‘You’re OK, Harry,’ she whispered. ‘Help is coming and I’m not going far.’ She kissed his head. ‘I love you.’

She crawled back to the doorway where the officer was kneeling next to the woman. She was in a sequinned leotard and there was a large wound on her left arm that was pumping blood on to the navy carpet.

‘I need you to stem the bleeding,’ said the officer. He placed Karene’s hand around the woman’s bicep, just above the wound. ‘Hold her arm up and squeeze here. Harder than that. It’ll slow the bleeding.’

The sequinned woman stared wide-eyed at her arm.

‘Got it,’ Karene said. ‘Squeeze tightly.’

‘And don’t let go until I come back. I need to check the others. Is that your husband?’ he asked looking over at Harry.

‘Yes,’ Karene replied. There was no point disputing relationship statuses in this environment. ‘He’s unconscious but breathing and his pulse is strong. I can’t see any major injuries, just a small wound to his head. He’s been lucky.’

The officer watched her carefully and then said, ‘It’s tempting to focus on the best-case scenario but you need to consider the worst. He’s been knocked unconscious so he may have spinal damage or internal injuries. Shout if you see him stir.’

Karene nodded.

Spinal damage. Internal injuries.

Oh God, Harry.

Karene was relieved when she saw the two paramedics move swiftly past her. Clearly the young officer had sent them Harry’s way. They would take care of him. He was in safe hands now.

3

Marcus Jameson removed his cycling helmet, hung it over the handlebars and leaned his bike against a large boulder. The spectacular view more than compensated for the steep ascent, and, to be fair, uphill cycling was his favourite. He enjoyed the burn as much as the sense of achievement. He took a large swig of water from his bottle and perched on a smaller boulder to eat the slice of banana loaf he’d bought at a cafe near his campsite.

His weekend in Wales had turned into a week and then a fortnight. He knew he was being driven by denial. He cycled to the point of exhaustion every day so that he’d fall asleep quickly and deep enough to see him through until the morning. Keeping busy also made it easier to ignore his phone; to avoid contact with his sister or, God forbid, Augusta who was still leaving regular messages on his voicemail. You’d think after three months of being ignored she’d have got the message.