I had to get out of there, I told myself. Any of the neighbours might have heard the fall, might come checking to see if Freddie was alright. Except it was the middle of the night, and Freddie had barely made a sound. I tried to remember if we’d raised our voices at all, but my head was swimming and I couldn’t think. I was afraid that someone was already outside, and could see the whole scene through the windows. I sprang up and ran to the light-switch, flicking it off. Moonlight flooded the room. I whipped around, checking each window for a face pressed up against the glass, but there was nothing.

I had to leave some time, though, and the sooner the better. What about the body? The body was evidence that Freddie hadn’t died naturally. Or was it? He could have got drunk and fallen over.

I made my way to the drinks cabinet on the far wall. I seized one of the bottles and brought it back, then turned him over. In the darkness his skin seemed almost ghostly white. I crouched down and raised his limp head with one hand, trying not to acknowledge the stickiness beneath my fingers. With my other hand, I unscrewed the bottle and tipped most of the contents down his throat; I dribbled some onto his shirtfront as well to be thorough.

I returned the head to the floor and stood up. Freddie wasn’t a big drinker. What if the police knew that?

I sat down again on the sofa. Something about this wasn’t right; I didn’t know what checks the police could do, but it didn’t seem safe, leaving him there like that.

I put the open bottle on the coffee table. Fire. Fire would destroy all traces of my visit. It had to have happened naturally though; I looked over my shoulder at the open-plan kitchen at the other end of the room. I was in luck; Freddie had a gas oven.

I crossed the floor and turned on the gas. If enough built up, a spark from a cigarette could set it off, so that’s what I’d do. If anything survived, it had to look as though Freddie had turned it on in a drunken haze, then forgotten about it. I went into the front of the cottage, keeping the lights off. My eyes had already adjusted, and I moved about easily. I opened Freddie’s wardrobe, as if he’d come in to take off his clothes. Then I went into his bathroom and smeared some toothpaste on his toothbrush; I brushed my teeth for a moment, to work up a lather on the brush, then left it on the side of the sink, as if Freddie had been disturbed halfway through.