‘You’re in no fit state. You’re badly hurt, and on top of that, you’re unwell. That chest sounds terrible. It’s maybe an infection there.’

Exhaustion kicked in again, a wave of it. Dale might still be out there. Calling his friend, roaming the roads for a mustard-yellow van. How much had he bled? There’d been so much blood.

‘I’ll not call anyone if you don’t want me to.’

A shuddering, huge breath, and the rib-pain shot through again.

She left the room, for what might have been minutes, or might have been much more. A small white box was placed on the bedside table. ‘Painkillers.’ She held up a large packet. ‘And peas. Put them wherever it hurts most.’

Matty closed both eyes, and saw Dale behind them.

‘Sleep for now, then.’

The door closed quietly.

A knock. There was a gauzy light at the edges of the window.

The woman came in with a differently coloured mug and put it on the bedside table. The other one had disappeared. ‘A fresh one for you. Hot lemon and honey.’ She caught Matty’s tentative look. ‘I’m not trying to poison you. It’ll not do you harm, at the very least.’ She sat on the chair and glanced at the unopened packet of aspirin. There was a reddish, slapped look to her cheeks, as if she’d been outside.

The world felt weightless. Unknowable. ‘My van.’ Words hurt.

‘In the garage.’

Matty stared at the ceiling. ‘The garage?’

‘My garage. I hitched a lift, walked the rest. Took your keys – I hope you don’t mind.’

‘In the night?’

‘First light. Not that long ago.’

Matty’s mind flitted. She’d gone to get the van. She must have properly seen the mess inside, the blood, if she hadn’t before. And brought it here anyway. ‘Did anyone pass you?’

‘Not a soul.’ It was hard to know what she was thinking. ‘Well, one old boy on his buggy, but apart from that.’

‘Who did you hitch with?’

‘A lad in a truck. He’d come from Belfast.’

Matty put the heel of the hand that worked on the mattress, tried to push upwards. Everything throbbed. ‘I’ve got to go now.’

‘You’re not well.’

‘Thanks for getting my van.’ Each rib stabbed with pain. Matty’s face felt huge, ogre-ish.

‘Honestly. You’ve – my expertise stretches to cold remedies and tending cuts, but you’ve hurt your ribs. Who knows if anything’s cracked. Internal bruising, maybe internal bleeding. It’s not out of the question. And that wrist. I really think we should get a doctor.’

The memory of Dale, lurching away. The black, unspeakable thought that something very bad had happened to him. That Matty had done it. ‘No doctor.’