“But you didn’t, did you, darling wifey? I didn’t say something because if you don’t do it of your own accord, it’s worthless. What’s the point? Nicki read what Damon Blundy wrote, didn’t you, Nicki? She commented on it on the Daily Herald’s website. Religiously. That’s love, Jane. Nicki knows how to do it properly.”

He turns to face her finally, scissors still in his hand, pointing at her. “I should kill you now, save you a life prison term.”

“Do it if you want to,” Jane says quietly. “I don’t care.”

He takes a step toward her. Raises his hand above his head.

“No! You murdering . . .” I leap up and throw myself across the room at him. We land in a pile on the carpet, by Jane’s feet. Brown shoes. I struggle to push Tasker off me, but he’s too strong. He’s on top of me, crushing me. His eyes are glazed, then manic.

“Looking for a secret,” he says. “Tell me a secret, Nicki.”

“I haven’t got any that you don’t know.”

“Not true. Tell me a secret.”

“You are my fucking secret! There’s nothing else.”

“Tell me a secret. You might as well. I’m going to have to kill us all—me, you, Jane. Why wouldn’t I? What have I got to look forward to?”

“All right, I’ll tell you a secret,” I say quickly, my mouth dry. Dry as a day in Pompeii. “But if I do, you don’t kill anyone. Promise.”

He laughs. I can hardly breathe with the weight of him pressing down on my chest. “Hope to die,” he whispers in my ear. “Tell me your secret, Nicki.”

“My brother,” I say. “He spied on me, all through my childhood. From when he was about nine until I left home.”

Tell him the worst part. All children tell tales. That’s nothing special. Tell him the part that you’ve numbed yourself into never thinking about because it was the only way to stop the wound bleeding forever.