‘No, of course not, but…’ The corners of Elena’s eyes were twitching nervously. ‘Who was it, sweetheart?’ She stroked Anouk’s cheek. ‘Who hurt you?’

No answer.

‘I know who did it,’ Martin whispered.

‘What? Who?’ Elena looked up at him.

‘She did it herself.’

‘I’m sorry? No! That’s impossible. Why on earth would she do anything like that?’

There are many possible reasons: she wants to relieve pressure, let the pain out from her body, feel that she’s alive…

‘At any rate she wasn’t trying to kill herself with these injuries,’ he said. Otherwise she wouldn’t have tried to secure her arm. Or pressed the worry button.

Everything suggested to him that although she’d deliberately cut herself, the depth of the wound wasn’t intentional.

‘How can it have happened?’ Elena asked distraught. ‘There aren’t any sharp objects here she could have got hold of. I swear I gave the cabin a thorough search after the incident with the pencils.’

The pencils. Exactly!

Martin waited until Elena had finished tying the tourniquet, then asked, ‘How many pieces of paper did you give her that day?’

She looked at him in horror.

‘I don’t know. I didn’t count.’

Mistake.

Big mistake.

Elena saw the contrition in Martin’s face and slapped her hand over her mouth.

‘You mean…’ She turned to Anouk. ‘Darling, please tell me. Did you cut yourself with a piece of paper?’

Anouk didn’t answer, but Martin was certain. When dealing with mentally disturbed patients you couldn’t be careful enough. During his time as a student he’d come across a sixteen-year-old who’d run the edge of a piece of paper across both eyes.

‘Did you keep one piece back?’ he said, trying to get through to Anouk. With success. She opened her eyelids. Although Martin wasn’t sure she recognised him, there could be no doubt about the fury radiating from her. She nodded and her eyes flashed angrily. Martin and Elena looked at each other meaningfully. ‘You ate the paper afterwards, didn’t you?’

That’s why there was a speck of white on her upper lip.

Pulp!

Anouk pressed her lips together mutely. She looked livid, probably because he’d got to the bottom of her secret so easily.

Martin fetched a wet towel from the bathroom to clean Anouk’s face, something she only reluctantly permitted.

In the cupboard below the television were fresh bedclothes, which Martin put on while Elena sorted out a nightshirt for Anouk. Together they took the girl, who looked weak but not in a critical condition, back to her bed.

Martin caught sight of the drawing computer on her bedside table. The screen was dark but a yellow LED light was lit, signalling that it was in standby mode. As Anouk sunk back into bed, he picked up the device and activated the display.