Afterwards, when Maureen’s body was slumped over the table, Geoff had thought about the cat. For some reason, it was the first thing that had popped into his head. Even before the guilt had begun to wind itself around his insides like ivy.

And now, there it was again: the black cat. It had appeared every morning since she died five days ago, its yellow eyes piercing his soul through the glass. He shivered.