There’s a knock at the door and Danni-Jo gives a small smile as she wraps the towel around her damp hair. She’s been expecting it.

‘Coming…’ she sings, pausing for a few seconds before opening the door. ‘Hey Kizzy, I was just wash—’ She stops mid-sentence, ‘Jesus, what’s up… are you okay?’

Kizzy’s swollen red eyes meet her own. She’s whimpering slightly, emitting a primeval kind of mewing, much like her dead cat once used to, and her unruly ginger hair is even more dishevelled than usual. She’s wearing a T-shirt with a photograph of Esmerelda on it, one of those cheap, nasty repro jobs you get done on the high street.

‘What on earth’s happened?’ Danni-Jo ushers her neighbour inside with concern. ‘You look terrible.’

Kizzy starts crying.

‘Oh God, Danni-Jo, it’s just too awful, just… just so awful.’ She’s inconsolable, almost unable to speak through her anguish.

‘Let me make you some tea,’ she replies, ‘then you can tell me what’s happened.’

Kizzy appears to relax a little bit, nodding as she loudly blows her nose into a tissue.

‘I haven’t caught you at a bad time, have I?’ Even now, in her depths of despair, Kizzy is being considerate. ‘I thought you might be at school… at your classes.’

‘No, I have a few free periods this week,’ Danni-Jo calls back, busying herself with the tea. ‘We’re doing Shakespeare at the moment… Taming of the Shrew. Rehearsals don’t start until next week.’ She marvels at how easily the lies fall from her lips, at how she is able to conjure them up without much effort or thought. She really should’ve been an actress; she is such an accomplished liar. Maybe after this, after she’s completed her mission, she’ll put this skill to good use, go into politics perhaps. She looks at Kizzy with pity, such sentimentality over a mangy old moggie. She needs to toughen up. Killing her cat was really an act of kindness towards her friend. A lesson she needed to learn. Kizzy would never have gone far in life because of her wretched sentimentality and her belief in love and inherent goodness. She’s been setting herself up for a fall her whole miserable life. It’s not the way it works.

‘I was colouring my hair… I’ve got a date later,’ Danni-Jo continues, pouring boiling water into the teapot. Tea tasted so much better from a pot. Her father had her make it this way. He would only drink tea made this way. Once she had cheated and used a teabag and he’d known instantly, though how he realised, she still did not know to this day. He’d punished her severely for that, in the worst way imaginable. She still had faint scars – they’d faded with time, but her invisible scars were as raw and fresh as if they had been inflicted yesterday.

‘But your hair is beautiful the colour it is,’ Kizzy hiccups. She’s sitting in the armchair now, hunched up, her face a red mess from crying. Poor Mummy Bear, she’s such a wreck. That cat had been the child she’d never had. And now it is gone.

‘I fancied a change… “Honey caramel” the box said, but it’s more of a dirty blonde I think. Dirty blonde…’ she giggled, ‘I wish! Still, if this date is as half-decent as he looks…’

‘You have a date?’ Kizzy’s voice sounds low but well meaning, ‘that’s great. A girl like you shouldn’t be on her own.’

Danni-Jo smiles. Kizzy’s right – she deserves a nice boyfriend. She comes through to the sitting area with the tea on a tray and some Jaffa Cakes. ‘Here,’ have some tea and a biscuit… or is it a cake?’ She shakes her head, ‘hashtag first-world problems eh?’ She laughs again, thinking how much she enjoys being around Kizzy. The woman exudes emotional pain, it’s coming off her like sonic waves and it nourishes her empty soul. She really is going to miss her.

‘I couldn’t possibly eat anything,’ Kizzy’s voice is an anguished rasp, ‘I had to call in sick I’ve been that distraught.’

She sits opposite her, pouring the tea carefully into mugs. It’s the perfect colour – not too orange, just how her father liked it.

‘Tell me what’s happened,’ she says gently, ‘perhaps I can help?’

Kizzy shakes out her matted curls. ‘No one can,’ she says, ‘she’s gone.’

‘Who… who’s gone?’ Danni-Jo is relishing the protracted punchline, waiting for it.

Kizzy’s head falls forward into her lap. ‘It’s evil… just so, so cruel… I know it’s him… He must’ve done it – that wicked, evil man.’

She’s increasingly unsure of what her neighbour is talking about, and a light flutter of unease settles upon her intestines. ‘Kizzy, you’re not making sense… What are you talking about? Who’s gone? Who’s evil?’

‘That bastard ex-husband of mine… I mean, I always knew he was wicked, I lived with him for seventeen years. I knew what he was capable of, but this? He knew how much I loved her, what she meant to me. I knew he could be vicious, but I never had him down as a murderer.’

Her eyes widen. ‘A murderer?’

‘Yes, that sick bastard… Well, he’s not getting away with it – not this time. I’ve been to the police, they know what he’s done…’ Kizzy’s hands are shaking around the mug of tea.

She’s growing impatient with her now and she struggles not to let it show. ‘Let me get this straight, you’re saying your ex-husband has murdered someone?’

Kizzy nods slowly.

‘Yes,’ she says, placing the tea back onto the tray lest she spill it, ‘he murdered my cat. That sick, twisted bastard poisoned my Esmerelda.’