‘“Come with me, my little treasure,” I whisper, scooping up her sleeping body into my arms. She barely stirs; she’s so used to being carried in and out of various houses to and from cars and beds. She wraps her arms tightly around me and for a moment she knows it’s me; she nestles her nose into my skin and breathes a puppy-dog sigh. I stand there feeling the love between us, her face against my neck. She is all mine.

‘I take her down the stairs and pick up Karl’s keys from the counter. I open the front door and carry her out into the cool night air. She shifts in my arms but the giraffe suit is furry; she isn’t cold. I carry her down the steps. The night is dead. I look around for the car, our beaten-up old RAV4. I see it across the street and go towards it. I open the door and lay Annie down on the back seat, covering her with the old oily blanket from the boot. She stirs a little and asks me, “Mummy? Where are we going?” I tell her we’re going on a drive. “Can Polly come? Get Polly, Mummy.” “No,” I say. And then I think, Polly? Why not? Yes, perhaps she’s right. Polly must be saved too – she’s already tainted by her proximity to us. Her suffering will be great; the Devil will take her too. If there were more children in the house I would take them all.

‘So I go back for Polly, following the dark splashes of blood, a Hansel and Gretel trail across the road, up the steps, into the house, along the hall and up the stairs. Polly is sound asleep and rolls into my arms without a fuss, vaguely waking for a moment, seemingly unsurprised to see me. “Where are we going?” she asks. I take her hand. She brings the duvet with her. Annie is sound asleep now on the back seat. Polly climbs in and sleepily leans against Annie. I cover them with the duvet.

‘I close the back door and get in the driver’s seat. I can see Polly’s eyes closing. For a moment I sit quite still before turning on the engine. I look down at my flesh hanging open on my wrist, pull the seat forward and turn the keys. The radio comes on. How perfect: a choir of angels begins to sing. It’s beautiful; I’ve no idea what it is. Hundreds of voices tearing at the heart, welcoming us home, letting the Devil know he can’t get us now – because I’m taking them to heaven with me. I smile, peaceful in my certitude of what has to be done.