She stuck out her chin scornfully. ‘Grateful? Well, you’ve got a funny way of showing it. I should have known how you’d turn out, shown you the door when you got pregnant. Just as well you lost the thing. God knows what the neighbours would have thought, me having a slut and her piccaninny under my roof. I’d have been a laughing stock.’

The recollection of her, putting my baby into the fire as though it were a piece of rubbish, suddenly flooded my mind. All the hatred and resentment I had tried to bury for all those years came to the surface. ‘You loathsome old bitch!’

Engulfed by rage, I pushed her. It wasn’t even a proper shove – she was so unsteady on her feet, even if I’d just prodded her, I’m sure she’d have gone down like a skittle. I remember the look of horror on her face as she fell, her arms flailing feebly as she groped the air, the dull thud as her head hit the banister. She toppled forwards, tumbling and clattering from step to step.

Aghast, I stared down as she lay, motionless, at the foot of the stairwell. I was rooted to the spot. Eventually, collecting my thoughts, I tentatively descended the stairs and peered down at her crumpled, contorted body. A small trickle of blood had pooled at the corner of her mouth.

I know I shouldn’t have left her there, but she was obviously dead. There was nothing that could be done for her. What would be the use in calling for an ambulance?

Panic set in. My heart was pumping so hard it felt as if it might burst out of my chest. I became disorientated, and sat back down on the stairs for a moment, my mind racing. I’m ashamed to say my thoughts were only for my own welfare. What would happen to me? Would this be considered manslaughter – or even murder?

I had come in through the back door – no one would have seen me, and the neighbours were away. If I waited until dark, I could slip out without being noticed. And so that was exactly what I did.

*

It took all my nerve, but after three seemingly interminable days, I returned. I knew I had to face the music eventually. Karen, the woman from next door, accompanied me into the house. When we ‘discovered’ Auntie Jane, she was distressed, but kind and sympathetic. It worked out for the best, I suppose, having a witness to my feigned horror. Well, not entirely feigned – but obviously I knew what would confront us as we entered that dark hallway.