Howard was shaving when there was a knock on his door. He didn't have much to shave, only a few wispy hairs. He hated the fact that he was seventeen and yet couldn't grow a beard. That's why shaving was important to him. It helped him believe, if only for a few precious seconds, that he was manly.

He put the razor down when the knocking persisted. His stomach growled and he regretted leaving the breakfast bar before he could eat his full English.

"Go away!" he spat at the door. "I don't want to talk to you, ma." He'd decided that he hated his grandmother and that seeing her face again would result in a world catastrophe. He still smelled of tea even though he'd showered and shampooed twice.

There was a faint blubbering cry. It didn't sound like Carabella at all. He checked his reflection for any traces of shaving cream and, satisfied at having washed it all off, went to open the door.

A crying mess awaited him.

"Eleanor?" he asked, astonished at the woman on the doorstep. Her face was red and a trickle of blood ran down her cheek. Her hair was mussed, her breathing hurried, and she was sobbing uncontrollably. Not to mention the cascade of bright red blood on her clothes.

"Eleanor!" Howard said again in horror. "What happened?"

Eleanor replied in incoherent mumbles. He pushed the door wider to let her through. She looked wildly around the room and, after taking in the tiny size of it, sat on the bed and wiped her eyes to look at him.

"Will," was all she croaked.

Howard closed the door gently lest Carabella heard the commotion before turning round to face her. "What about Will?"

She shook her head, unable to form another sentence.

"Long story," she said eventually. "You're the only person I trust."

"Why me? Why not go to my grandma for this?"

Eleanor shook her head again. He liked the way her hair fell around her shoulders but then decided that wasn't important right now.

"Your grandma hates me," said Eleanor. "So does Will. You're the only one who can give me a chance." She glanced at him in alarm. "Give me a chance."

He settled himself down on the bed next to her. "Do you want a chance?"

Elle nodded furiously.

"Start from the beginning," he told her.

Eleanor nodded again and took in a deep breath, readying herself for a long tale.

"I think I killed my dad," she started.

"I know that," said Howard with a smile.

Eleanor gave him a quizzical look but continued. "I remember killing him, I mean. I remember pulling out a knife and just stabbing him with it. That memory is so clear in my mind it's almost unsettling how real it is."

She paused, waiting for Howard's reaction but there was nothing. "But everything else... all the other memories surrounding that one are just... blurry and hazy. I don't understand. I can't remember anything." She drew a hand to her head in panic. "I can't remember any other details apart from that crystal clear memory. There's something fundamentally wrong with that, isn't there? That's not how memory works – I should remember everything."

"Maybe the trauma's made you forget some parts."

"No, no. That's not it. I can see it but it's blurry. And that's not all, there's more."

She searched Howard's face. He nodded for her to keep going.

"I think I'm going mad. The same thing happened with finding dad's body underneath the floorboards."

Howard's stomach twisted but he didn't say anything.

"I found a piece of cloth in there too, one from my funeral dress. But it'd been torn out neatly, almost like it'd been cut precisely with scissors. And again, I have no recollection of putting his body there, but all the evidence was pointing to me."

Howard smoothed down the sheets, thinking.

"You think you've been staged?"

Silently, Eleanor nodded. "I questioned my sanity, my mind, my memory. But it was what happened just now that was the final straw."

Howard gestured to her bloody clothes. "The thing that caused this?"

Another nod.

"Will attacked me. I told him I thought I was a cold-blooded murderer, which I might be, and he...He got mad. No, not mad." She shook her head, looking for the right word. "He was livid. He tried to strangle me; I thought that was it." She raised a hand to her throat at the memory. "I couldn't breathe."

"He attacked you because he killed your dad," said Howard. "That's understandable. I mean, it could be seen as an attack of passion."

"Yes," replied Eleanor, casting her eyes to the floor. "But it doesn't add up. Will hated my dad. If it were a crime of passion or something revengeful, he'd be attacking me because he hated me for killing dad, which he didn't. You see?"

Howard chewed his lip. "It's too theoretical."

Eleanor gripped his arm which made him jump slightly. "Howard, there's more. There's more."

He glanced at her nails. They were short and stubby as though she'd spent a lifetime picking away at them in worry.

"He kept ranting about how I would never understand the pain dad had made him go through," Eleanor explained hurriedly. "All the while he had a hand on my throat, he was telling me how now it was his turn to make me suffer." She shook her head in disbelief. "It's like he was jealous."

Howard cast his mind back to his meeting with Will the night before. Christ, she's so lucky, he'd said. She was someone who could breeze past all the pain. And this pain, Howard remembered Will telling Carabella, was what made him take the drugs.

"It would make sense," he said slowly.

Eleanor nodded in approval. "But that's not the last thing he said."

"Will? What did he say?"

Eleanor sucked in a deep breath and a hair that was stuck to her mouth vibrated. "He said "I'm going to kill you..."" She struggled with the words.

"I'm going to kill you what?"

""Like I killed dad.""

Howard, like Eleanor, took in a deep breath. He needed to think straight, take it all in.

"You have to believe me," Eleanor said in one breath. "Howard, you're—"

"How do I know I can trust you?" he interrupted. "It's your word against his."

She recoiled. "What? You've spoken to him?"

He nodded. "Last night."

Then, in a rush, he told her all that he found out the night before. And just as he'd done, Eleanor sat patiently for him to finish. At the mention of Carabella being Jonathan's lover she flinched.

"He said he saw you carrying a white bundle up to the house," Howard finished nervously. He scrutinised her face for a reaction, anything to give away her intentions. He pondered on the thought that if she was the killer, he would be dead in an instant. Suddenly he regretted letting her into the room in the first place. The hotel was the perfect scene – no one would hear him scream. Well, maybe Carabella would, but he knew she wouldn't care.

But Eleanor's face didn't change. She was calm, serene, interested even. Howard wasn't sure if that should unnerve him even more.

"Did he?" Eleanor said quietly.

Howard nodded a little quickly. Another beat of silence. This is it, he thought. If she's going to blow then it's going to be now.

But Eleanor didn't jump on him, didn't pull out a bloody knife like he was expecting. She remained on his hotel bed, staring into space, contemplating what he'd said.

"Interesting," she mused. "Because I don't remember doing that." She fidgeted with her hands. Howard watched her nervously. "If what Will says is true, why didn't he stop me?"

Howard shrugged.

Eleanor turned to him. "You honestly don't believe him, do you?"

Again, he shrugged, biting his lip. He was acutely aware of a pulse at his neck.

Eleanor sighed. Just then, there was a knock at the door.

"Howard!" he heard his grandmother call. "Come down for lunch!"

Howard was starving. He hadn't eaten anything all day because of the spat this morning with the tea. He wondered what Carabella had done with his full English. Knowing her, she would have eaten two meals herself. Maybe she'd sipped on his sugar-laced tea too.

"Who's that?" Eleanor asked nervously.

"My grandma."

"Aren't you going to let her in?"

"No. She threw tea on me this morning."

At this, Eleanor raised an eyebrow but Howard didn't divulge any more details.

"You said she hated you anyway," he added with a shrug.

Despite his nonchalant tone, Howard felt uneasy. If Eleanor was, in fact, her dad's killer, there was every possibility that she would turn on him. If that happened, wouldn't it be a good idea to have Carabella around? With an air of uncertainty, Howard reached forward to pull open the door but was stopped by Eleanor.

"Wait!" she said quickly.

He turned around. "Yes?"

"Before you let her in..." Eleanor began patting her pockets for something. Then she pulled out her phone. "Here's my phone number." She scrolled down for her contact. "In case you change your mind."

Howard followed suit and added 'Eleanor Coyle' as a new contact but he didn't expect to be calling her anytime soon.

When that was done, he turned his attention back to the door. The knocking had become louder, more rapid. He yanked it open.

"Yes?" he asked politely.

Carabella hadn't changed clothes – she was still wearing the same floral top and beige slacks from this morning. But then again, Howard remembered, she hadn't had hot blackened tea thrown at her.

"Lunch," Carabella said briskly. "Now. Downstairs. Oo, fresh chin, Howdy. You've got a little bit of shaving cream just there—"

Howard dodged her swipe for his face. In doing so, Carabella's eyes peered behind him into the hotel room.

"Who's that?" she snapped sharply.

Howard straightened, patting his jaw to find, as promised, a smudge of shaving cream. He wiped it off in annoyance.

"Who's who?"

Carabella stood up on her toes. "There's someone with you."

"Huh?"

"Howard, are you sleeping with someone?" Carabella shoved herself past him into the room. "Because if you are, I have every right to inform y—"

She stopped dead in her tracks. Howard suddenly had a very, very bad feeling.

I'm taking revenge on Eleanor, he now remembered her saying. This was it. This was the revenge she meant.

Before he could turn around and assess the situation, he heard a grunt and a muffled cry. He whirled around, horrified by what he saw.

Carabella had launched herself at Eleanor and, in one quick heave, had the younger woman pinned onto the bed. Both struggled under the grasp of the other. Eleanor managed to ram an elbow into Carabella's face, which caused her to jolt backwards but she still didn't loosen her hold on the blonde-haired girl who writhed frantically.

"Stop," Howard said weakly, looking around blindly for something that could separate them. But he was too quiet and they were too invested in tearing out each other's throats.

Think, Howard, think!

But he could see nothing. There was only one option left; get involved himself.

He gripped his grandmother's large frame and yanked hard. Then, without thinking, he wrapped a leg around hers and toppled her to the side. They fell off the bed and he grappled to keep her on the floor.

"Howard!" Carabella shrieked. "She's getting away!"

Howard saw what she meant. Eleanor had used their scuffle to her advantage, grabbed her jacket and was out of the door in a matter of seconds, a blur of blonde hair and crusty blood and dishevelled clothes. As soon as she was gone, Howard sank to the floor and released his grip on his grandmother. They both lay there, breathing heavily.

"You let her get away," Carabella snapped. "I almost had her!"

Howard glanced over. "You mean you almost had her dead."

"So what? I told you I was going for revenge."

"Not on my watch," Howard replied matter-of-factly. Then he stood up, adjusted his clothes, and reached for his jacket and wallet. He peered inside; a twenty-pound note which would do nicely for a sandwich and something to drink.

"Where are you going?" came her accusatory tone from behind him.

"Lunch," he said lightly. And then he stepped over her legs, swept out of the hotel room, through the double door exit of the Premier Inn, and into the afternoon sunshine.