The time was 3.40 p.m.

She had to be out of here by 4.05 p.m., for a clear margin. Although in reality she probably had until 4.30 p.m. But, no unnecessary chances. She only had this one. A few cars passed in both directions, and a cyclist, none taking any apparent notice of her. Then she froze for a moment as she heard the banshee howl of a siren. A police car, on blues and twos, shot up the road, passed her and disappeared.

Entering the front door, kneeling briefly to give the cat, Reggie, a stroke, she pulled the checklist out of the inner pocket of her bag and began working through it. She would really miss this cat, she knew. Was there a way to bring him with her? Later, she thought, all in good time, she would figure a way to get him picked up once Niall was locked away.

First was her diamond engagement ring and her wedding ring. She placed them in a bag together with her passport and hid them beneath a loose wooden floorboard in the upstairs spare room that was his home office.

Tick.

Into the utility room to check the store cupboard. Tick.

Next, she removed the clothes she had been wearing earlier that day, a T-shirt, popsocks, shorts and trainers, putting them into a plastic bag, and changed back into her loose-fitting clothes, hijab and a spare pair of shoes. Then – and she hadn’t been looking forward to this bit – she went into the kitchen, clutching the bag, and pulled the large, serrated-edge kitchen knife from the block. She pressed it to the base of the index finger of her left hand, closed her eyes, took in a deep breath and, as she exhaled, drew it quickly across the skin, slicing deeply.

Stifling her cry at the sharp pain, she opened her eyes, pleased to see blood running from the cut. She let a couple of drops fall on the work surface and some on the floor, before ensuring some more spots went onto the T-shirt, her shorts, one of her socks and onto one of her trainers. Then she wiped the floor and work surface with a kitchen towel so that the blood would be invisible to Niall’s naked eye. But not to the equipment of any subsequent investigating CSIs, if what she’d gleaned from all the crime shows she’d seen on television was correct. She put the towel into her handbag. She then used the cloth and bleach to wipe the skirting boards in the kitchen to make them visibly clean.

Tick.

Wrapping the blood-stained knife in cling film, she put it, also, in her handbag, then went upstairs with the bag of her clothes, letting a couple of droplets of blood fall along the way, smearing each one with her right hand onto the wooden treads, and entered their en-suite bathroom. There she squeezed her finger, letting more blood fall on the tiles, once more smearing it in, so Niall wouldn’t notice.