Marcel immediately went to Xander’s aid. I heard them speaking in French – Xander through gritted teeth – about him being OK apart from his leg, as I knelt next to Innocent and pulled myself together to help him. In the aftermath of Mark’s death Mum had made us all do a first-aid course. It wouldn’t have saved him, of course, but I think in her paranoia – what if I got hurt too? – she wanted to take every possible step to equip us all to help each other any time the situation demanded it. In the shock of the moment I struggled to remember the detail of what to do, but I knew deep down that I knew, if that makes sense, and a sort of autopilot quickly kicked in.

‘OK, Innocent,’ I said, my voice as matter-of-fact as I could manage, ‘let’s have a look at this cut then.’

He was still on his haunches, fingers pressed against his neck, the blood flowing through them a shockingly bright red. He’d begun to shiver.

Patience was whimpering next to her father. I put a hand on her shoulder, but couldn’t ease her away.

‘Here.’ Amelia was at my side, rooting through her pack. She pulled out a spare shirt she’d brought and handed it to me.

‘It wasn’t Spenser’s fault,’ Innocent mumbled. ‘Just defending his family. He got me though. Bad scratch.’

‘You’ll be fine,’ I said, trying to keep my voice steady, since the quantity of blood seeping between his fingers was truly alarming. ‘We just need to get some proper pressure on this cut, to stop it bleeding, eh. Let’s use this.’ I’d folded Amelia’s shirt into a pad and showed it to Innocent before easing his fingers away. The wound, a vicious, crimson cut at the base of his throat, ten centimetres long at least, was only briefly visible before it flooded with blood. I covered it instantly with the pad, grabbed Innocent’s hand and pressed on the cut with him, very hard indeed.

‘My God!’ Amelia said.

‘It’s OK, it’s OK,’ I muttered, fighting the panic flooding my own stomach.

Innocent’s shivering had become shuddering. He was going into shock. I didn’t know whether to keep him upright, with the wound above his heart, or roll him onto his side into the recovery position. My first-aid course felt laughable now. I looked up for help and saw Marcel scrabbling frantically at the medical kit he’d brought. I was startled to see that his eyes were awash with tears. He found a roll of crepe bandage and held it out to me, Behind him Caleb was walking in small circles, head down, as if looking for something. ‘I can’t believe that thing actually charged us,’ he said, more to himself than anyone else. ‘They’re supposed to stop. It’s a display. They’re meant to be damned peaceful.’