Heath held the various items of clothing out in front of him in turn, taking full advantage of the light of the window. ‘Can you see them, Mother? Come look, they’re almost perfect, don’t you think? I’ve done well, haven’t I? That’s worthy of a pat on the back if anything is. Three cheers for me. Your boy has become a man.’

Her face appeared to his right, emerging from the same wardrobe from which he’d taken the clothes, its image gaining in dark intensity and size, contrasting dramatically against the brightly coloured wallpaper, scowling. ‘Get on with it, boy. You don’t want the bitch coming home and ruining everything before you’ve finished, do you? That wouldn’t do. It wouldn’t do it at all.’

‘I could kill her.’

She shook her head and sighed. ‘Yes, you could. I’m very well aware of that, Henry. But that’s not part of your plan, or, at least, not yet. Surely, she should suffer a great deal more first. Isn’t that your intention? You’ve crowed about it often enough. I suggest you stop standing there preening like an overexcited peacock on heat and get on with doing what you’re here to do.’

Heath looked into his mother’s eyes and knew she was right. He didn’t appreciate her wording, but he understood her point of view. He had a plan and needed to stick to it.

He descended the stairs with a rekindled determination to maximise the emotional impact of his visit. He winced on hearing a car slow almost to a stop in the street outside, his mother’s accusing, cautionary voice whispering in his ear. But he relaxed almost immediately as the driver travelled on by. Now, nothing could stop him; he said it and believed it. Everything was just as it should be, exactly as he’d pictured it in his mind.

Heath sat himself down on the thick woollen carpet at the centre of the lounge floor. He took care to lay out Lottie’s clothes in the shape of a young girl’s body, a bright-orange top, purple leggings and white leather trainers, the heels of which lit up and flashed when moved even slightly. Heath studied his new creation, happy with his progress, and then took a folded piece of paper from the inside pocket of his thin, dark cotton jacket.

The paper was cut in the shape of an oval and had a dour girl’s face crudely drawn on it in black marker pen, large eyes, teardrops, a button nose, and the thin line of a mouth with a slight downward curve. He took a clear plastic bag from a side pocket of his backpack and began laying out Lottie’s pale blonde hair, taking his time to create as close a representation of her as he could achieve with the available materials. Heath stood, looking down and frowning for a second or two, before lowering himself back to the floor, balancing on his knees and adjusting the position of the fringe, first one way and then the other until he thought it was precisely right.