He was still alive. She could see the barely perceptible rise and fall of his chest. It was going to take longer. The whisky she’d emptied on top of the paper tissues in her raincoat pocket was sending up noxious odours. She pulled them out and flushed them down the toilet in the tiny bathroom. Then she retreated to the chair and maintained her vigil.

Four hours later she stood over his cooling body. She’d given him a painless, comfortable death. It was more than he deserved. But now he was out of her life for good.

There had been no other way.

Love. It was a powerful motive for murder.

47

Three days later, Jodie was lazily stirring a bolognaise sauce when the doorbell rang. She wasn’t expecting anyone and looked towards the hallway with a frown. When it rang again, she swore softly, dropped the spoon into the pot and switched off the gas.

From habit, she slipped on the safety chain before opening but when she saw who it was, she closed the door and undid it, the chain catching as she fumbled.

‘Flynn,’ she breathed, her face lighting with pleasure. If he were equally pleased to see her, there was no sign, his face more serious than she’d ever seen it, dark circles under his eyes, his cheeks gaunt. There was no need to ask why. ‘Come in.’

He stepped into the hallway and waited while she shut the door, waiting to be told where to go, a stranger in the house they’d shared for such a short time.

‘Let’s go into the kitchen,’ she said, feeling suddenly awkward. From their first meeting, conversation between them had flowed free and easy. Perhaps there weren’t words for their predicament. ‘I’ll make us a cuppa,’ she said putting on the kettle. There was something reassuringly normal about a cup of tea.

Her eyes flicked over him as she took out mugs and a teapot. He looked so woebegone her heart ached. For her son or her lover. The thought made her squirm.

‘Here,’ she said a minute later, putting a mug of milky tea on the table in front of him and sitting with her own.

Flynn sat staring at it.

‘I’m sorry,’ Jodie said, although she wasn’t sure exactly what she was apologising for. So much… too little.

‘Yes,’ he said and his fingers snaked around the mug. He picked it up and took a mouthful.

‘I’m glad you came, I was worried about you.’

He put his mug down with a clunk. ‘Why were you worried about me, Mummy?’ He immediately held his hands up. ‘God, I’m sorry, so sorry. About everything.’

Jodie smiled sadly. ‘It’s odd, isn’t it. We both felt that strange connection from the very beginning, we simply didn’t understand what it was.’