The cut on her lip reopens and a bead of blood runs down her chin. I pass her a glass of water and a tissue from the bedside table. Her hand shakes as she tries to drink.

‘Shouldn’t she get her lip stitched?’ Amy says.

Dr Virgili examines her face. ‘No, is not necessary. No shouting or laughing,’ he adds. He smiles at her and deep grooves appear in his cheeks.

The nurse presses a damp cloth against her mouth and indicates that Bethany should hold it there. The doctor takes out a pencil torch and shines it in one of her eyes, then the other.

‘Do you have the nausea? You vomit on the beach, before we bring you in.’

‘Yes, I feel sick.’

‘And do you know what happen to you?’

‘She said no, she can’t remember,’ I interject. I can’t stand seeing Bethany struggling to speak.

‘Okay, well, she is not – how you say it? – out of the woods. We monitor for the blood clot. For now, we leave you. Pull this cord if you feel bad: your head, you want to vomit. I give you some painkiller. Signor, Signorina, Signora, you must only remain with her for a few moments. She must rest.’

‘It looks worse than it is,’ Bethany whispers, after the doctor and the nurse have left.

Amy is practically wringing her hands, as she tells Bethany that they haven’t been able to change their flights or find anywhere to stay.

‘I said I’d take you to Grosseto for a brain scan, or fly home when the doctor gives you the all-clear, so you can go to the hospital in Bristol,’ I say.

‘If there’s any doubt whatsoever, you get her off this island,’ Amy repeats to me.

‘I don’t want to leave you,’ Chloe says.

‘I’ll be fine. I’ve got Nick to look after me,’ Bethany says.

‘I should stay with you. Nick can fly home with the others,’ Amy says.

‘The kids need you, Ames,’ I say.

I glance at Bethany and she does a small thumbs up in agreement with me.

After we’ve been there for quarter of an hour, the nurse comes in and tells us to go. I assume that’s what he means, anyhow.

Chloe starts wailing that we can’t let Bethany stay there on her own.

I clear my throat. ‘Look, why don’t you take Chloe for a drink? I’ll sit with Bee for a bit, or in the waiting room when the nurse chucks me out, and then I can drive us all back.’

‘Yes,’ Bethany says. ‘You should go out – it’s your last night. Party! And you know Nick isn’t likely to tire me with his non-stop chatting.’