She looked back at them with her one open eye. They were sitting either side of her on the narrow bed, looking down at her with concern. Matty’s own face was puffy and pale, her eyes red-rimmed. Her hair was wet but her scalp had been stained red. Johnny looked sort of haunted.

‘Jeez, how bad do I look?’ she mumbled after a second, doing her best to reassure them.

Matty gave a laugh of relief that she could joke, but Johnny still looked dismayed.

‘Mirror,’ she commanded softly, looking at him.

‘Oh, Clo—’ Matty protested, her laughter dying in her throat.

‘Mirror,’ she insisted, still looking at Johnny.

‘She has to see sometime,’ he said pragmatically. He returned with Matty’s make-up mirror.

‘Well, not that side,’ Matty hissed, turning the mirror around so she wasn’t presented with the magnified side. Clover had difficulty looking in that thing at the best of times – and she had a feeling this wasn’t the best of times.

Johnny held it up for her.

‘Oh.’ The word fell like a spirit leaving the body. An extinguishment of hope. She couldn’t see the eye itself. It was covered by the dressing, but bruising was already seeping past its edges. Her cheek was a livid puce and badly swollen. There were a few specks of dried blood at her nostril. She hadn’t thought it was possible to look worse than she felt. But apparently it was.

The image began to blur, tears gathering in her good eye.

‘That was what I was afraid of,’ Matty hissed, snatching the mirror from Johnny’s hand.

‘But you can’t hide it from her,’ Johnny whispered back.

‘I’m fine,’ Clover interrupted quietly, not wanting them to fight. ‘It’s better I know.’

They were all quiet for a few moments, as Clover tried to absorb what had happened.

‘. . . I remember . . . eyes . . .’ she faltered, feeling her body contract and tense as she tried to sink her mind back into the memories. ‘Fighting . . .’ She frowned. ‘They had Kit . . . Blood.’

‘Turned out to be red paint,’ Matty said. ‘I’m not sure what would have been better, though. Blood or paint? It’s ruined the inside of Julian’s car.’

‘Seriously?’ Johnny snapped with an anger that made both women flinch. Johnny never raised his voice. ‘That’s the concern?’

‘No. No, of course it isn’t,’ she said quickly, chastened.

Johnny shook his head at her, looking like a disappointed father with his drunk teenage daughter. He turned back to Clover. ‘Do you remember anything after you were punched?’

Clover concentrated, but nothing rose from the depths. Colours, but no visions, no sounds . . .

‘Do you remember being in the car, getting back here?’

She shook her head. ‘Should I?’

‘You were in and out of consciousness.’

Clover processed that. In and out . . . ‘How did I get in the car? Did I walk?’