This one is in no way influenced by the sheer authorial joy brought on by the fact that, in a mere 21 days, I will be in the same room as Anthony Horowitz. OH YES.
‘Sleeping in again, are we?’ she called upstairs cheerfully.
There was no reply.
‘Your breakfast’s on the table!’
There were footsteps on the stairs, loud and creaky. A face appeared in the doorway, pale and drawn. Blood was pooling on the floor.
The kitchen knife hadn’t been enough, she realised.
Tomorrow I’m in Perth with nine hundred and ninety nine other women, doing some inspiring politics. I fully expect tomorrow’s short to be something topical.