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with the crib,” said Mattie.
    Heather walked briskly across the road, followed by Mattie. She unlocked the door and remembered as she pressed the switch. Electric light had seemed a blessing – much brighter than the old gas mantle. But it broke down more often, and they’d had to learn about fuses and switchboxes.
    She was glad of Mattie’s presence – and the shaft of street lighting – as she walked through the hallway.
    The living-room door was ajar and she entered, switching the light on. “Oh my!” she cried. One of the hard-backed chairs lay askew on the floor.
    â€œHe’s no’ gone without a fight.” Mattie pointed to dark red blotches, highly visible on the pale blue carpet. He picked up the chair and righted it.
    Those large bloodstains! Her new carpet ruined. And John must have been hurt. She’d never seen him fight. He was a peacemaker and tried to avoid conflict. But something was wrong with him. And he’d told her about tackling bullies at school. Yes, surely he could fight, and obviously had done here. “No!” she cried, as it struck her. Could this be someone else’s blood? Had he used the knife?
    â€œDo you need to sit down, lass?” Mattie drew out a chair from the table.
    â€œNo thanks.” Back in action mode, she returned to why she was here. “Can you help get Becky’s crib down, Mattie?”
    They went up and carried the wooden crib downstairs.
    â€œI’ll manage fine on my own now,” said Mattie.
    â€œI’ve a few other bits and pieces to get. You go back to Elsie and Becky. I’ll join you soon.” She watched Mattie lift the crib with one hand, and with his other manage the front door. He was strong for a man that looked three-score plus.
    She closed the door behind him and put the snib on to lock it. She stepped quickly through the living room, navigating obstacles while avoiding looking at the bloodstains, and ran upstairs.
    She set about gathering things she and Becky would need. Quite a list, even for one night. Looking for her nightdress, she spied John’s pyjamas. The same pair from their honeymoon, a million years ago. She picked them up and clutched them to her face, savouring the taste and his unique smell. The sex that was magic had been ‘no go’ for her, for so long. And when suddenly she fancied it, he spurned her. That hurt. And at Easter she’d turned him away. If only!
    She was welling up. She’d tried to make his birthday special, but failed to lift him from his misery. And he came home deranged and aggressive.
    All their life together he’d had spells of brooding. She recalled the time they first met. After a packed Students’ Union debate on ‘Can War Be Just?’ – when he’d argued passionately against the motion she was defending – he’d sought her out.
    â€œFancy a drink downstairs, Heather?”
    Steely blue eyes, hair the colour of corn, and smiling rugged features. Instant magnetism. “Yes.”
    Sitting in the S.U. bar, ready to continue debating, she was surprised by his opening: “Any brothers or sisters?”
    â€œNo, I’m an only child. Spoiled. You?”
    His expression darkened. “I had a big brother.” Then, waving his hands around, he poured out the story.
    She’d felt moved by the tragic tale. Subsequently, she could recognise that melancholy look; and always his brooding was about Dave. He’d kept going on about it – so repetitively that she’d stopped listening.
    But this was different from past tragedy, or stress at work. More sinister. Accusing her, banging on their table…? Maybe he had gone mad.
    She threw herself on the bed and sobbed into the pillow. John, her beloved husband and sweetheart, her champion, was in the loony bin. Maybe forever.
    She sat up and dried her face. The suitcase. Heavens, Mattie and Elsie would be wondering what had happened to her.