‘Yes,’ she says, and hunches a little more.

‘What happened?’

‘The crockery. Someone broke in. Robbed me, hit me, pushed me down, and took the box.’

‘Oh shit,’ I mumble, because I can’t think of anything else to say. I sit next to her, and look closely. I know that cuts to the head bleed profusely, and this one is not doing that. Perhaps that’s a bad sign.

‘Have you rung an ambulance? The police?’

‘I don’t need an ambulance. I’m just shaken up. The cut isn’t that bad.’ She stops, and swallows. ‘He just came straight in, out of the garden, through the doors. I was unpacking the box, and he walked right at me, and hit me. I didn’t know what was happening. He picked up the box, I tried to grab him, and he shoved me away, and I fell. He walked straight back out, and he was gone. The whole thing only took couple of minutes. He was so strong. I’d only just got the box from the post office. It’d been sent on the wrong mail run. How would he know that I had it?’

While she babbles, the blood begins to stream down her face, bright red.

‘You’re bleeding.’ I have mastered the obvious. I look for something to put on the cut, see nothing, so direct her hand to the wound.

‘Push down.’

She does. I jump to my feet and run back to the kitchen. I grab a roll of paper towel, and return quick as. There is blood seeping through her fingers on top of her head. I rip off sheets of paper towel, move her hand, and push down on the cut. I put her hand on the cut, lean her back on the couch, pull out my phone, and dial 000. After I’ve explained I need an ambulance, that there has been an assault and robbery, and supply an address, I go back the kitchen, find a bowl, and half-fill it with warm water, and then return to Elaine. She is pale. The paper under her hand is blood-soaked. I remove the bloodied towels, and try to sponge the area. Her hair is caked, but the cut is a white gash between the follicles — only white for as long as I can swab it. I put fresh towels down, and ask her can she hold them. She says, ‘Yes,’ but weakly, and I wonder how long it will take for the ambulance to arrive. Sometimes, out here, it can take more than an hour and a half.

‘Are you hurt anywhere else?’

‘Not badly. Bruised, I guess. Sorry you had to see this. Supposed to be here for a drink.’

‘Did you see his face?’ I only ask to keep her distracted and awake.

‘Balaclava over his head.’

‘Was he wearing anything notable?’

‘Black jeans, and jumper.’