Sammy had a room to herself, all tubes and machinery, the way he’d seen it in films and on TV. Only here the room was dingier, paint flaking from the walls and around the window-frames. The chairs had metal legs and rubber feet and moulded plastic seats. A woman rose as he came in. They embraced. He kissed the side of her forehead.

Aiming for her. Didn’t anyone say that? ‘Hello, Rhona.’

‘Hello, John.’

She looked tired, of course, but her hair was stylishly cut and dyed the colour of a dull golden harvest. Her clothes were smart and she wore jewellery. He studied her eyes. Their colour was wrong. Coloured contacts. Not even her eyes were going to betray her past.

‘Christ, Rhona, I’m sorry.’

He was whispering, not wanting to disturb Sammy. Which was ludicrous, because right now all he wanted in the world was for her to wake up.

‘How is she?’ he asked.

‘Much the same.’

Mickey stood up. There were three chairs arranged in a sort of semi-circle. Mickey and Rhona had been sitting with an empty chair between them. As Rhona broke from Rebus’s embrace, his brother took her place.

‘This is so fucking awful,’ Mickey said, his voice low. He looked the same as ever: a party animal who’d stopped getting the invites.

Niceties dispensed with, Rebus went to Sammy’s bedside. Her face was still bruised, and now he could place the probable cause of each abrasion: hedge, wall, pavement. One leg was broken, both arms heavily bandaged. A teddy bear, missing one ear, lay by her head. Rebus smiled.

‘You brought Pa Broon.’

‘Yes.’

‘Do they know yet if there’s any ... ?’

His eyes were on Sammy as he spoke.

‘What?’

Rhona wanted him to spell it out. No hiding place.

‘Brain damage,’ he said.

‘Nobody’s told us anything,’ she said, sounding snubbed.

Aiming for her. Didn’t anyone say that? No, none of the other onlookers had even hinted as much, but then they hadn’t had Renton’s grandstand view.

‘Has nobody been in?’

‘Not since I got here.’

‘And I was here before Rhona,’ Mickey added. ‘Haven’t seen a soul.’

It was enough. Rebus strode from the room. A doctor and two nurses were standing chatting at the end of the corridor. One of the nurses was leaning against a wall.

‘What’s going on?’

Rebus exploded. ‘Nobody’s been near my daughter all morning!’ The doctor was young, male. Blond hair cut short with a parting.

‘We’re doing everything we can.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘I can appreciate that you’re -’ ‘Fuck you, pal. Why hasn’t the big man been to look at her? Why’s she just lying there like a -’ Rebus choked back the words.

‘Your daughter was seen by two specialists this morning,’ the doctor said quietly. ‘We’re waiting for some test results to determine whether to operate again. There’s some brain swelling. The tests take a little time to process, there’s nothing we can do about it.’

Rebus felt cheated: still angry, but nothing to feel angry about, not here. He nodded, turned away.