“I’m here all week folks – try the veal!”

Jon bowed out to a tired badum-tish! from the cruise liner band, and walked out of the spotlight. He strolled across the show deck, down the stairs, and through the swing doors into the kitchens – closed after a busy evening’s cooking.

Stripping off his dinner jacket and shirt he slipped his belt around his upper arm, injected the anaesthetic and sighed gently as sensation disappeared down his left side. Picking up the carving knife, he slowly, methodically carved away above his elbow – cutting through the surface skin and the fatty layers, into the bright red muscle below – blood spurting out across the work surface. He wrapped his arm tightly in a cloth, and, having trimmed and shaped his steaks, moved them onto the shelf in the meat fridge.

Replacing the knife, and washing the sides clean of blood, he moved away to the outer doors. He slipped out onto deck and climbed over the rail, falling quickly and silently into the surf far below.