She felt foggy and clumsy, sluggish and terrified. Her instinct was to pull back, but there was nowhere to go. Her back was against the kitchen cabinets. So instead, she thrust herself forward, knocking Abby to one side and stumbling to the ground against the kitchen table. She grabbed hold of it, intending to hoist herself up, but instead collapsed it around herself, spilling the box of surgical gloves, glass eyes and a half-skinned rat onto the floor. The gloves fell somewhere to her left. The eyes hit the tiles with a soft crack and rolled beneath the fridge. The half-skinned and half-frozen corpse slapped down right between her legs.

She picked it up and flung it across the room. It struck Abby in the cheek – leaving a film of yellow-brown liquid there – and slopped back to the floor.

Kate moved to stand but her vision blurred. The dozen or so one-inch nicks on her chest began to flare with pain. She grunted, spun herself onto her stomach, and began crawling and clawing her way towards the hallway.

A heavy weight slammed against her back. Abby was on top of her now, straddling her, panting and crying. They were both crying. Kate felt the blade sink into her lower back, then her side, then her back again.

‘No,’ she managed to say. ‘Please.’

Hot urine spilled down Kate’s leg and her bowels let go.

At the top of the hallway, the front door swung open, letting in a rush of cold air from outside. It momentarily sharpened Kate’s senses, and she was able to crane her neck to look.

For a moment she thought, Fisher? Then she recognised Ed Gilpin’s pale-grey work shirt. Ed stared back at Kate in dumb disbelief, then looked at the woman on her back.

‘… Mum?’

‘Shut the door, Ed,’ she heard Abby say, before darkness engulfed her and she slipped away into unconsciousness. ‘Shut the damn

door,’ Abby said.

But Ed just stood staring at her from the top of the hall, one hand resting on the doorknob, the other dangling slackly by his side.

Over his shoulder, Abby could see clear across Milt Street. It was empty, but all it would take was a single car driving past at the wrong moment, and for the driver to glance inside.

The widow had fallen still beneath her, but she was still breathing in a laboured, raspy tone.

‘Ed, the door!’ Abby shouted again.

Ed’s hand fell loose from the knob and he went on standing there, staring.

Despite the fact his fight or flight response had apparently shut down, it was a good thing he was there, Abby thought. She wished he didn’t have to see this and wished harder that he didn’t have to see her like this, but she would need his help.