Someone was saying those things to her now. Not with their words, but with their tone. ‘What’s happened here then? Let’s get you some help.’ (Dumb slow retard, risk to yourself, matter of health and safety.)

Sirens and then men lifting her and her own terrible cat yowl. When did she become a woman who couldn’t control the noises she makes? She manages to say, ‘The shoe.’ And someone says, ‘You’re wearing your shoes, darling, it’s fine.’ And someone else says, ‘Does she mean that one?’ And no one answers out loud, but she imagines the looks they give each other: She doesn’t deserve that shoe.

It is a good thing she didn’t get the shoe, she realises as they unload her from the ambulance. No matter how much she cared for it—and she would have, giving it pride of place on the TV cabinet, where its shine would be reflected by the trophies on either side—it wouldn’t be right. Shoes come in pairs and this one, when she thinks of it, looked more forlorn than fairy tale, there on the nature strip. Somewhere its mate lay just as sadly, waiting, waiting, waiting to be whole again.

LENA

LENA

After Nic left, Will slumped on the sofa and closed his eyes.

‘I should go after her.’

‘She’s a grown-arse woman. She can come and go as she pleases.’ Her voice sounded normal, which was interesting. Who knew you could speak normally after having been obliterated?

‘She’s on crutches, Leen.’

‘So she won’t get far before she realises she’s being an idiot and comes back.’

‘What if she falls or something?’

She would almost certainly fall. Burst stitches. Faint. Dirty her wounds and get a nasty infection. Shit.

Lena moved towards the front door, remembered the vicious way Nic screamed, Rape! and stopped. ‘She doesn’t deserve our help.’

‘You don’t help people because they deserve it. You help them because they need help.’

‘Righto, Saint Will. Go and help her then. Off you run. Be the big fucking hero as per fucking normal.’

‘Bitch.’ Mumbled, as though she was barely worth the effort to insult.

Lena turned to yell at him, was punched by the sight of his body curled tight, hands over his face. A child in hiding. You can’t see me if I can’t see you.

‘I’m going out,’ she said.

He said nothing, did nothing. Will the Brave. Will the Bold. The New Man of the House temporarily in the Big House. Our Will. Lovely Will. Poor Will. His Father’s Son. Our Hardworking Hero.

Fucking nothing.