Dan took the mattock and the chain saw. He mutilated the roses; Sadie had lavished so much love on them. Then the perennials, destroying the hours of affection she had given them. He chopped everything up and piled the whole lot in the middle of the immaculate lawn before dousing it with paraffin. Whoosh, a single match filled the suburban air with burning fuel and flaming vegetation. His phone buzzed: neighbours complaining, sirens wailing, fire appliances, police, even a helicopter. Someone made him a cup of tea ‘It can’t get worse’. It did when Sadie got home.