As we passed the cars, I patted Erin gently on the elbow to get her attention. In the howling storm there wasn’t much point talking, so I simply raised the iron and nodded towards Marcelo’s Mercedes. We slushed over to it. I thrust the iron, the heaviest removeable object I could find in the chalet, at the glass, which cracked but didn’t shatter, bending around a crater in the middle instead. The tinted window was marked with long, white streaks.

The idea had festered since yesterday, when I’d seen the glass around Katherine’s car, but I’d been a touch too busy being half-dead to try. I’d figured, seeing as Katherine’s Volvo had suffered similarly in the storm, that another broken window wouldn’t raise an eyebrow. But I hadn’t accounted for the alarm, which started shrieking into the wind as soon as I hit the window. The storm was loud, but I wasn’t sure if it was loud enough to cover the wail, and the wind’s direction was working against me, ferrying the sound towards the guesthouse. The hazard lights were blinking like a beacon too. Erin was keeping watch in case someone decided to investigate, but it was completely futile; her visibility was only a few metres. I had to hurry.

I hit the window again and it bent further, air now breaching as it flexed like an eggshell, but still the glass held. I only had to hit it once more before my whole hand exploded through it. I used the oven mitt (coming in handy now) to push the remnants of glass through the frame and leaned through. Erin was bouncing slightly, agitated and ready to leave, but I knew what I wanted. I yanked at it, ripping a cascade of cords from their sockets, and had just stood back up and turned to yell to Erin that we could go when a fist slammed into the side of my jaw.

Morning powder is quite good at catching a fall, but I didn’t make it to the ground. Erin caught me under both arms like a boxing coach.

‘Jesus, Ernest.’ Marcelo was shaking out his hand, surprised to see me.

I gingerly stood back up, probing the side of my jaw. He’d hit me with his right hand, so I was thankful his reconstructed shoulder had weakened his punch, because that was the wrist he wore his Rolex on. It should have felt like being socked by a dumbbell. I was surprised I still had teeth.

‘I’m so sorry,’ Marcelo said. ‘I was checking Lucy’s car and I heard the alarm. With everything that’s going on, I thought someone was . . . Hang on . . . What were you doing here?’