‘Don’t phone ambulance. People . . . looking for me. Bad people. They’ll check. They’ll know.’

‘Bad people?’

‘Yethmph,’ Belle heard her mouth say. Yes.

What the hell was wrong with her mouth? The left side of her face was on fire. It was agony.

‘Someone’s looking for you? Someone did this to you?’ he asked. The dog crowded in, trying to lick Belle’s face. The man pushed it back. ‘Fuck off out of it, Trix,’ he said, and then he turned back to Belle. ‘OK. I’m going to get you back onto the table, all right?’

Belle nodded feebly.

He lifted her back up onto it. Got a towel from beside the sink, rolled it up, tucked it under her head. That hurt. She moaned, grinding her teeth together, swallowing blood. Then he fetched another from a cupboard and put it on her leg.

‘This is bad, all this,’ said the man, leaning over her. ‘Your injuries. You need proper medical help.’

‘First aid . . .’ said Belle, wincing. It came out fast day.

He was dabbing the towel on her leg. ‘These look like animal bites. Puncture wounds,’ he said. ‘Not too bad. These’ll heal OK. I’ll clean them out, bandage them up.’ Then he looked up at her face. ‘The blood’s good. Blood cleans wounds. You should have a tetanus shot . . .’

‘No. Mumph.’ Belle shook her head.

‘What did . . . ?’ He ran out of words. This was worse than bad. She’d been savaged by something.

‘Caimans,’ said Belle.

‘Clean, yes,’ he said, not understanding.

Then he moved up to her head, looked at her face. ‘Bad news or good news?’ he said.

‘Wha . . . ?’

‘Your face. It’s very bad.’

Belle was staring at him. She was in pain and she was full of fear, all over again.

‘There is no good news. Something’s torn a lump out of your face. Your cheek’s hanging down like a flap. I think that’s why your speech is fucked. You need stitching up. You need a medic.’

Oh Christ. She’d gotten by since childhood on her good looks. She wasn’t vain, but she was used to being the one everyone’s eyes followed. It was just her. And he was saying . . .

‘I’m not kidding around here. It’s a mess,’ he said.

Belle grabbed the edge of the table again, wanting something solid to hang onto when her world had descended into chaos. Out there, maybe they were looking for her, and if they found her she knew she was dead for sure. Out there, her father must be in danger. Maybe he was dead already. And her mother . . .

Again, the dog licked her fingers as if in sympathy.

‘You’ll have to stitch it,’ she said to the bearded man, and she saw understanding right there in his eyes this time. ‘Do it.’

112

‘You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,’ he said.