Don had buried him under the garage floor. That bit of the story was partly true, at least.

It had seemed quite true to the police. After they discovered Victor’s body, they raided Don’s house at dawn. There they found the bloodstained hammer in Don’s toolbox, with his fingerprints on it.

Her solicitor told her that she was still in trouble. It was almost certain that she would be charged as an accessory to murder. This was likely to happen at some point in the next few weeks. However, he knew a good barrister. She would go to jail but, with luck, it would be a short sentence if the jury believed her story. Her solicitor could see no reason why they would not.

But for now, at least, she was free.

There were plenty of other men in the world, she thought, as she let herself in through the front door. It seemed likely that Don was going to be locked away for life. Well, too bad for him! There were dating agencies she could sign up to, dancing classes she could join. But the biggest joy of all was that there was no more Victor.

If his damned ghost persisted, she would call in a medium to get rid of him!

In any case, she planned to sell the house. There were too many memories. She had never liked this place anyway, not really. It had always been just a house, to her. It had never been a home.

As she went inside, it seemed even less of a home than ever. The police had made a right mess of it during these past days. They had pulled up carpets and floorboards, and punched holes in some of the walls. They had dug up parts of the garden to look for the murder weapon, before they found it at Don’s.

She made straight for the fridge and poured herself a glass of wine, filling it right to the brim. She downed it in two gulps, filled it again, and did the same. Then she filled it a third time, emptying the bottle. She was now more than a little bit drunk. She said loudly and boldly, ‘Victor, if you are still here, you can just sod off!’

She stared at the doorway. She looked into the empty hall. She was not focusing very well.

Then she drank some more. ‘Did you hear what I said, Victor?’ Her voice was slurring.

Silence greeted her.

She burped, then said ‘Sorry’ to herself. She drained the rest of the glass.

It was a relief to be back in her own clothes after the horrible, badly fitting paper jumpsuit she’d been given to wear in her cell.

She was feeling hungry. And in need of more to drink. To her relief, there was one more bottle of wine in the fridge.

An hour later, Joan was very drunk. She staggered upstairs to her bedroom. She undressed and brushed her teeth, then fell into bed. The sheets and pillows smelled of Victor, but she was too drunk to care. Her eyes closed and she drifted into sleep.

Almost at once, she was woken by the loudest snoring she had ever heard. She balled her hand into a fist, as she used to do most nights, and thumped Victor, hard. But her hand just thudded into the empty mattress on Victor’s side of the bed.

The snoring continued. It was getting louder. Louder still.

Suddenly, she was terrified. She snapped on the light.

Nothing. Silence.

She must have dreamed it, she thought, turning off the light again.

Instantly, she heard the snoring again.

She snapped the light back on and the snoring stopped. For some minutes she lay still, her heart pounding. ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘I get the message! I’m going to my nice, newly decorated room. You can snore your sodding heart out!’

Wrapping the entire duvet around herself, she padded out of the bedroom. She slammed the door behind her, went across the landing into the little spare room, and slammed that door behind her too. The window was still wide open so she closed it, then she shut the new blind.

She switched off the bedside light.

‘So thoughtful of you, Victor, to go to such trouble with this room,’ she murmured as she snuggled down.

There was a faint smell of almonds. It was a nice smell, she thought. Much nicer than the smell of Victor.

Slowly, steadily, she drifted into sleep. A very deep sleep.

Bit by bit by bit.

Short, sharp shots of entertainment

As fast and furious as an action film. As thrilling as a theme park ride. Quick Reads are short sharp shots of entertainment – brilliantly written books by bestselling authors and celebrities. Whether you're an avid reader who wants a quick fix or haven't picked up a book since school, sit back, relax and let Quick Reads inspire you.

We would like to thank all our partners in the Quick Reads project for their help and support:

Arts Council England

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