Kizzy hung up the call.

‘They’ll be here within the hour,’ she said with that apologetic look on her face again, nervously chewing her bottom lip with her protruding front teeth.

‘No worries,’ Danni-Jo assured her, ‘really… I’m not doing much, like I said. Besides, it’s nice to meet a neighbour, a friendly one anyway. You know, I’ve lived here for two years and no one’s ever said so much as hello to me!’

Kizzy looked genuinely surprised.

‘Really? But you’re so nice and friendly yourself.’

She feigned modesty, lowering her eyes slightly.

‘That’s nice of you to say, but I don’t spend an awful lot of time here, I’m always at work. Work, work, work…’ she sang the words in the style of the Rihanna song.

Kizzy nodded sympathetically.

‘So what do you do Danni-Jo, for work, work, work?’

She thought on her feet. Bought a few seconds by laughing. ‘I work in a hotel, up near Mayfair, it’s really not very exciting at all… but I’m studying to be an actor. I go to drama school.’

Yeah, that sounded good: an actor. It made her sound interesting at least. She saw Kizzy’s eyes wander to the pile of designer bags she’d dumped on the armchair and guessed what she might be thinking.

‘My dad died recently, he was an actor too. Starred in a few films, did pretty well for himself really. Enough to see me right when he passed anyway.’ The first, and last part, incidentally, were true. Her cunt of a father had recently died. And once news had reached her through the solicitor that she’d been bequeathed his entire estate, she’d celebrated his passing with a bottle of Dom Pérignon and a Domino’s pizza. He hadn’t been an actor, although he’d done a pretty good job at acting like a loving, caring father when he’d needed to. That monster had owed her every penny of her inheritance, and the moment it had been signed over to her she’d promptly sold off the family home in Surbiton and bought her Mayfair pad. That house held nothing but terrible memories; sick, deviant, dark and twisted memories, and she’d been happy to get shot of it. Her mother had died in that house, and had she not been taken away when she had, she felt sure she would’ve died there too.

‘I’m sorry,’ Kizzy said mournfully, ‘I understand what it’s like to lose a loved one. My sister passed away some years ago. Breast cancer, she was only thirty-four.’

Danni-Jo shook her head. ‘That’s so sad. Was she older or younger than you?’

‘Six years younger than me, she was my baby sister. I can remember her being born.’ Kizzy looked visibly upset. ‘When she went, it made me re-evaluate my life completely.’

‘Things like that do,’ she replied, guessing. She was in her late forties. Around the right age. ‘Hence the divorce?’

Kizzy looked down into her lap and sipped on the hot herbal tea she’d been offered.

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.’

‘No, no, not at all… Yes, it was really. It was,’ she shifted uncomfortably on the soft couch, ‘a pretty toxic relationship. Took me seventeen long years to finally build up the courage and self-esteem to leave him. After Megan died something in me just said “no more”. That man took the best years of my life.’

Abuse victim. It figured. Kizzy had clearly been conditioned into feeling invisible. Years of never having her own needs met had whittled away her personality to a subservient shell, apologetic just for being alive. She was skittish, her movements jerky and nervous. She’d reached for a biscuit on the coffee table almost like a child who’d already had too many and was waiting for it to be slapped away.

‘Did you have children together?’ Danni-Jo knew she was asking personal questions but she figured she had the right to, being as Kizzy was in her apartment sitting on her sofa, drinking her herbal tea and eating her Hobnobs.

‘No kids,’ she said, quietly. ‘I wanted them but I’m glad I didn’t have them with him… now.’

‘Well, it’s never too late,’ she said breezily, sensing her guest had begun to feel a little melancholy.

Kizzy laughed but it sounded hollow. ‘Oh, I’m way too old for all that now, and besides, I’d have to find a man first!’

Danni-Jo scoffed. ‘Well, there’s plenty of those fuckers around let me tell you.’

Kizzy’s face reddened a bit – at the use of her bad language she presumed, or perhaps it was simply the thought of getting some prospective dick? She couldn’t imagine her engaging in such a pursuit.

‘Maybe for an attractive young woman like yourself,’ she said. ‘But me…?’

‘Don’t do yourself down,’ Danni-Jo said, almost wanting to like her for a moment. ‘You certainly don’t look old.’ That was a lie; Kizzy looked every day of her forty-something years and then some, though she suspected with a decent makeover she’d scrub up alright. The teeth were a problem though: she had a large overbite and one of her front teeth slightly overlapped the other, adding insult to injury. They were really quite offensive. Suddenly she had a vision of grabbing Kizzy by the back of her ginger hair and slamming her face into the glass coffee table, smashing her bad teeth to pieces.

‘You should get yourself online you know, plenty of divorced men on the hunt out there, plenty of married ones too.’

‘Oh nooo.’ She shook her head. ‘I’m not brave enough for that. All that… rejection.’ Kizzy smiled awkwardly.

‘Well, you never know, this locksmith might be “the one”.’

‘I admire your positivity,’ she replied.

Positivity. Now that was a first. She was actually beginning to rather enjoy her odd neighbour’s company now. Kizzy clearly saw Danni-Jo as superior; prettier, more talented, wittier, younger and more confident. She basked in such an image of herself being reflected back to her.

Poor woman literally reeked of eau de low self-esteem and with her almost childlike gestures, she suspected she may be mentally challenged in some way, bipolar or borderline perhaps. Not that it mattered, so much the better. This would make her tracks easier to cover. Suddenly she thought of the bottle of arsenic, the tiny vial hidden in her kitchen cupboard along with the condiments. But no, she couldn’t, could she? She hadn’t thought it through properly, hadn’t had enough time to plan thoroughly, and she hadn’t established a genuine relationship with her: not yet at least. But the situation had somehow seemed to present itself to her and she decided this must be a sign. A positive sign.

‘Listen,’ Danni-Jo said, resting on the arm of her sofa and meeting Kizzy’s watery green eyes, framed by crow’s feet, ‘once the locksmith has done his job and you’re all sorted out, if you fancy it, give me a knock. I’ve got a night off and I’m getting a Chinese takeaway and opening a bottle of Prosecco if you want to join me? We can watch The X Factor together if you like? I’ve got a guilty crush on Simon Cowell, but don’t tell anyone,’ she giggled conspiratorially and Kizzy joined in, placing her hand over her mouth as though it were the most outrageous confession she’d ever heard. Perhaps it was.

‘Really?’ she said, clearly taken aback at the unexpected invitation. ‘Well, you know, that’s so lovely of you but I couldn’t possibly intrude on your Saturday evening.’

‘Don’t be daft,’ Danni-Jo lightly dug her in the forearm, ‘I’d love it if you could join me. Better than sitting here all on my tod.’

Kizzy looked elated. ‘Well, if you’re sure, then that would be great. I love Prosecco and I could murder some sweet-and-sour pork balls.’ She laughed at the irony of her statement.

‘Pork balls it is then.’