She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, glancing just for a second at the other, empty half and wondered how he was doing. It was like this most mornings; she was still surprised to be alone as she awoke. How many years had it been? Three years since the divorce, three years married. She knew this represented some sort of fulcrum in her life, a point of balance between one chapter and another. She knew other women of a similar age, too old for a casual fling – or at least old enough to find fault with themselves for scratching that itch; too young to reconcile themselves to living on their own for the rest of their days – and all with similar embittered stories to tell of breakup, betrayal, divorce.

Corstorphine had it easy in some ways, death was so much cleaner than a breakup and society allowed you time to grieve. At least she didn’t have children, something her ex had been wont to throw in her face during the last tumultuous year of their relationship when love had been replaced by its evil twin. How had it all gone wrong? It was a question she asked herself most days, searching for the faults inherent in herself that had made his love turn to hate. At the back of her mind she knew that the fault wasn’t hers alone, but the days had turned into weeks, the weeks into months, the months into years until they each blended into the kaleidoscope of their lives. Seen, but not seen. There, but not there – not really.

Douglas had been the first to realise – a romantic at heart, he felt the lack of constant renewal, he needed that mantra of love repeated ad nauseum or he simply stopped believing. Frankie was content with his presence, a comforting occupation of her personal space. Unlike him, she didn’t worship at the altar of love and when the prayers stopped, she didn’t even notice. Perhaps that’s what made him grow so angry, her simple acceptance of him rather than a constant renewing of her avowed love – she’d driven him away by not loving him in the way he wanted to be loved. Stroked, kissed, held; he needed constant reassurance, like a child.

Frankie stood, feeling warm carpet under bare feet. It was for the best, she wanted an equal partner – not a needy man-child. Looking at herself in the bathroom mirror, teeth bared for the electric toothbrush, she decided the Danish woman was speaking crap. This day would be the same as all the others, with a side helping of two murders that needed solving.