‘I hook the scissors on my thumb and open the fridge. I eat a piece of leftover apple tart before moving through to the hall, where I open the coat cupboard and see that one of Karl’s jackets is hanging up inside. I press my nose into it. I can smell him on it. Next to it is Ness’s leather jacket – one of mine actually, a brown leather jacket that I’d bought for myself but gave to her because she looked better in it. These scissors are very sharp – it’s easy to slice clean through the leather, it’s . . . satisfying. I cut both jackets clean in two before closing the cupboard and heading onwards, running my hand along the wall, deliberately knocking the photos off kilter, my damp fingers leaving a mark on the blue paint – chosen by me in happier times; my shoes squelching on the floorboards that I had helped her nail down.

‘I go up the stairs, dragging the scissors along the wall, noticing the dirt on the carpet. I stop outside the bathroom; she’s painted it an insipid pale yellow – or maybe he has; these things are new to me. I go to her bedroom and turn on her bedside light. I look around; I remember lying in this bed with her after Leah had left, comforting her as she cried, reading out loud to her from Seeing Stars to stop her sobbing and holding her tightly when she couldn’t, bringing her tea when she couldn’t sleep – this bleak future truly unimaginable then. Everything will be all right, I’d told her, quite sure of it. But it hasn’t turned out that way . . .’

Connie moved her head this way and that as if she were standing in Ness’s room, smelling that sweet fruity smell.

‘I notice that he is in this room as well: a pile of loose change by the bed – his trademark night-time deposit. I pull back the duvet for more night-time deposits. I lean over and sniff their fuckdom; it’s a familiar smell, musty and sweet, enticing and repulsive. I snip across the sheet in messy jagged lines. Then I look in the laundry basket for more evidence. Yes, there’s some of his underwear, stains and all. I go over to the wardrobe and open it wide. I give myself a fright. In the reflection of the mirror is a monster with peculiar tufts of hair and ripples of burn scars down its neck. Its mauled arm reaches up to touch its patchy bald head. I turn back to the job in hand and bunch all her clothes together and smoothly chop the entire lot in half.