I’m Googling ‘ways to kill your husband.’

Nobody can see me in here, my tiny hideaway. Terence never comes up the garden this far and considers it a wilderness, which is fine by me; the wilder the better.

I might not be serious- or I might be.

Here in my little den I have everything I need. Stool, rescued from the pavement where it was abandoned, cigarettes and lighter, plus the phone of course but I don’t leave that in here. Terence doesn’t know about the cigarettes or the hiding place for that matter.

He’s coming out now. Wait for it…

‘Harriet? Harry? Are you out here?’ I’m shrinking back into the leafy cave but I know he won’t look this far.

‘Harry? Can you come and hold this hardboard a minute? Harriet?’ He’s standing outside the back door and muttering to himself now. ‘Where has she got to?’

He’s gone back inside. I’m scrolling through the search results. There are a lot, Some are listed with advantages and drawbacks.

Poisoning: Advantages: neat, easy, Disadvantages: detectable, traceable to killer.

Shooting: Advantages: quick, conclusive Disadvantages: messy, difficult to acquire gun,

Stabbing: Advantages: no preparation Disadvantages: messy

He’s come back out. ‘Harriet! I can’t find my blue-handled screwdriver. Can you come and look?’ Mutter, mutter and he goes back indoors. I’ve been out here for half an hour so I’ll have one more ciggie and have to go indoors. He’ll ask where I’ve been. I have plenty of answers up my sleeve for that one; next door at Patsy’s [good for explaining lingering cigarette smoke smells], to the shop, to post a letter, to the road to get a phone signal. There’s an endless list.

I look again. Allergies: Advantages: hard to detect Disadvantages: victim needs to be allergic to substance. Does Terence have any dangerous allergies? I can’t recall any.

‘Where were you?’ he asks, when I enter the kitchen.

‘Just popped next door to Patsy’s,’ I tell him and open the fridge, looking for dinner inspiration. Maybe I can use poison mushrooms, like that Australian woman, except that she didn’t get away with it and everyone knows about that method now. I could push him down the stairs except that we live in a bungalow.

Next time I get into my den, it’s raining. But it’s dense and thick in here; even my fags are dry. I’m contemplating sleeping out here. There’s a sleeping bag somewhere in the house. I’m rummaging in the hall cupboard when Terence appears, huffing and puffing.

‘Harriet!’ he squeaks. ‘Where is my new packet of blood pressure tablets? I should have taken one this morning!’

I pause. Even in this dark cupboard, it’s a lightbulb moment. No blood pressure tablets? I turn round. ‘I’ll have a look for them after supper,’ I say…

Novels by Jane Deans [Grace]: The Year of Familiar Strangers and The Conways at Earthsend. Visit my website: janedeans.com