‘When I came back after my cigarette I heard him crashing around like a herd of baby elephants – and he hasn’t left the flat since, I’ve been right here.’ He raised his eyebrows at her. ‘Thought he was going to come through the ceiling at one point. What’s he doing up there, rearranging the furniture or something?’

The narrow staircase that led from the front door to Mac’s flat was silent as she climbed it, a sense of foreboding rising inside her with every step. When she reached the top she found his front door ajar. ‘Mac?’ she called nervously, but there was no response. Gingerly she gave it a push.

It took a few moments for her to make sense of the scene she was greeted with. A repetitive scratching sound filled the air, and she listened to it in confusion until it dawned on her it was the sound of the needle rasping against the dead wax of a record on the turntable, the noise amplified by Mac’s prized Bowers and Wilkins speakers. To her right, the living room was a mess of upturned furniture and scattered belongings, even the TV had been knocked to the floor. Just like her flat the week before, Mac’s had been completely ransacked. She tried to call his name again but fear made the words stick in her throat. It was only when she turned towards the kitchen that she saw his legs sticking out from behind the half-closed door. She cried out, her shock making the noise fight its way out past the knot of fear in her throat.

‘Mac!’ She ran to him, having to shove the door to prise it open against the weight of his body, then she fell to her knees next to where he lay. A thin line of blood trickled across the pale linoleum floor; his skin was a deathly white, his eyes closed. ‘Mac,’ she cried, ‘Mac, wake up, oh please, oh God please wake up!’ On the floor next to him was an unopened bottle of wine, its glass smeared with blood. Presumably it was what had been used to hit him with. Sobbing now, she searched desperately for a pulse and cried out in relief when she felt the faintest flutter at his throat. ‘OK,’ she said, ‘OK, you’re OK,’ and, her hands shaking, she scrabbled about in her pocket until at last she found her phone and called for an ambulance.