Billboards? I thought I recognised him. He’s the politician. The upstart businessman espousing populist ideals. A NZ Trump, except he’s hardly gaining much momentum. A few of the crazies have probably bought in though. ‘Hoping to get into parliament and start taking out the trash,’ he says.

I try to block out the boys’ chat and focus on the woman.

‘What’s the day of the week today?’

‘Tuesday.’

‘How did you fall?’

‘I, umm, I just stumbled. I wasn’t concentrating.’

A sound in my mind like a distant alarm. She doesn’t appear to have concussion, but she mumbles the answer as if unsure of herself.

‘Who called it in?’ I say, turning back to the husband, interrupting his catch-up with Scotty.

‘Ah my son,’ the man says. ‘He’s eleven and got a bit spooked.’

I turn back to the woman. ‘Alright, let me get a look at that wrist.’ I go to lift her sleeve, but her left hand flies across, holding it down.

‘Sorry, I just need to get a look at it,’ I say.

Her eyes go to her husband, then back to me. My senses are tingling. Something is not quite right here.

I peel the woman’s fingers away gently, then lift the sleeve and hold the wrist up, supporting it. Then I see what she’s hiding away. Those four grey spots, finger marks leading up her forearm. I look into her eyes; she looks away. The boys are laughing about something now, reminiscing.

Examining the large kitchen we’re in, I see no sign of groceries, so unless this man, Rick, put them away while his wife was in pain, there never were groceries. I spy a fruit bowl on the marble benchtop, limp bananas and soft apples. Not fresh produce.

‘Does that hurt?’ I say, gently testing the wrist.

She winces. ‘Yeah.’

‘And that?’

‘Yep.’

‘On a scale of one to ten, how painful is it?’

‘Seven or maybe eight.’

‘Well I’d say there might be a break in there. You’re going to need an x-ray. We can drop you at the hospital, if you like, or you can organise to see a radiologist through your own doctor.’

‘I’ll go later,’ she says.

I administer fentanyl for the pain. Scotty chooses to complete his report inside, so he doesn’t need to stop talking to Rick. I go to the ambulance and come back a moment later. ‘Hey, Scotty, can you give me a hand finding something?’

He glances up from the iPad. I give him a look that says, don’t ask.

‘Sure. Be right back.’

Outside, tucked out of sight from the house behind the ambulance, I stop him. ‘I think she’s got signs of abuse.’

He frowns, his ruddy cheeks pinken. ‘You’re joking.’

‘I know the signs, she’s hiding bruises.’

‘They’re from the fall, surely? You might be jumping to conclusions.’