It was Sunday when it happened. At 6.30 am my life seemed to implode.

He stood on the doorstep, a sly smile lurking on his lips. ‘Hi Diane.’ Rain pelted down onto his parka.

I sagged against the door jamb. He reached out as if in support. ‘Don’t touch me!’ My voice, low and fearful, seemed to echo around my brain.

‘Aren’t you going to ask me in?’ I shook my head. He grinned. ‘What about the neighbours?’ I looked around but it was too early. All curtains were drawn shut.

‘I thought you were dead,’ I said, standing aside, trying to gather my thoughts.

‘Ghosts don’t get wet.’ He walked past me, heading straight for the kitchen.

I followed Sam and watched him assessing the state of the place. ‘Neat and tidy as usual,’ he commented. ‘Did you get counselling for your Obsessive Behaviour problem?’ I didn’t answer. He grinned again.

I stood with my back against the sink while Sam took off his parka and draped it over a radiator. There it dripped tiny drips onto the floor, but I quelled an urge to take out the mop. ‘What do you want?’ I asked as he settled himself down on a chair.

‘Money,’ came the blunt reply. When I remained silent, he went on, ‘Accident, they said, after that floater turned up wearing my clothes.’ I clenched my fists, letting my nails dig into the palms of my hands. ‘Of course, after you pushed me off the cliff, you must’ve expected my body to turn up sometime.’

‘It did, three weeks later,’ I said, my voice hoarse.

‘Ah, but it wasn’t my body, Diane.’ He stood up, held out his arms. ‘Look, it’s me!’ Then sat down again. ‘Lucky the tide was high. I got carried around the headland and managed to scramble up onto the beach.’ He cocked an eyebrow at me. ‘Where’s that tea? Remember, four teaspoons of sugar. No milk. A good slug of whiskey.’ I turned and put the kettle on and as I went through the familiar motions, he explained in a loud voice as he wandered out into the hall and into the sitting-room, ‘So I thought, if they find a body wearing my clothes, then you’d get a pay out from the insurance.’

I put a mug of tea down on the table top when he returned to sit down. ‘You were taking a risk,’ I said. ‘Dental records could’ve given you away.’

‘But the poor bloated face was mangled. Remember the inquest? A boat’s propeller they assumed?’ I nodded, appalled. ‘I got this homeless guy drunk. Made a mess of his face. Nicked a car. Drove to the very same spot you shoved me off. The sea and fish did the rest.’

‘Any cake?’ I shook my head. He slurped greedily at his drink and said, ‘Make me a bacon sarnie. You’re a dab hand at that.’

Like the bad, old times, I did as I was told. Then, just as I was about to serve it up to him, Sam keeled over into a heap onto the floor. Later, after I severed his limbs and head from his torso, I put all his remains into an old freezer out in the garden shed. Then I came in and scrubbed the kitchen down first with pure bleach and then with hot soapy water.