I didn’t say anything, of course, but I thought she’d completely lost her marbles.
That night I was sitting with Norman watching TV. It was his favourite programme (you know the one... that BBC sitcom about the Muslim councillor from Birmingham). He was howling with laughter, but for some reason I just couldn’t see the funny side. I felt awful guilty, but I couldn’t help thinking about how I’d be if Norman died. Worse than that, I found myself thinking about killing him. It sounds silly and wrong when I say it out loud like that, but I sat there on the sofa watching him watching telly, and I tried to work out how I could kill him and not get caught.
I remembered watching an old black and white horror programme when I was a little girl. I don’t remember all the ins and outs of the story,
