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Ryan froze. He stared at her, his eyes dark with malice. ‘I won’t be long.’

He left the room, walking briskly towards the front door.

She heard him make his way down the corridor. Once he was outside he would quickly catch Carl, who could barely move on his broken ankle.

So why had he made the noise? Why had he drawn Ryan’s attention? She hoped he was not trying to be a hero and save her. He needed to save her kids. She was prepared to accept whatever fate Ryan had in store for her, as long as her kids were OK .

Seconds later, the bedroom door opened and Carl hobbled into the room, the crutch under one arm, an axe in the other.

‘Quick,’ he said, his face contorted in pain. ‘He’s outside looking for me. We don’t have long.’ He held up the axe. ‘I found this. I’ll set you free, then we can get out of here.’

It was exactly what she had feared, but there was no changing it now. He swung the axe and it sliced through the strap and thudded into the mattress. The tense fabric of the strap slackened, and the pressure on her limbs abated.

‘Now,’ Carl said. ‘Let’s go before—’

The bedroom door slammed open. Ryan loomed in the frame, the cleaver glinting wickedly by his side.

‘There you are,’ he said, and lunged forward, swinging the knife in a powerful arc.

Carl half-fell, half-stepped to his left and, as Ryan lurched past, he brought the blade of the axe down on his shoulder. Ryan screamed and dropped to his knees, his arm limp and useless by his side. The wound was deep, and Mary realized with a shock that his arm was more or less severed from his body. He stared at it, his expression slack with shock.

Carl lifted up the axe once more. He slammed the butt into the side of Ryan’s head, knocking him onto his side.

‘Lie down,’ Carl said.

‘Fuck you.’ Ryan’s voice was thick with pain.

‘I’ll give you one more chance. Lie down.’

Ryan didn’t move.

There was the sound of a car pulling up outside. Mary closed her eyes. Why now? Why did it have to be at this moment that Otis and Sally had arrived.

Carl held the axe above his head. ‘Mary,’ he said. ‘Get out of here. Don’t let your kids see this.’

What the Fudge?

Mary ran out of the front door, the night air cool and delicious. She didn’t want to think about what Carl was doing to Ryan, but whatever it was, he deserved it. The lawyer in her was confident that, when all this was done, there would be little difficulty in proving that Ryan’s death – because she was sure Carl would have to kill him, Ryan would not stop otherwise – was self-defence.

Parked at the top of the driveway was the old Golf she had bought for her son. The headlights went off and the front doors opened.

Her kids stepped out onto the drive.

Sally was the first to speak.

‘Mom,’ she said. ‘What the fu— what the fudge is going on?’

It was, Mary recognized, ironic that in these circumstances Sally had decided to moderate her language.

‘It’s a long story,’ she said. ‘But everything’s OK.’

‘Is that Carl’s Porsche?’ Otis said. ‘And where’s Ryan’s truck?’

‘I’ll explain it all later,’ she said. She decided she wanted them as far away as possible. ‘But for now you need to do as I say. I know it’s weird, because you just arrived, but you need to leave, and as soon as you have a cell signal call 911.’

‘Mom,’ Sally said. ‘What’s happening?’

Before she could reply, there was a loud blast and the windshield of the Audi exploded in a hail of shattered glass.