BRYONY MAILER WAS – in a numb way – absolutely ecstatic.

Putta Pattershaun 5 was, if anything, even more numb and even more cheerful. Although they were both absolutely certain – as fingers and ropes of twisting sand raced up their bodies – that they would be dead within…let’s say thirty seconds at the most, they were as content as they could be.

While sand slipped up her torso and contracted her breathing, Bryony sighed, ‘Hmmm…’ as if she was climbing into a lovely bath. Being dead seemed, just then, pretty much the same as a lovely bath, only longer-lasting.

And, meanwhile, Putta just about managed to giggle as ripples and curls of sand gathered under his chin – forming a sort of yellowish, undulating beard – and ribbons of sand snuggled round his throat and gently began to strangle him. He felt only one tiny regret as he began to pass out. He couldn’t believe how stupid he’d been not to guess how magnificent getting murdered would be. If he’d realised, he’d have found a murderer and made a polite request years ago…

At which point Putta became unconscious and then Bryony joined him.