I bend down and pick up the needles. My fingers feel thick and heavy, like they could never hold anything delicate no more without breaking it.

“Well, you said you needed wool,” Blake says.

He’s standing in the doorway. He’s grinning. And he’s waiting.

I can knit it back. If I did it once, I can do it again. And next time it’ll be better. Yeah, this is just a practice run and …

Telling myself this doesn’t work. My brain knows better. My brain knows that I poured all my love into this blanket. Love was knitted into every stitch so that Kandi could feel it when she held it close to her. I can’t do it again. Not like this.

“So are you going to do me Sherlock Holmes then?” Blake says.

I look at him standing there grinning with one hand resting against the door frame. Something inside me bursts and it pushes me towards him. I think I’m crying. I know I’m holding the needles. Then I hear Blake shriek and I see the blood.

Chapter 4

I call the ambulance. No one will remember that, but it was me. Noreen who lives next door heard Blake scream and called the police as well.

They turn up quick. The police cars have even got their sirens on. All the street must be having a look. Blake opens the door to the feds. He’s wrapped his hand in the tea towel I bought Annie as a prezzie on a school trip to Brighton. Now there’s blood all over the Brighton Pavilion and the domes are smeared brown and red.

There’s one policeman, one policewoman, but I see there’s a tough-looking fed leaning against the car outside and a second police car parked behind it. I don’t know what Noreen said when she called them, but, man, she must have made it sound serious.

I watch the way the feds come through the door. I think they’re wearing stab vests. They look around at me, at Blake, at the blood on his hand.

Straight away, Blake yells, “That psycho! She stabbed me!”

The feds both look at me. I look down at the floor. I don’t want police reading things into my face that aren’t true.

“She stabbed me with her knitting needle!” Blake shouts. “It’s upstairs.”

The policeman takes Blake into the sitting room. The policewoman leads me through the small room into the kitchen. She suggests that we both sit down. She tells me her name and asks me mine. I don’t say nothing. I’m not being rude. I’m just tired. It’s like there’s a tap on the back of my spine and all my energy’s pouring out of it. I’m trying to save a bit of energy just to think.