I slip off the bed and rub my hands. I want to shake hers but there is so much dirt on my skin that I daren’t. I see a tiny basin in the corner and go over to wash my hands, turning the levered taps with my elbows. Brown water streams on to the white porcelain.

‘Thank you for this,’ I say, pointing to my head. ‘I’ll be fine now. I’ve got a friend I can stay with who lives nearby.’ I did once have a friend nearby.

He is smiling – Seb. We were throwing a frisbee across an ancient, serious courtyard. His arms were brown from a summer at the family villa. When he threw the disc, it floated high and then coasted past me, sliding to a stop at two pairs of feet. Nina and Grace. It seems too long ago to reach.

I close my eyes.

‘You might feel a touch groggy for a day or two but there’s unlikely to be any lasting damage,’ the nurse says and then I’m back here. In a hospital bed.

I wipe my eyes with my sleeve. The woman from the house fights her way into my head, scarlet blotting her white shirt.

‘Ooh, careful there,’ she says. ‘You’ll pull away the stitches.’

‘Oh,’ I say, sitting up. ‘You stitched my eye?’ I feather my brow with the tips of my fingers.

‘Yes. Don’t worry. You might have some gaps here and there in your memory. But it’ll come good, don’t fret yourself.’ She smiles at me.

‘I should have done something though,’ I say.

She looks quizzically at me.

‘I let her die. I watched as she was murdered,’ I say.

She walks to the door. ‘I’ll just see if there’s a doctor about for that scan,’ she says and steps out.

I glance into the corridor. A different police officer from the one who had brought me is there. His face has the expression of a man used to killing time, scrolling through a smartphone with the expression of a child. He shifts in his bulky police gear as he sees me.

‘Done,’ I say, peering out.

‘Oh,’ he says, standing. ‘Good. Do you mind if I ask you a couple of questions?’

I return a look that must be more alarmed than I’d intended.

‘Just for my notebook. Have to account for the time that’s all,’ he says, tapping his notebook.

There is a TV screen above me, playing some old show. A wisp of music snakes out. Ma belle amie. You were the beat of a drum and a symphony.