Sometimes, the best humour has a dark, nasty core.

This is one of those times. Narratively, I love the dichotomy of a close, loving family relationship with the acceptance of deeply disturbed, often psychopathic, behaviour. It’s one I use in my fiction on a regular basis, and it’s one I think I’ve captured beautifully well here. I just know that in the final version the room would be spotless, gleaming,and clean: proof that loving Mum has cleaned around the slowly rotting corpse of whomever beloved son has tied to the bed. As psychopathic as the son is revealed to be, the underlying psychosis would be all Mums.

Plus, you know, funny

“We kept your old room jut the way you left it…”