No more honking, no more slap of feet, no more throttling noises, no more messes. She felt calm now, her horror and grief over his death had raised her emotions to the pitch which had allowed love. By Gus’s death I am complete, she thought. It was pleasant to stretch her legs without disturbing a dog. Since Stub’s death she had slept alone. Folly had slept lately with Hugh, she was his dog. Matilda hoped Hugh had fed her during the night. She remembered him leaving. He would have fed her surely. The police had been kind about Gus, nice of them to come and tell her, they might easily have telephoned or done nothing. It was lucky they had not run into Hugh, that he was out when they came.

Matilda remembered the two policemen. She had guessed that Gus lay headless in their Panda car. She had guessed too that one of the policemen would give the body to his wife and that Gus would be roasted and eaten. She was not shocked or angry about this, it seemed natural. She thought again of Hugh and, turning away from the light, thought he must be sleeping deeply after so much – she searched for the right word – expenditure. Yes, a great night of spending. She smiled, pulling the sheet up over her eyes, dozing, conscious of happiness. She must guard it.

At the police station the two constables from the Panda car made their report. The sergeant made notes.

‘Okay, just an ordinary night.’

‘Do we still keep an eye open for the fellow who killed his old mother?’

‘Nothing come through to the contrary. That missing bride is more urgent.’

‘Seems a waste of time.’

‘Putting the public’s back up. Every man with a large nose is feeling awkward,’ said the younger constable.

‘You’ve got a large nose, Sergeant,’ ventured his mate.

‘I know that. That’s why the public has my sympathy for once. The moment I’m in civvies I feel awkward. My wife says people stare.’

‘They stare because you’re such a fine upstanding man, Sergeant, not because of your hooter.’

‘Enough of that.’

‘Okay, Sarge, what about the dog, then? What do we do?’

‘The goose was last night, wasn’t it?’

‘Yes.’

‘You passing her way as you go off duty?’

‘No, we aren’t.’

‘Well pass her way, take her the dog, tell her before you go off duty.’

‘That’s overtime.’

‘No it isn’t.’ The sergeant wrote up a note. ‘That’s paying for the goose. It’s my guess one of you is going to eat it.’

‘Very well, Sergeant.’ The two policemen went out.

‘Crafty bastard. My Annie says with an old bird, boil it first, then roast it slow and it will taste like a young one. She knows a thing or two. She was brought up on a farm.’