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across her rounded upper arm, like an insect crawling over her skin.
    ‘Bog off, Dave,’ she said without opening her eyes. ‘I know it’s you.’
    ‘What is?’
    ‘Get lost.’
    He threw himself on her and set about tickling her until she screamed for him to stop.
    ‘Best thing for a hangover,’ Dave said cheerfully as he tucked into a cooked breakfast while Liz lit a cigarette, inhaled and threw her head back to blow smoke at the ceiling.
    ‘Aren’t you eating?’ he asked, fork raised. ‘It’s nearly twelve. You should have something.’
    ‘I feel more like throwing up than eating anything after last night.’
    Dave laughed. ‘Lightweight.’
    ‘I know my limits.’
    ‘Clearly you don’t,’ he laughed.
    He wiped his plate clean with his last piece of toast.
    ‘That was terrific. Shame you couldn’t join me.’
    He stood up and put his arms round her.
    ‘What now?’
    ‘You can start with putting the rubbish out. That bin stinks.’ She pointed at the kitchen bin, overflowing with a week’s garbage topped off with the remains of a takeaway curry.
    ‘And while you’re at it, we’re nearly out of fags.’
    ‘Alright. I’ll run round and get some fags and I’ll pick up a paper at the same time.’
    He swore as he tugged at the bag of rubbish which slid slowly out of the bin.
    ‘Don’t spill it,’ Liz fussed.
    ‘Got it.’
    It was threatening to rain as he opened the front door, crossed the narrow paved front garden, dropped the bag in the bin and used the lid to cram it down.
    ‘Just going round the corner then,’ he called out. He turned off into an alleyway that was a short cut to the newsagents at the station. A foul smell grew stronger as he advanced and he saw that someone had dumped a bulging black bin liner on one side of the path. He swore. People had no respect, leaving their stinking rubbish on a public path. The smell was almost overpowering, making him gag and he stumbled, accidentally kicking the bag which tipped over and fell on its side blocking the path. He reached down and grabbed the bag. It felt slimy. ‘What the fuck is in here?’ The bag wasn’t even tied up properly because as he yanked it to one side it fell open and he drew back in horror at the sight of a bloody, bruised and swollen face staring up at him, unseeing, from inside. He turned away and was violently sick.
    Dave blinked and shook his head, stepping forward to take another look. There was no mistaking what he had seen. He stood for a moment unable to think then reached out to close the bag, but couldn’t bring himself to touch it again. Dread seized him and he felt himself trembling. He looked up. There was no one else in sight. With a frantic lunge he pulled the two sides of the bag together to conceal its horrific contents before running back the way he had come.
    ‘Liz! Liz!’
    ‘What is it? Don’t tell me you’ve spilled the damn rubbish - ’
    She caught sight of his face and stopped.
    ‘Not feeling so clever now? You and your big breakfast. You look well sick - ’
    ‘There’s a woman in a bin bag out there in the alley.’
    ‘What?’
    ‘There’s a woman in a bin bag, in the alley.’
    ‘Tell her to bugger off. What’s she doing out there anyway?’
    ‘No, no, she’s dead.’
    ‘What?’
    Liz leaped from her chair.
    ‘Who the fuck is she?’
    ‘How the hell should I know?’
    ‘You’re not pulling my leg?’
    She gazed at him in consternation, registering his pallor and staring eyes.
    ‘Are you sure? Perhaps you’d better check - ’
    He shook his head.
    ‘I’m not going out there again. It’s horrible, Liz, horrible. Her eyes – and the smell, Jesus - ’
    He put one hand over his mouth then dropped it abruptly.
    ‘I’ve got to wash my hands.’
    He ran over to the kitchen sink and began frenziedly lathering the soap.
    Liz followed him.
    ‘We’ll have to tell someone,’ he said, still furiously scrubbing his hands.
    ‘Tell someone?’
    ‘What else can we do? We