I squeezed my eyes shut and pictured the trees in Burnham Beeches, that picnic with Greg and the children, Max reading his Beano. I tried to concentrate on dappled sunlight and butterflies, anything to block out what was happening as I lay squashed on the sofa under Azra. But I knew my survival lay in pleasuring her, so like a whore I detached my mind from my body. And amidst it all was my horror at the loss of my friend, my beloved merry-maker and soulmate.

My mind was working fast. Azra had finished with me and fallen asleep. I eased myself from under her, picked up my knickers and shut myself away in the bedroom. I needed to think.

For I’d realised something else. I’d worked out the dates, you see. That evening in December, when Azra came downstairs in my little black dress—that was the moment I told her I was selling my house. And the next moment she was busy seducing me.

Because she knew I was going to be rich.

I know I should have told you about Greg. To be honest, I thought you would have guessed by now. Perhaps you have. You knew the state I was in, and the provocation. It was more than any human being could bear. Think of it as a moment of madness, like Calvin’s when he pushed that car off the cliff. Except, of course, he lied. In my case I didn’t exactly lie; I just didn’t finish telling you. Call it a crime of omission.

I could hear Azra snoring in the next room. She’d told me she started snoring when she was sixty. Snoring, spectacles, whiskers on our chins. Oh God, Pru, what’s to become of us? We’d been lounging on that very sofa, drinking tea, sunlight streaming through the window. We’d laughed, slumped against each other, partners in our voyage into old age.

Now her snores sounded ominous, like an approaching thunderstorm. My nipples were sore. She’d gnawed at them—no other word for it. Gnawed as if she were attacking a piece of gristle. I felt like an abuse victim, groomed and then assaulted.

I paused, listening for the snores to stop. Azra was now my enemy and I had to make a plan. ‘Your secret’s safe with me,’ she’d said, but I couldn’t trust her. I was totally in her power. At any moment she could call the police—tomorrow … next year. From now on I would never, ever be safe.

I sat on the bed gazing at my pile of belongings. I’d covered them with a blanket to make them less obtrusive. The antlers were propped on top. This lumpy, sinister creature looked strangely alive, as if it were about to shake off its shroud and rise up to confront me.