Prim had not always been prim. Oh no, she had once been Primrose, golden girl, pride of the valley, winner of the Minehead beauty contest. But disappointment had made her bitter and the passing years had robbed her of her golden hair and slender figure.

She picked up her wedding photo from the mantelpiece. Taken 20 years ago, it showed a beauty and a geek. Her husband stood awkwardly by her side, tall and gawky with stick-out ears and features too large for his face. People had wondered why she had chosen him from the many men who had paid her court. Now the situation was reversed for the years had been kind to Henry. Instead of aging him they had filled him out, proportioned him and his career had prospered. His only failure was that he had not given her the children for which she had longed.

And she blamed him for that, as she blamed him for every little thing that went wrong in life. God knows she tried to make life perfect, she demanded high standards of herself and others. Over the years she had honed disapproval into a fine art. She disapproved of bad housekeeping, lax manners, frivolity. She even disapproved of sex, especially since her hysterectomy had robbed her of any last chance of children. Of course she was prepared to endure sex out of duty to her husband but, fortunately, he left her alone.

Henry had become so distant of late that she was sure he was having an affair. How could she be certain? She disapproved of private detectives, which was why a newspaper advertisement caught her eye. “Is your partner cheating on you?” Under the headline was a picture of a man going through a brightly-lit doorway. “Get into their heads with nanobots,” said the blurb and went on to give more details and contact information. Prim was not sure whether she approved of nanobots but she picked up a pen and made a note of the number.

When the nanobot system arrived, it was more complex than Prim had realised. It consisted of two disposable syringes and two carefully-packed glass phials containing a gooey, grey liquid. She unpacked the phials and stood them on the kitchen table side by side. One was labelled “receivers” and the other labelled “transmitters”. Prim frowned. The nanobots must be in the liquid. She held a phial up to light but could see nothing.

Prim had been hoping for something she could just sprinkle over Henry’s food. She definitely didn’t approve of having to inject the goo and was angry that the advertisement had not mentioned it. She packed everything roughly back into the box, banging the delicate phials together with enough force to create tiny hairline cracks. Oh dear, Prim should have read the warnings on the instruction leaflet to avoid cross contamination.

Suspicion, like a worm in the bud, gnawed at Prim’s troubled soul until, at last, she decided to go ahead with the project. She loaded the transmitter phial into one of the syringes, waited until Henry was deeply asleep and then injected the liquid into him.

After a week Henry still showed no ill effects and so she injected the receivers into herself.

Slowly, like an ancient analogue television set, plagued with snow and shadow channels, she was able to tune into Henry. She shut her eyes and covered her ears so the transmitted impulses were not overwhelmed by information from the real world. She was inside Henry’s head, seeing what he saw, hearing what he heard and smelling what he smelt.

In this case he was smelling cheap perfume, looking at a pair of plump thighs and dictating a letter to his secretary.

“Cheap tart,” thought Prim, “flashing her legs like that. A proper secretary would never wear a miniskirt to the office.”

The smooth stream of dictation faltered and she heard Henry say “I would rather you didn’t wear a miniskirt to the office, Miss Smith.”

“You never objected before, sir,” said the affronted girl.

“I never really noticed before,” said Henry. “That’s all, you can go now. I’m taking an early lunch.”

Next time Prim tuned in to Henry he was in a pub chatting to a man.

“Honestly,” he was saying, “it was as if I could hear my wife inside my head. I found myself telling the poor girl to wear longer skirts in future.”

“Are you mad?” said the man. “Looking at Miss Smith’s legs is one of the perks of the job.”

“I know,” said Henry. “I don’t understand what came over me.”

“Have another pint,” said the man.

Another pint? Prim was outraged. She had never realised that Henry drank at lunch time.

“There she is again.” Said Henry. “I definitely felt her disapproval. Oh God, I have lived with her for too long. She is getting to me.”

“Divorce her,” said the man.

Henry did not answer. He took out his mobile phone and a few seconds later Prim heard the telephone ring.

“Hello?”

“What’s going on Prim?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“No? Well, I won’t be home till late this evening.”

“Are you working at the office?”

“Of course,” he said and rang off.

Prim was nervous. Somehow Henry had become suspicious. She stayed out of his mind until that evening. Then, of course, she had to find out what he was up to. It was just as she had feared. He was with a woman. She was undressing slowly, revealing expensive matching underwear – he had probably bought it for her.

The woman slipped off her bra and turned round displaying large, slightly sagging breasts with pert, erect nipples. Prim didn’t recognise the woman but she must be at least ten years younger than Henry. “Stupid man – there’s no fool like an old fool – she was probably after his money”.

She became aware of Henry’s feelings. Oh God, how embarrassing, he was becoming excited. He reached out and fondled the woman’s breasts. Yuk, they felt like horrible, stodgy, rice puddings with skin on top. He was pushing them together so they looked like buttocks. Now he had put his mouth to the crack and was blowing so the breasts blubbered together, bumping against his mouth and making his lips tingle.

“Yuk, yuk, yuk,” thought Prim. “If that’s what men did to big breasts thank God hers were small.”

He had stuck his tongue into the crack between her breasts and was thrusting down rhythmically. The woman’s skin felt smooth and tasted slightly salty. Prim was aware of the hardness of the woman’s nipples against his hands. He raised his head and transferred his attention to the left nipple, running his tongue round and round it then engulfing it in his mouth and sucking. The woman moaned with pleasure.

“Bitch, slut, adulteress.” Prim had been trying to control her anger but this was too much.

Immediately upon her outburst her husband’s lust disappeared and was replaced by an anger that matched her own, He pushed away the woman, who fell back onto the bed and lay staring up at him in dismay.

“I’ve got to go,” he said. “I’ve some unfinished business to attend to.”

Prim knew he was coming home and awaited his arrival nervously. Several times she tried to tune into his mind but he was singing a stupid repetitive song  - “Here we go round the mulberry bush.” - over and over again so she could not make out what he was thinking.

She had expected him to use his key and come through the front door but she heard the sound of breaking glass as he came in through a back window. He was wearing thin leather gloves. He had stopped his mindless singing and she was aware his anger had been replaced with a cold resolve that frightened her. She tried to take shelter behind self righteousness.

“How dare you break a window? How dare you be with another woman? How dare you lie to me?”

“What have you done Prim?” he asked.

“Nothing.”

“You have put nanobots into my head, you stupid woman.”

“I had to know if you were being unfaithful Henry. I love you.”

“Love me?” He shook his head. “Oh no Prim, you haven’t loved me for years. We could have divorced – I would have given you anything you wanted, but how am I going to get rid of you now?” She looked at him uncomprehendingly. “How am I going to get rid of the nanobots Prim?”

She shook her head, she had never given it a thought. Slowly he took his tie off and came towards her.

“I am sorry Prim, I never wanted it to end like this.”

“Wait, wait,” she said, desperate to delay him. “Who is the woman?”

“Does it matter?” he said. “It is enough to know that she will give me an alibi.”

His tie was around her throat now, his whole attention focussed upon her as he tightened the noose around her neck. His eyes were just inches from hers and suddenly it was as if she was young again. Primrose, the beauty of the valley, the centre of attention, Primrose who loved the geeky boy who had adored her with such a passion. Now he was going to make the final sacrifice – her – in a deed that would bind them together forever.

She sensed his resolve weaken, felt the noose loosen around her throat and suddenly her bitterness returned. She had wasted her love on an adulterer, wasted her youth on a failed marriage and now he didn’t even have the passion to kill her.

The tie tightened again and, as she lost consciousness, her last thought was to wonder if the sense of triumph she felt was her’s or his.