The men in the waiting room sit, their faces and hands caked with dried blood, legs outstretched or knees splayed apart. I trip over feet, and a guy curses me; the room smells of alcohol and sweat. I yank open the front door and even though it’s still early, the heat hits me like it’s solid. I crouch in the shadow of the building, but there’s little respite. The temperature and smell, the lack of food and sleep are making me nauseous. I’ve had five missed calls and several texts from Amy.

‘How is she?’ Amy asks as soon as she answers the phone.

I explain as briefly as I can what Dr Virgili told me, minus the bit about the sexual assault. ‘Can you bring Luca with you? We need someone who can speak Italian.’

‘He left this morning to see his family. He said he’d postpone his trip, when he heard what had happened to Bethany, but I told him to go. I didn’t want him to miss seeing them – he only has a few more days free before he has to be back for a meeting with his supervisor. He said to say goodbye and he’ll see you in Bristol.’

We’re both silent for a moment and I can hear Lotte and Theo’s high-pitched voices in the background.

‘I’ll come now. I’ll leave the children with Matt,’ she says. She’s slurring her words, she’s so tired. ‘It would be too upsetting for them to see her in hospital.’

The blinds are half-open and I can see the glories of the hospital car park: bleached concrete and dusty cars, the sun blinding where it razors off wing mirrors, a metal waste bin piled with Peroni cans. I continue to pace up and down the waiting room, falling over injured men’s outstretched loafers, as I drink a warm can of Coke from a vending machine in the corner. It doesn’t make me feel any better; my stomach churns. Every time a nurse approaches the reception desk, I hope it’s going to be news that Bethany has regained consciousness, but so far no one has called me over.

Our dusty hire car screeches to a halt on the road outside the hospital. A Lamborghini hybrid purrs behind it and stops smoothly in the car park. Two men get out. They’re wearing navy trousers with a red stripe down the side, knee-high boots, dark caps and they have a white strap over their pale-blue shirts, which I realize, with a start, is what holds their guns. They arrive at the door to the hospital at the same time as Amy and courteously gesture for her to enter first.

I hug Amy and then step in front of the Carabinieri.

‘Are you here to see Bethany Flowers?’

‘Si. Who are you?’

I introduce myself and Amy.