But it wasn’t over yet. She took the belt – his belt – in her gloved hands, pulled the end through the buckle then stood in front of him and looped it over his head. She pulled it tight as his hands came up again, desperate and useless. She took a big step onto the bed, and tugged up.

He was heavy. Heavier than she’d thought he would be, but she didn’t need to do much now. She didn’t need to kill him this way – the bag would do that for her – but she needed the marks on his neck. She needed it to look like a hanging. He was weakening. His eyes still open, his mouth barely moving, his hands collapsed in his lap.

The plastic bag moved inwards, one last time, and his body gave an involuntary twitch. And then he stopped.

Amy stared at him. She tried to find a pulse on his neck, but there was nothing. Just to be sure, she left him lying there while she continued with her preparations.

She pulled at his body so he was lying stretched out on his back, his hands still bound in front of him. Then she fetched the cling film from the drawer.

She had debated how many rolls she would need. Seventy-five metres was a lot, surely? She took the roll out of the box, peeled back the end, then, starting at the bottom, started to wrap. She covered his socked feet, then up his trousers. She took his keys and wallet out of his pocket as she went, double-layering, just to be sure. And as she got to his hands, she snipped away the tape and took off the oven gloves. She looked at his wrists. Nothing. No marks at all – and she gave a satisfied smile. She carried on wrapping, rolling his body first one way and then the other. No more than a large hunk of meat, getting ready for storage.

To do his torso and his head, she pushed him up to a sitting position, finishing at his shoulders. She got a new roll, then looked at him, his head still encased in the plastic. She took the scissors again, and gently cut away the bag.

His eyes were wide open, but now glassy and empty. His skin was red, slightly wet from the condensation in the plastic. The marks around his neck were clear and pronounced; she left the belt there, pulled tight.

And then it was done. She stood back and surveyed her handiwork. A clear plastic mummy on her bedroom floor. No trace would escape. Her husband, hermetically sealed.

She picked up Jonathan’s phone and unlocked it using the code she had seen him use so many times before. She sent a message to Kal: On our way, mate.