See Martha Horrocks, from number seventy, was burgled last night.'  Carl Howard lowered his Sunday newspaper, glanced over the top of it at his wife.
            ‘Nosey old biddy deserves it.'  Deeply involved in her favourite soap Maria answered irritably, without looking up.
            ‘That's the eighth house this month, five of them only a few hundred yards from us.  Maybe we should get a better alarm system fitted?'  He waited for a reaction, got none, so returned to his paper.
            Maria waited for the commercial break, then, ‘When are we going on holiday?'
            Carl lowered the paper again.  ‘You said you didn't want one this year.  When I suggested we might go to Greece, you said you didn't want to miss any episodes of Carter's Kingdom.  Anyway, we can't really afford one.  Maybe if you stopped spending so much on clothes-'
            ‘Why,' Maria snapped, interrupting him before he could get into the clothes thing again, ‘can't we take our holidays in July?'  She paused, stared at the television for a moment, before adding, ‘Carter's Kingdom ends in June.'
            ‘It's only a soap, for God's sake!'  As the words came out Carl winced and wished he'd kept his mouth shut.
            Maria gave him a scathing glance.  ‘You just don't care, do you!  You have no idea what it's like, being stuck in this damn house day after bloody boring day.  But then you,' she sneered, ‘you're too busy ogling dolly-bird secretaries or "Doing lunch" with your so-called clients.  Then you come home and cry about the hard day you've had!'  The last was spat at him as, white faced and full of her own personal brand of self-pitying indignation she turned back to the TV.
            ‘We've had this argument before,' Carl folded his paper neatly.  ‘You know I take my holidays according to the office roster and my turn, this year, is marked down for May.'  He leaned forward, forcing a smile, trying hard to avoid a full-blown argument.  ‘Anyway, with all these robberies I think we'd be taking too much of a chance.  The house could be stripped while we were away.'  He frowned.  ‘They could even come while we are at home.  Martha Horrocks almost walked in on them.  God knows what might have happened if she had.'
            ‘I don't give a toss about Martha Horrocks, or her stupid burglar!  I am not taking my holiday, in May!'
            Again, he attempted to steer the conversation toward safer channels.  ‘Well I am worried.  We definitely need to have some form of protection.  Maybe I should-' He broke off.  It was no use.  Maria had blanked him out.  He made a mental note to try and get someone to swop holiday dates.  Anything for peace and quiet.
            Maria held her sulk right through the day and night.  She was still sulking the following morning when he brought her breakfast up to the bedroom and attempted to kiss her goodbye.  As he leaned over her she turned away, jerking the sheet over her head.
 
            That evening, nothing had changed.
            ‘You're late!'  Maria snapped.  She was obviously determined to keep the argument going, make him suffer.
            ‘I stopped to pick this up.'  He took an oblong box from his briefcase.  ‘I'm worried about these burglaries and you being alone during the day.  So I bought us some protection.'  Carl opened the box and eased the gun from its moulded, polystyrene packaging.  ‘The man at the shop said it's simple to use.  You just aim, pull the trigger and-'
            ‘Put it away!  I'm not interested!'  Maria pointed the remote at the TV and turned the sound up.
            ‘But it will-'
            She increased the volume, sulkily plumped cushions and assumed her distinctive not speaking posture.
            Carl sighed and put the gun back in its box.  No point trying to reason with her when she was in one of her moods.  He placed the box carefully on top of the glass-fronted bookcase then made his way slowly upstairs to shower and change.
            Maria, fresh waves of bitterness fuelling the anger that had been growing inside her for weeks, wallowed in self-pity.  He had no idea what she was going through, how hard it was for her.  She glared at the screen, vision blurred by tears.  Carter's Kingdom was on.  Normally she would be perched on the edge of the couch, following the plethora of intricately woven story lines, empathising with each character to such a degree that she would sometimes cry along with them.  Today, though, she could only feel jealousy, hatred even, toward the soap's cast as they chatted and laughed and sipped champagne in their fairy tale world of diamonds and limousines. 
            ‘Is there anything to eat?'  Carl, comfortable now in slacks and sweater, put the question as he came back into the room.  He didn't really expect a reply, and did not get one.  He went through to the kitchen - breakfast dishes were still piled in the sink.  He knew he was encouraging Maria's laziness, but could not stop himself tidying up before making himself a sandwich.  Then he returned to the arena, made one last attempt to break his wife's grim-faced silence ... failed ... so gave up and went to bed.
 
            Carl was gone when Maria climbed from her bed and hurried down to watch the mid-morning episode of Carter's Kingdom.  Sable Carter had been about to poison herself and Carla wanted to see if she'd had the courage to carry the deed through.  She was just in time; Sable's corpse, beautiful features serene and at peace - regardless of the fact that she had used cyanide - was surrounded by weeping friends, ex-lovers and husbands.  The camera closed in on her current husband; he had, apparently, aged twenty years overnight, every accentuated line of his pained face showing the agonies he was going through.
            Maria had no sympathy for him.  She had always felt that Sable was wasting her beauty and wealth on the devious oilman.  Serve him right that he was now forced to come to terms with his own guilt.  Maria's gaze swung to the bookcase.  The box was still there.  She looked away, tried to stop the idea blossoming in her brain.  Serve him right, though, she thought as, losing herself to a parallel version of the soap's plot she hovered above her own lifeless body, watching Carl go to pieces, enjoying his torment when he comes in to find her...
            Maria was frightened, yet morbidly fascinated by the growing scenario her mind was conjuring up.  As evening drew nearer she embroidered on the fantasy, picturing her spirit watching over Carl as he made futile attempts to cope with his terrible loss, staying with him until he eventually-
            She shook her head and tried to push the images from her brain.  Anyway, it would probably hurt - especially if the bullet struck bone or, worse, did not prove fatal.  She shivered and quickly returned her attentions to the television.  Sable's illegitimate son had arrived to claim a share of her wealth and his half brothers and sisters were scheming to discredit him.  Maria became so engrossed she actually jumped when the telephone rang.
            ‘Hello, darling?'  Carl didn't wait for an answer.  ‘Listen, I have some great news.  That promotion I've been after ... it's mine!  The boss told me this afternoon.'  He paused, then, ‘Maria?  You there?'  He waited a few more seconds, then said quickly, ‘Look, I have to go.  Mister Amos is taking me for a celebratory drink.  Probably be a shade late getting home ... Love you.'  The last was said softly, hesitantly.  Another long pause, then he hung up.
            She slammed the receiver down angrily.  He was going to celebrate!  He would be home late!  Always him.  She looked at the television.  The soap had finished; he'd made her miss the crucial finale.  Tears filled her eyes.  Slowly, dazedly, she moved back to the couch and sat down.  Once more her gaze went to the bookcase.  Probably wouldn't hurt ... probably be so quick you wouldn't feel a thing.  She sat there for over an hour, thinking back on her life, re-living all the bad times, persuading herself there had been no good ones.
 
            Maria's eyes were so full of tears she had to feel for the box.  It was heavier than she'd expected.  Back on the couch she took out the gun, pointed it at the television and pretended to shoot her own reflection in the screen.  She sat for several minutes, staring into space, her thoughts chaotic until, gradually, the chaos subsided and a pleasant, almost euphoric calm took over her mind.
            Half smile curving thinned lips Maria lifted the gun, turning it around so she could hold it with both hands, thumbs curled around the trigger, muzzle almost touching her forehead.  Still smiling she began to squeeze, easing the trigger back with her thumbs, feeling the slight resistance as internal mechanisms reached their zenith.  Her mind was full of images of her own funeral; of Carl, thin and haggard in his grief throwing himself across her coffin and-
The sudden easing of pressure, the slight jerk as the trigger went all the way back, caught her by surprise.  She hadn't really intended to do it.  All she'd wanted was to act out the part; like Sable in Carter's Kingdom.  But it was done.  It had really happened.  The thoughts were momentary, passing through her mind in the smallest fraction of time imaginable.  She didn't even have the chance to cry out before everything dissolved in a brilliant flash of orange.
 

            Carl ushered his boss through the front door, continuing their conversation as he showed mister Amos into the front room.  ‘I tell you; it's the ideal solution.  Any burglar breaks in here, he gets zapped good style.  You just aim it like a normal gun, pull the trigger, and a thick jet of indelible, orange dye shoots out.'  Carl grinned, ‘Stays on for weeks.  Glows in the dark, as well.  Makes it dead easy for the police to ...' His voice tailed off as Maria turned to face them.