When the nurse came over and said that they could see the patient, Shona asked Sharif if she could see him alone.

Ricky-Rashid was lying wired to a heart monitor, and with a drip standing to attention by his side. Now he knew that he was unlikely to die he was slightly embarrassed to have Shona called to his bedside. What did he think he would do - confess his sins and ask her for absolution? Expect her to confess her own? Tell her to look after her mother? To look out for Verity and Candida? It all seemed stupidly melodramatic now that he was placid and rather bored and simply waiting to get better. Still, when she walked in, he couldn’t help feeling cheered to see her, especially without the Pakistani. She was wearing the same clothes from earlier that afternoon.

‘Papa, you had us all so worried,’ she said, going to him and kissing him on the cheek. She sat down beside him and held his hand. ‘I was so relieved when they said you were stable. There was a name mix-up, so it took a little while to find you.’

‘I’m so pleased you could come, Jaan,’ Ricky-Rashid said, a little insincerely, squeezing her hand with the modest amount of energy he could muster. ‘I’m sorry about the mix-up - there’s someone else here with a similar name, and I think they’ve put me under that instead. Trueman-Karim or some such.’

Shona nodded, and cleared her throat before saying, ‘Yes, I met Mrs Trueman-Karim outside, and her daughter.’ Ricky-Rashid looked up quickly, and Shona held his gaze for a little too long to be discreet. ‘She seemed very upset about her husband; he’s Bengali, too.’