‘He tripped and hit his head on a rock,’ Michel explains. ‘Jess, hand me the first-aid kit.’ He gestures to his backpack, which he’s flung on the ground. ‘Front pocket.’

I unzip the bag and take out a small case with a cross on it and squat down next to Michel. ‘What can I do?’

‘There’s a roll of sticking plaster in there, and some antiseptic cream.’

I fish them out and hand them over along with a wad of tissues that Michel presses onto the wound, making Luca scream. I stroke his hair and try to calm him as Michel cuts a strip of plaster.

‘I think he’ll be fine, but we’ll take him to the hospital, just to be sure.’ He turns to Léa and says something to her in a soothing voice, but it doesn’t stop her sobs. I kneel down next to her and she folds herself into my hug, her tears dampening my neck. ‘It’s okay. He’s going to be fine.’ I rub her back and feel her shudders subside. I draw back and wipe the tears from her cheeks, wanting to lift the distress from her pretty face.

‘Bon. On y va. Let’s go.’ Michel picks up Luca.

I pack up his backpack and put it on myself, before taking Léa by the hand. The four of us go back the way we came, the quickest route to the car park, Luca in Michel’s arms and Léa clinging to my hand. I give hers a squeeze and she looks up at me with a small smile that warms every cell in my body.

It’s only when we pull into the car park at the hospital that I realise. My head spins as I take in what the sign says. The community hospital in Lausanne. Of course it would be here. My jaw starts to throb and I realise I’m clenching my teeth. I swallow, take a breath.

It’s newer, quieter and smarter than any hospital I’ve known in the UK and the emergency room sees us so quickly that I think we must have accidentally queue-jumped. A young doctor examines Luca and decides he needs a few stitches. She addresses me and Michel equally, assuming we’re both his parents, and something in me is pleased Michel seems to feel no need to set her straight.

But I’m fidgety; I can’t concentrate.

I wonder if the person I spoke to on the phone is here somewhere, in an administration building perhaps, getting on with his day, drinking coffee, laughing with colleagues. His words come back to me.

Full investigation. Every effort has been made. Please accept our sympathy for these tragic circumstances.

I don’t want the apology that was never offered. I don’t care about sorry. What I do need is to know who – and why.

No paperwork. Nothing we can do.