The ambulance came in exactly five minutes. I went down to let the men in with their stretcher. They didn’t complain about having to climb four flights at three in the morning. One of them, the senior one I suppose, went up to Wim, asked him his name and how this had happened. He didn’t answer so we gave them his name and told them someone had burst into the room and attacked him.

“Not a someone,” Liv said, opening her eyes. “Jonny.”

Silver went with Wim in the ambulance. They took him to St. Mary’s Hospital, Paddington. Alone with Liv, I got her into the living room, wrapped a blanket around her and made her hot sweet tea. I’d read somewhere that this is what you’re supposed to do. Then I stripped off all the bloodstained bedclothes and stuffed them into a rubbish bag. The idea of taking them to the launderette made me feel sick again. They could go out for the bin collection on Friday.

I lit two cigarettes, one for me and one for Liv. I noticed that one of the windows I had shut was wide open. A pane was missing on the left, the side nearest to the catch. Barefoot, I nearly trod on the pieces of glass which must have fallen onto the carpet. He had come across the roofs, removed the pane with a glass cutter and lifted the window latch.

Liv lay on the sofa, her mouth hanging open. I could see the gap where Jonny had knocked out her tooth. Wim’s blood had splashed her shoulders, her breasts, her neck. It was in her hair. She drank some of the tea and a trail of it dribbled down her chin. Suddenly I felt very cold, I was shivering. A draft was coming in through the hole in the window. I drew curtains that hadn’t been drawn for months, maybe years, and went to get sweaters for her and me.

Liv said, speaking slowly in a gasping voice, “He got in—I am hearing nothing—till—till he is coming into the room—not then—no, he is quiet coming in, looking, looking, for something—all over the room—I am hearing a drawer open and then I am awaking—but I am dumb, Clodagh—I cannot—could not—speak.”

“What was he looking for?” I knew without asking.

She didn’t answer. “Wim is sleeping. Then—Jonny—then he come to the bed—he has a thing in his hand—a—I don’t know—”

“An ax.”

“Yes, a ax. He is bringing it with him—I shout out—but too late—he is— is—”

She began to sob. It wasn’t possible for her to go on. I said for her, “Wim was lying facedown. Jonny pulled off the covers and hit him on the back of his leg with the ax.”