I knelt down and gently laid a cushion under your head, to make you comfortable. One cushion only. You couldn’t sleep with two pillows. That strained your neck. I didn’t make a sound as I held you, scared to let go in case you disappeared.

I didn’t hear the door, probably because it was already open. My hand was bleeding with what appeared to be a shard of crockery embedded into my palm. The pain was like balm, a searing distraction. Suddenly I was aware of someone else in the room. Oliver. He towered over us as we lay side by side on the floor.

‘Oh dear God. What’s happened? Rebecca… what the fuck’s happened?’ He cried out in shock, but not in anguish. Oliver wouldn’t cling to the body, why would he? He didn’t care. ‘Is he dead? Let me check.’

He tried to push me out of the way as I clenched Mitch’s hand, aware of its cooling stiffness. He felt Mitch’s neck, checking for a pulse, sensing the futility of his actions.

‘Have you called an ambulance?’

‘He’s dead. There’s no point.’ Tears flowed silently down my cheeks. As I wiped the wet from my eyes, I covered my face with our blood. I mixed together the fresh bright living liquid which oozed from my palm with the thick heavier traces from around your head; together forever.

Oliver kept talking. He repeatedly asked me what had happened, agitating around us and by the time the police arrived, he was slumped on the sofa with his head in his hands. He was also holding a baseball bat.

Detective Chief Inspector Eddie Kent was middle aged. He was the stereotypical TV cop with wizened face and unkempt greying hair, the fringe of which drooped over his forehead. He tried to coax me up. I don’t know why. I told him I was quite happy where I was.

‘What’s your name? Please, let me help you.’ He extended his hand and made me sit in the armchair but couldn’t persuade me to let go of Mitch.

Several officers mooched around the flat which was soon marked out as a major crime scene. Yellow tape across the front door forbade entry, except to the ambulance men who arrived next. Two smartly suited members of an emergency crew pushed their way through. I slapped away a hand that tried to free my fingers from the corpse.

‘Her name is Rebecca. Rebecca Carrington,’ I heard someone say in the distance. It was a voice from a long time ago, someone I didn’t like and someone who made me uneasy, angry and distressed. He was talking on my behalf.