She couldn’t believe what she was reading. Crabby was dead. She didn’t want to believe the words in front of her. But she knew Jo would never have sent something like that unless she was certain. And two dead: was that Crabby and Beth? Or was there someone else? Christ, Clare, does it really matter? People were dead and Neil Fuller had killed them. And right now the same Neil Fuller was downstairs not forty feet from where she was standing.

Stay calm. You’ve got to stay calm. Your life might depend on it! She pressed her spine hard against the wall and tilted her head back. Think, Clare, think!

Trying to control her breathing, she glanced down at the words on her phone again: Get out. That’s what it said. And that’s exactly what she needed to do. But how? She shoved her phone back into her pocket and pressed her ear to the door once more.

She could hear footsteps. It sounded as if he was making his way to the kitchen. There was the sound of clattering plates. And all at once she could hear water gushing from the taps and splattering as it hit the bottom of the old Belfast sink.

Then she heard him talking. Was there someone with him? Sadie, maybe, or a neighbour. Please God, let there be someone with him. Slowly, so slowly that its movement was barely perceptible, she turned the old-fashioned metal knob on the bedroom door. She pulled it towards her, opening it just a sliver, and placed her ear to the gap.

It was definitely Neil. But no one else. It sounded as if he was on his own. She could hear more clearly now.

He was muttering and swearing. ‘Fucking stuff. Why won’t it come off?’

And then, suddenly, he let out a scream so loud that Clare’s hand, and the whole door with it, jolted forward. She managed to grab it just in time to prevent it from clattering against its wooden frame. The sound that came from Neil was visceral, like nothing she’d ever heard before. As if it was emanating from somewhere deep inside him.