The official line will be as simple as this: John has disappeared (probably for a younger man). That's what I will tell the police when they come snooping around. I will explain that he has a history of mental illness and sudden disappearances. That not only did the exact same thing happen only a few months ago but he also fled from the psychiatric hospital. I will tell them he has been having an affair with Brian and play them the drunken message that he left on my answer phone. I'll say that they'll more than likely find him in one of the city's nuthouses, feigning spinal injuries and procuring bed baths from young male nurses. I'll explain that relations between us had fallen to such a low, that last month John even took photos of me dumping rubbish in the local canal and shopped me to the council. I'll remind them of the caution I received on the 20th of September for bolting John in the apartment. I'll say I done that because he kept threatening to leave, again. I'll admit that. It'll look good. I'll say that soon after I left the lock off he took his chance and bolted. If they ask why I never reported his disappearance, I'll remind them that I never reported it last time either. And, it's not a disappearance, but a relationship breakdown – that when a partner storms out like that, then doesn't make contact, it's not a matter for the police. If that were the case they'd be doing nothing else but searching out estranged lovers. If, after that, they continue to persist, I'll play my trump card: anal sex. I'll use their questions as a springboard to go into lurid detail about our sexual problems and speculate that maybe because I'm not so much into ringing and fisting that it caused huge frustrations within John and even bigger ruptures in the relationship. I'll say that by the end it was all hard-ons and unplugged holes. That should work a treat. The Metropolitan police are great at rape, grisly murders, abduction, torture, gangland killings and mutilation, but they just don't have the stomach for gay sex. It will be: Case closed – Homosexual feud.

This afternoon I scrubbed the carpet but it was useless. The blood was too thick in the pile and had dried and gone hard and brittle. So, I cut the square of carpet out and pushed the green armchair over the hole. Just to confuse any investigations that do proceed I also cut a square out behind the canape and also three in the bedroom. Now it looks like random insanity.

My big problem is the wheelchair. At the moment it sits here as a damning piece of evidence. To say that John got up and walked out, even if that is not too far from what could have happened, seems highly unbelievable. That would also contradict my alibi. If John was really able to walk, why didn't he unbolt the door and leave months ago? I think I should not mention the walking part at all??? Whatever, the wheelchair needs to go, and before John's disappearance is reported. So, my idea is this: one of these next evening, preferably when raining, I dress up as John, ride the wheelchair out of town and dump it somewhere where it will not be found. On the evening I ride out, I will make sure at least one of the heavyweight neighbours sees me. That will go down as the last sighting of John and will coincide with my testimony that he left on that night at that time. Genius! Covering up a crime is just a matter of problem solving. I could put this on my CV.


  1. But what will you do with the carpet square?

    Otherwise, you seem curiously prepared for this. I should hope you haven't been in any like shenanagins.

  2. @ Abigail: Well unfortunately there's not enough nuimbers in the world to make a list of that... lets just hope it goes right. X

    @ Simon: Burn then... Give them to the Bum who sleeps outside Morrison's... Chuck them in the river... in the back of a garbage truck??? basically anything that can be burnt is never a problem. I learnt that from one of Cartlands more sinister types.

    No, I'm not prepared. You'll see, it was all bad luck and even worse decisions, but it's happened and now I must think logically do things don't get any worse. To sit here amongst all that would be insanity... I may as well just go and hand myself in now. No, John took my life when he was alive, there's no way I'll let him do even worse dead. It was him who attacked me... it was my birthday... he wanted to kill me. The first blow was an accident and the other four pure adrenalin. But it was never planned... well not like that. yes, i'd scribbled out little plans, but they weren't serious, just something I done annoyed one day. And they certainly didn't involve Flamingo flowers and window boxes! I just want to live... is that so wrong? X


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