‘Va bene,’ says Martelli, turning to me. ‘It is time to call the Carabinieri. They come soon, I hope. The nurse, he cannot speak English. The doctor tell to you what happen. I am sorry, Signor Flowers.’ He puts a hand on my shoulder.

‘Hang on!’ I say, when I realize he’s leaving.

‘The doctor will say to you,’ he repeats, taking out his mobile.

I go over to Bethany and sit down next to her. I’m ashamed at how hard I find this, how hard it is to look at her face, once so lovely, now so altered. One eye is sealed shut, the lid puffed and puce. Her lips are cracked and the bottom one is split. The bandage is wrapped tightly around her forehead and I don’t want to think of what it conceals. I take her hand. It’s dry and cool. I can’t remember the last time we held hands. Nearly twenty years ago, I suppose. Hers looks so small in mine and I have a feeling of slipping, of dislocation; Bethany has always been my big sister: robust, fiery, fierce, strong. Now she seems small and fragile.

The nurse returns with a doctor. He introduces himself as Roberto Virgili. He’s in his mid-forties, his hair is threaded with silver and his eyes are light grey. He gestures to me to follow him.

‘Allora,’ he says, once we’re in his office. He sits behind his desk, and indicates a chair for me. ‘Your sister is found on a beach, near il cavalluccio marino. She is unconscious. She has been hit on the side of the head with a rock. We bring her into the hospital this morning and we examine her. We do not know who attack her. Agente Martelli has called to the Carabinieri, and a Maggiore will come here soon from Grosseto.’ He puts his notes back down on the desk and says, ‘Your sister may bleed to her brain from this injury.’ He taps the side of his own head. ‘We have to keep the close look to her, and she may need to go for the CT scan on the mainland. As you can see, Signor Flowers, this is the small hospital. We do not have the equipment we want.’

‘What does that mean? If she has blood in her brain?’