“How far is it from here to your mum’s?” not-Cain asked me abruptly as we got to my street.
“Oh, five minutes, tops,” I said, slowing. “Or half an hour if we go via St Peter’s Street, but don’t worry, I’m not that daft. Why, would you rather go straight round there?”
He nodded. “I want to find out what’s going on. What I am. For all I know I’m going to turn into a bloody pumpkin at midnight!”
“Well, more likely you’d just turn back into a six-inch plastic doll…Sorry,” I said, cringing a bit at my extreme lack of tact. “I’m sure that’s not going to happen.”
“Yeah, well, I think I’d like to find out for certain, instead of just waiting around until my bloody batteries run out!”
I looked at him, hunched over in his seat, a spiky-haired picture of misery, and I put my foot down. Sod the b
