‘I leave Lin’s slippers outside the back door, carefully open it and step over the squeaky floorboard. I shut the door behind me and listen to the stillness of the house. I go through the kitchen, down towards the sitting room, and step inside. Ah! There is the Christmas tree, of course. It’s horribly decorated, ugly silver baubles and coloured lights. The kids have been allowed to do it – always fatal. I stand in front of the fire and prod the embers with the poker; they glow an orange syrupy smile at me, welcoming me back. There are some cards on the mantelpiece; I’ve missed someone’s birthday: Karl’s. I read all the cards including one from Ness: Happy birthday you wonderful man. I John Wayne flip the scissors and cut it into small pieces over the embers and watch as the flames light up the room, making shadows on the wall. Briefly I think I see him there, the Devil watching me.

‘I leave the sitting room and stand in the hall. The counter is littered with various unopened letters, car keys, shin pads, the usual stuff. I look up the stairs towards the bedrooms. Everything is silent. I move towards the staircase and cautiously start to climb it, placing my feet with precision; every inch of this house is in my body’s recall, every creak is known from endless nights spent crawling out of the kids’ rooms, praying for sleep. I stand on the landing, looking left and right: all doors are shut. I’m home at last. I feel inexplicably tired.

‘I push open my bedroom door. And sure enough, there they are, there she is, sleeping in my great big bed, on my side, in my room, by my husband. Karl is on his side, sound asleep, facing her, his hand reaching out towards her. I walk round to where she’s lying and I look down at her: she’s on her back, lips parted, not a care in the world, her long frizzy hair splayed across my pillow, one breast exposed, the duvet pulled up to her ribcage. I can see the rise and fall of her chest, the exact place where her heart pumps beneath the skin.

‘Her iPhone is lying beside her. I pick it up and look at the screen. She has set the timer for two hours’ time, presumably so she can sneak out of the house and pretend to be a decent human being to her children. I turn the phone off.

‘I sit down on the end of the bed for a while to think. I wonder about getting into the bed with them; us all being together again. But it’s never going to work. So instead I pull up my sleeve and slice my wrist open.