I opened my eyes and almost recoiled. I could see every little detail on Freddie’s face: the pores around his nose, the individual strands of his hair. His smile was mocking. I didn’t know how I’d ever found it appealing. His eyes were puffy, too, and the skin underneath them was bruised, as if from countless sleepless nights. He stuck his hands in his pockets and blew out his cheeks, as if he was bored of our conversation.

‘You know –’ he said.

My arm moved as if by itself. It wasn’t easy to aim when we were so close and I misjudged and caught him on his shoulder.

Freddie stepped back, his expression surprised. My ears were still singing with blood. I barely heard the hiss of air as my fist sailed towards him again or the soft thwack as it entered flesh. Then he was falling backwards; a spool of saliva joining his mouth to my knuckles. It stretched, glinting in the light like a spider’s web, and I had a momentary thought that I could use it like a rope to pull him upright again, then it snapped and his head hit the coffee table.

There was silence again, filling the house like sand in an hourglass.

I tasted salt and metal, and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. Tiny smears of red appeared on my skin and I rubbed them quickly onto my trousers. I breathed deeply, three times, trying to steady myself.

He was lying crumpled between the sofa and the coffee table, eyes open but not focused any more.

‘Freddie?’ I said, as quietly as I could.

Nothing.

I knelt beside him. ‘Freddie? Are you alright?’ I put my hand out to feel for a pulse and drew it back, then steeled myself and placed two fingers on his neck. Nothing moved underneath the skin. I pressed harder, desperate to find a flicker, but met only the hardness of his windpipe. I let out a cry, and immediately bit down on it. My heartbeat was so fast it was almost a hum. I couldn’t look at him any longer. I took him by both wrists, hating the soft feel underneath my fingers, then manoeuvred him into a more natural sleeping position. As soon as his face was hidden, I felt better, and my heartbeat started to return to normal.

‘Fuck,’ I said.

It hit me suddenly that he was really dead. I stood up, but immediately felt myself falling and clung to the back of the sofa as if it were a life-raft, gently guiding myself down onto its seat instead. The body shifted as my feet came into contact with it and I imagined I could smell it, a hot, sweet smell, although it couldn’t have started decaying already.