‘Detention,’ she shrugged. I doubted it.

Up until then, I’d managed to avoid most of the gory details relating to Lou’s injuries. I’d presumed the cast was doing its job of knitting her tibia or fibula back together, while Wolfie and George decorated it with a growing collection of artwork. (I’d been itching to write Danny was here somewhere on it, but the irony weighed too heavy and I hadn’t been able to come up with anything else.)

It was Lou’s other leg that Dom and Wolfie were officially ‘keeping an eye on’, though. I’d heard them discussing it when I walked through the kitchen one day. Wolfie had been kneeling on the floor in front of Lou, inspecting the wound, but I deliberately hadn’t looked at the exposed leg; not because I don’t have the stomach for a bit of blood and guts, it just felt like whatever was underneath those bandages was none of my business. I also got the feeling Wolfie might have taken someone’s arm off if they tried to interfere.

So this was a bit of a turn-up.

‘It’d really help out if you could, mate.’

Maybe it was those early-morning walks, or my undeniably sharper brain from passing up another happy hour at the Lamb the night before, but I was getting a distinct whiff of rat. I know what you’re up to, Dom, and don’t think I don’t. I felt the moisture draining from my mouth.

‘Well, I . . .’

‘You wait till you see Lou’s leg, Danny. Your head’s going to explode!’ The prospect clearly delighted George so I couldn’t deny him the opportunity.

‘Is that right? OK then, not a problem. Hit me with it.’ I had a sudden visual of a screeching Tesco van. Shit. ‘I mean . . . sure, show me what to do.’

Wolfie’s obvious surprise at how quickly I’d agreed to help made me feel just a little bit smug. She played it cool, though, as usual.

‘Thanks, but George is right, it’s a bit . . . well, you know, you’d probably better brace yourself.’ Something in her tone made me wonder if she might also be quite delighted at the idea of my head exploding.

Lou was on the edge of the bed with her cast resting on the floor and the other leg balanced on a couple of large cushions. When Wolfie crouched down in front of her, she turned her head and stared out of the window like she didn’t want anything to do with the mess beyond her knees. Wolfie carefully unwound the bandages, and when the leg was fully exposed, Dom and George stepped back, presumably so I’d get the full effect. I dug my toes into the floorboards and had a very strong urge to hold on to the top of my head, just in case.

Running the length of Lou’s calf, from her knee almost to her ankle, was a lightning-shaped laceration, clipped together with a neat train track of staples. Next to it, almost touching but not quite, was a separate wound, about the size of a fifty-pence piece. It had angry jagged edges, and when Wolfie peeled off the opaque dressing and gently removed some loosely packed gauze, it revealed a dark, cavernous hole.