still–” I croak. “I would like to.”

She holds out another one for the little dog. With a sideways glance, she offers me the box. It’s filled with the brown glistening nuggets. Reaching over, I take one and hold it to my nose to savour the smell. Then I put it in my mouth. Closing my eyes, chewing, I try to make it last as long as possible. It is unbelievably delicious.

“You’re humming!” says Emee, delighted.

My eyes pop open and heat warms my face. It’s what I used to do as a little kid when eating nice food, and it’s too late now to win back my previous gruff persona. Yet her face is serious as she looks at me, as if seeing somebody new.

Ducking my head, the words come out all by themselves: “I should like to die and come back to earth as your little dog.”

Emee gives an indulgent laugh. It was the right thing to say. “They’re only chicken giblets.” But she seems flattered by the idea of a boy wanting to be her pet.

“I … I haven’t eaten them before.”