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it gets pulled up on its back legs like a drawbridge.
    We walk slowly.
    The sky is pink and the moon is a ghost. Amundsen examines condoms and carrier bags while I think about Alice. I try not to think about Alice, which means that I am thinking about Alice. I think about jumping off a tall building and leaving a note behind that says ‘Alice Calloway murdered me’. I probably shouldn’t do that. I definitely won’t do that. If I did that then I would be dead and Alice would be upset so it is a lose/lose. Do I want Alice to be unhappy? I don’t want Alice to be unhappy. I want Alice to go back in time and be unfingered by Aaron Mathews.
    The wind hums.
    It starts to rain. It crescendos. We’re halfway around the field. I don’t want to run. I’ll fall over if I try. I’ll fall over and I won’t want to stand up and I’ll lie in the grass and sad dogs will eat my body. Maybe I should do that. It might be fun. I clip on Amundsen’s lead and we climb in between two of the bushes and sit on a muddy bank behind them, facing the back of a black garden fence. The rain gathers pace and tumbles down louder. It makes the ground hiss and the air smell like wet soil. Drops of water drip from the ends of branches. I shiver. I press my nose against Amundsen’s nose. I feel like I’m going to fall into the ground.
    ‘Room at the inn?’ I look to my left. A miniature woman in a yellow raincoat has appeared. She’s holding a small dog. Wet, white curls of hair are stuck downagainst her forehead. Her face is dappled like bruised banana skin.
    ‘Um.’
    ‘This is cosy,’ the woman says. She pushes the bushes aside and climbs in and sits down. ‘You did good. Cats and dogs. It’ll be fish next. You wait.’ She smiles at Amundsen and strokes him with both hands. ‘Who do we have here?’
    ‘Amundsen.’
    ‘Amundsen, that’s a name. Who gave him that?’
    ‘I did,’ I say. ‘After Roald Amundsen. The first man to reach the South Pole. He got hungry and ate his dogs.’
    ‘Big shoes. I’m sure you’ll manage. Won’t you? This one’s called Mushroom. After mushrooms. Love them. Absolutely love them.’ I laugh. Mushroom climbs over Amundsen and arranges himself in my lap. He’s the size of a shoebox. ‘He likes you.’
    ‘Oh.’
    ‘I’m Mabel.’
    ‘Etgar.’ We shake hands. Mabel’s palm feels like car tyres.
    ‘You’re at school?’
    ‘St Catherine’s.’
    ‘Good. That’s a good place. How old does that make you?’
    ‘Fifteen.’
    ‘You’re a big fifteen. Look at those bones. Sports bones they are. Rugby bones. I’m seventy-two. Do youknow, a man on the radio yesterday said we’re all going to live to be two hundred. Two hundred. Imagine that.’
    ‘That would be terrible.’
    ‘Dear lord. I’d rather jump off a bridge. Two hundred years. Two hundred years. What would you do with two hundred years?’
    ‘TV.’
    ‘Oh God, and wouldn’t you? They’d put a 100–200s category into X-Factor. Each episode would last four hours.’
    I laugh again.
    ‘No school today?’
    ‘Easter holidays.’
    ‘Ah. Easter. Eggs.’
    ‘My parents are away in Russia. I’m alone.’
    ‘Alone,’ she says. ‘Then it’s good we’ve both got these strong young men to look after us.’ She nods at the dogs. I look down at Mushroom. He’s licking my knee. We sit, not saying anything, until the rain gets quieter and more slow. Mabel tells me that she walks Mushroom at the same time every day so maybe we’ll see each other tomorrow. I say that I would like that. The dogs shake themselves off and we climb out of the bushes.
    *
    I’m sitting at the kitchen table. Amundsen’s lying on my feet. I can feel his heartbeat through my toes. He’s asleepand making sounds like a big man shivering. I’m drinking Nesquik tea and eating microwave lasagne and watching a video of a man putting a kitten into a wire cage then setting it on fire. I don’t know why. It’s boring.
    I click on Alice Calloway. I open her