– Oh, no? Actually, that could have been me and my girlfriend. We were… getting carried away, too many drinks at the Christmas office party!

Audrey pulls on the end of a strand of hair.

– Do you live here?

– Yes. I’m a student and I work at the bar in our university. So does my girlfriend.

– What are you studying?

– Terrorism.

– Okay. Well, just want to have a quick look, won’t take a minute.

Audrey whispers.

– My girlfriend is in the bath, waiting, we had a little fight you see and I need to go make it up to her…

The policeman pulls himself up taller.

– Well, we won’t take long.

He steps into the hallway and the bathroom door is wide open and he looks in to see it is barely lit by candles. The whirlpool is full volume. Bee is in the centre of the bubbles. She sits up so they can see her entire upper torso, looking as shocked as she can manage. At that moment, another flat further up in the stairwell blasts out heavy metal music.

– Can I help you, officer?

– There was a disturbance…

– Oh, that was upstairs, we heard it too! They are always playing that music – it’s not at all festive!

Bee’s skin glistens in the candlelight.

– We’ll go and see what’s going on, sorry to disturb you, ladies.

– Thank you!

Audrey closes the door after the policeman leaves.

Turns to look down the hall.

Ali, Davey and Rab walk silently and look through the bathroom door. Bee drains the bath, still naked she pulls bodies of the two men up from underneath her into a sitting position and looks back at everyone. The corpses are beginning to go stiff and they are still clothed.

– Peter has an erection! You can see it under his trousers, look! Ali says.

Bee towels herself dry, hauls her clothes on and gestures, annoyed.

– Maybe if you are hard when you die, then, you know.

– I think he’s going to cum.

– It’s becoming one of those days. I’ve still presents to wrap, you know! Bee hisses and takes out a little glass phial and an even tinier silver spoon.

A wee snort up each nostril.

She can see them all behind her in the mirror. A quiet, ragged breathing sound draws her out of her daydream as they all fall silent.

Peter’s corpse blinks.

– La, la, la, la, rip her to shreds…

Their ears are all tilted for every sound – the police coming back, or their own blood pumping through their veins – a television downstairs with Bullseye on, a familiar whumpf and thud as the darts are thrown – the presenter promising gifts, an audience clapping – a helicopter flying somewhere outside in the city. And this horrible, ragged breathing sound coming from a freshly dead corpse.

– He isn’t dead, Ali says.

– He’s dead! They can still move and shit fir up to twelve hours.