But I can’t just sit here and wait for it to happen. If he’s going to do it, if he’s going to kill me, I need to at least make sure he gets caught. I need his DNA all over me. So I need to trigger the side of him I saw last night.

‘Thomas?’ I start. My heart banging in my chest. Because this could go either way.

He doesn’t look at me. He just keeps slowly unpacking things.

‘Thomas?’ I yell at the top of my lungs, my throat burning.

His eyes close, like he’s trying to calm himself. I think of those books on his bookshelf beside the photography collections, and imagine him saying some positivity affirmations in his head – I am happy, I am calm, I am stable – but I can’t afford for him to be calm, happy or stable right now. Because calm, happy and stable people are rational, and rational people don’t make mistakes.

And so I let rip.

‘You need to let me go now!’ I scream. And then the tears start for real. I’m howling, heat on my cheeks, my nose running. ‘You’ll never get away with this.’

‘Yes, I will,’ he says, too calm for my taste. ‘If the police investigate, and that’s a big if, they’ll blame someone like… Nicolas.’

Shit.

That message that came in from Nee-koh-lah while Thomas was holding my phone.

And he’s right.

I think of Nee-koh-lah’s sparse apartment and hairy back. Everyone will totally believe he’s a killer.

I need to up the ante.

‘You’re a fucking monster,’ I scream, going for the cutting frequency of crying babies and telephones. ‘A monster!’

His face is getting red. Almost puce, really. ‘I hope you burn in hell.’

The idea is to just keep screaming. He will only be able to stand it for so long.

He looks over at me. His eyes blaze.

Here we go.

‘Shut up,’ he seethes.

But I just keep on.

‘You shut up!’ I scream. ‘How do you look at yourself in the mirror?’

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath as though to centre himself again.

‘You’re a fucking monster!’ I scream. I need to rupture any sense that might be finding its way into his psyche.

‘No,’ he says, his eyes flicking open. ‘I’m not.’

‘You are!’ I scream.

He stares at me and I know something’s about to happen. My pulse thuds, my breath is quick.

He’s looking around the room now, his eyes wild. They settle on my handbag and he reaches inside it then pulls out Anne’s pill bottle. He goes to the counter, opens the packet of plastic cups then moves to the sink. The sound of water hitting metal fills the room and then he pours a cup of water.

Is he seriously going to take a fucking Ambien?