My hands flew to my mouth. Oh, God, oh, God, what had I done?

Neil flopped backwards onto the grass, his hands still around the knife handle. Blood soaked the front of his T-shirt: a bloom of crimson against white. There was so much of it. I started to gag in horror.

Daphne was by my side in an instant, her arm around my shoulders. ‘It’s okay,’ she said gently. ‘It’s okay . . . oh, Rose, Rose . . .’

‘The police. I need to ring the police.’ I felt like I’d been winded.

Neil was now lying prostrate on the ground, his pale eyelashes fluttering. Daphne bent down and pulled the knife out of his wound. But it seemed to make things worse, the blood pumping out faster than before, gushing over his fingers as he held on to his stomach, groaning.

I took off my cardigan. ‘Quick, let’s try to stem it with this,’ I said.

She shook her head. ‘He’s dying, Rose.’ Her voice was clipped, matter-of-fact, emotionless.

‘I need to tell the police,’ I sobbed.

‘No. No, you don’t.’

‘I do. We could save him!’

‘You want to save him? A man like him? A bully, a nasty fucking piece of shit.’

‘I –’

We were interrupted by moaning coming from Neil. I knelt down and pressed my balled-up cardigan against his stomach. As I did so he grasped my hand with such force that he unbalanced me and I toppled backwards. ‘Now you’re both murderers,’ he hissed, spittle flying out of his mouth and landing on his chin. ‘You’re both the same.’

A jolt of shock. ‘What?’

‘She’s Jean Burdon,’ he said, his finger pointing towards Daphne, who was standing behind me. ‘Jean Burdon.’

‘Shut up,’ I hissed, my mouth dry. ‘Stop talking. I’m trying to help you.’ I got back on my knees and leant over him. He repulsed me but I couldn’t let him die. Panic engulfed me. ‘Daphne,’ I shouted behind me. ‘Call an ambulance.’

She knelt down beside me. ‘I’m not calling anyone, Rose,’ she said calmly. I felt her hand on my shoulder. ‘We need to let Neil die.’

His eyes were closed now and his face had a sheen to it. Was he already dead? I was shaking uncontrollably. I couldn’t take my eyes off him, this waxwork man lying on my lawn.

Daphne grabbed my arm and pulled me up. ‘If we call the ambulance the police will be notified and you’ll go to prison,’ she whispered. ‘Lolly will be taken away from you. You won’t be able to see her ever again. You don’t want to go to prison, Rose. Believe me.’

What did she mean? Was she talking from experience?