"Hi, mum."

It was the simplest of all the potential greetings I could utter. I did think about sliding in gently and giving her a little time before telling her who I was. That would mean an awkward conversation where I'd have nothing to say and too long to say it. I wasn't here to make things easy for her. Nor difficult. Her mood had no bearing on our reunion, so I bypassed any redundant pleasantries.

"Joshua."

My mother didn't appear surprised or shocked. There was little, if any, reaction at all. She simply stepped back, as if she'd only seen me a few days before, and gave me space to enter. I entered.

The house was small, but was much tidier than where I'd grown up. Though my mother seemed to not bother much with herself, she clearly did take care of her home.

"Sit down," she said, indicating the sofa. "Wanna cuppa?"

"Coffee please. Milk and one," I said, sitting. I didn't particularly want anything to drink, but accepting one would give me the chance to weigh up her house and the woman herself.

She left me alone and I heard the kettle boiling and the clinking of cups. She returned only a couple of minutes later with two mugs, one of which she handed to me.

"Thanks," I said.

She sat in an armchair to my right and stared into her cup. We stayed like that, both silent, for about five minutes. I had nothing to say to her and I didn't think she knew what to say to me, not that there was anything I wanted to hear.

"What do you want?"

"I thought it was about time I tracked you down."

"Why?"

I couldn't really tell her why, though I would have liked to. I didn't think she'd appreciate it. I did need to placate her, though.

"It's been a long time. I thought we should meet at least once in our lives."

"Why?"

"Because you're my mother."

"And?"

"And you were shit at it."

I hadn't planned on getting angry with her, or raising any issues I might have. My visit was for other reasons and it didn't matter how good or bad she'd been. Not really. I wasn't going to kill her because she'd not been bothered with me. I was doing it because I thought, being my mother, she should have a part in my grand design. I was allowing her to pay recompense for her past mistakes.

"Well, you weren't the best son, either."

"I was six."

"Age isn't an excuse. You were always messing up and pissing off your dad. Then I'd take the brunt of it."

I thought back. Was she right? Was I a brat who caused their father to lose his temper? No, was I hell? I was a child who was scared of his parents. Too afraid to do anything but the right thing.

"I was a kid, and I was in the way."

"Yeah," she sneered. "You were."

"So don't blame me for you marrying a bastard."

"He wasn't one. Not at first, anyway."

"Well, he definitely was at the end, and you joined in."

It wasn't going as expected. Expected would have been her being thankful to see the boy she'd abandoned. It would be a hug. Apologies. This worked too, though. She'd die letting me know she had no remorse for her actions, or lack thereof.

"At the end? Oh, that was all you, Joshua."

"It's Josh."

"Joshua, you were the one who threw your dad down the stairs."

"I was defending myself!"

"So?"

I stopped talking. The interaction was going to get heated and that could have caused me problems.

I changed the subject."

"You still with Uncle Ben?"

My mother laughed, then left the question hanging while she took a sip of her drink.

"No, I'm not. He was a waste of space. I kicked him out not long after you left."

"So who is it now?"

"You don't know him. He's a good bloke. Works hard."

I pointed to her face.

"And plays hard?"

"None of your business. Just 'cos I gave birth to you, doesn't mean you've got any right to say anything to me. At least I'm not a murderer."

"Nor am I. And, I seem to recall you got rid of him."

"I had to. I didn't want you to go to prison."

"You didn't want you to go to prison, if they found out how you treated your son."

"Finish your drink and go."

I didn't want to start, let alone finish the drink. There'd be DNA. I wanted to finish her. I hoped there'd be another man in her life. Someone who would have taken the place of my father and contributed to her forgetting she had a son. It appeared that wasn't to be. There was still a little time, though. I'd go find someone else and then come back to sort her out. As long as it was done by midnight, there wouldn't be a problem.

"Can I use your toilet?"

"Whatever. Top of the stairs, second on left."

I stood and set my cup down on the coffee table.

"Don't go into the first room, please. And piss quietly."

"OK..."

"You'll wake him."

"Who?"

"Doesn't matter. Just don't."

I went up the stairs quietly. Someone was clearly up there, so I didn't necessarily have to change things. If they were asleep, the day would have just become much simpler.

I took the second door, thinking that I'd deal with my bladder first, then concentrate on the kills.

"What the fuck? I told you to let me piss in... Who the fuck are you?"

The man was roughly the same build as me, but had a good twenty years to throw at my age. He had turned partly around and, when he saw me, he tucked himself back into his boxers, the only article of clothing on him. His arms were a mess of tattoos. Randomly placed, badly drawn ones that should have been art but looked more like a child's drawing. Maybe a six year old's.

"Get the fuck out of..."

He didn't finish his sentence. I stepped forward, grabbed the back of his head, just above his neck line, and brought it down hard against the limescale rimmed basin. He didn't have time to react or tense his body. Before he realised what was happening, it had already happened. He dropped to his knees, his nose crushed against his face, and uttered some words I couldn't quite make out. My hand was still on the back of his head, so I gripped his hair, pulled his head back and slammed it into the porcelain sink. Three times.

By the third, he was no longer muttering.