February 2018
I turn up the music and close the door, watching Laura as she clutches her chest, and cries out. She looks at me pleadingly, as she stumbles towards the emergency cord. It’s easy to guide her away from it, let her fall to the ground in pain. Encouraging her to stop taking her heart tablets had helped me no end.
When I know she’s gone, her eyes like glass, I open the door and skip down the stairs, smiling at everyone I meet.
‘Good morning.’
‘Good morning.’
‘Good morning.’
‘She was alive when I left her, your honour,’ I practise saying under my breath, and laugh and laugh to myself.