She unclipped the seatbelt. He reached under his seat, felt for the handle and closed his fingers around it. "Jane," he said softly, unable to stop himself from giving her one last chance. "Do you know what day is today?"

Michael ran the length of the corridor, which formed the spine of the house, the moans and splintering of glass temporarily muffled by the levels between, and planted her, teetering, on the floor. He hadn’t switched on any of the lights, and barely able to see her hand in from of her face, Rosalind clung to him, feeling his body stretching upwards.

The light in her father’s room flicked off and the tiny brass key turned silently in the lock. The door of the grandfather clock swung out. No creaking floorboards warned her of its approach, no sound alerted her to its arrival. It was only when it lifted a lock of hair from her pillow and whispered into her ear that she woke.

She squeezed her eyes shut, focused on the scent of Tom’s aftershave. She only opened them again when his arm moved suddenly. He swept something from the back of his neck and onto the pavement. A scarlet spider scurried away.

Her lover yelled into his mobile phone for an ambulance as her last breath dissipated from her lungs. He didn’t let it go until the core soul detached from the body, screaming with the pain of being wrenched from life ahead of schedule. He grasped the twisting form, ripped in two, then again and again until a faint, gray haze floated above the body.