I have an idea. I could return the shed to its former glory as a proper summer house. A space for me to get further away from Chris. Where he wouldn’t overhear my conversations with Tom. I head back into the house and pop some shoes on, grabbing the keys from the hook in the kitchen.

Inside the shed is the usual pile of crap. But in the far corner is a large chest freezer. There’s a tarpaulin covering most of it, except for a gap at the bottom where the vents are. I had begged Chris to get one just before Christmas, but he had refused. I’d even suggested it could live in the shed if he was worried about space inside the house. He had looked at me aghast, like I had said I wanted to kick a puppy. But damn, it would have been so useful; there are talks of mass food shortages and he who has milk and bread in the freezer would be feeling like a king right about now.

For a moment, I wonder if he has bought it as a gift and tucked it away in the shed ready to unveil it to me with a flourish.

But I can hear it humming. It is on.

How long has it been here? Did I know what would be inside before I lifted the lid?

I stumble outside. I gave up smoking years ago. But sometimes I like to have just a little one, and so there is an emergency packet hidden inside the barbecue at the corner of the decking. Today, right now, I need one. I take a deep drag, my mind racing. Chris finds me a few minutes later sucking nicotine and tar and all the other shit hungrily into my lungs.

“Smoking again?” There is pity in his eyes.

“Stress.”

I try to keep my voice even. I try not to look at him directly.

“And you think this is a good way to deal with it?” His voice is soft and gentle.

No, I don’t. My first thought was to drink an entire bottle of vodka but that wasn’t really an option. I need to be on point. I need to be more alert than ever.

The game is just beginning.

And it is advantage Chris.

Because inside that freezer is the body of my dead sister.

I need to find a way to stop myself from picturing her face. Left there, in that freezer. She looks so different, so far removed from both the young girl who would dress up in Mum’s finery to put on little fashion shows for the neighbors and the woman who took photos of herself to post all over Instagram. Now, even though it’s almost like my own face staring back at me, the face is pale, cold, and I barely recognize her.

I race to the downstairs bathroom and heave into the toilet.

Desperate to keep my mind and fingers busy, I end up spending the afternoon going through all the stocks of food we have in the house. It turns out we have very little. A single bag of pasta, a couple of jars of sauce, a very well-stocked spice rack with nothing to spice. For an hour, I try in vain to get a supermarket delivery slot, panic rising as I join a queue of twenty thousand others doing the same. The news was full of reports of empty shelves and fights breaking out among perfectly normal-looking suburban housewives. The whole world is descending into chaos. But all I can think about is her. Her blank face, like a lifeless doll. Her blank face that should not be here in my summer house.