‘A hotel?’

‘Nearby somewhere. Just find the best one and book it. Am I allowed my own car now?’

Blanchard stood under the concrete canopy and watched the family walk back to Griff’s red car, marooned in the enormous car park.

Dan googled a hotel as Griff drove, and Bea phoned and booked it. It was near the centre of town, white plaster and balconies and a well-planted square behind looped railings. Bea and Dan sat in the bar while Griff took Liv up. Bea lay down on the banquette in the hotel bar and slept, and Dan sat waiting for her to wake up, then ordered her a cup of tea. The tea came in a tall glass on a saucer, wobbling. His hands hovered over her while she drank.

Later in the afternoon her father came down.

‘Bea, come with me.’

She went to his side.

‘Dan,’ said Griff, ‘stay with Liv. The windows open all the way here. Not like in America.’

He handed Dan the key card. ‘Up you go.’

‘Bea?’ said Dan, then did as he was told.

The suite was on the first floor, at the corner of the building. He knocked on the door and said, ‘Liv? It’s Dan.’ When there was no answer he said, ‘I’m coming in, if that’s OK?’ and slipped the key card into the slot. The light flicked green and he opened the door.

The curtains were closed. He was in a vestibule and as his eyes adjusted he saw a sitting room with a sofa and a vast black television, like a black hole in the toile de Jouy wallpaper. Next to the television was a pair of open double doors to the bedroom, and, walking further into the room, he could see the bed and the shape of Liv’s body, the upper half covered by the folds of a silk bedspread, also patterned, like the wallpaper.

‘Liv?’ he said. ‘It’s Dan.’

She moved her arm to shield her face.

‘I’ll just – sit in here, if that’s OK?’ he said. ‘Griff and Bea have gone out for a bit, he asked me to come up.’

He went to the double doors and pulled them almost closed, to give her privacy, but open enough so that he would hear if something happened. He didn’t know what might happen. Griff had talked about the windows. He pictured her flinging them open, and leaping out, and it being his fault. They were tall, with tiny balconies, too small for standing on. He realised he was placing his trainers soundlessly, like a burglar, and straightened up, glancing around for something to do. It wasn’t nice to put the television on, and he wondered if there was a minibar, or if it would be in the bedroom – not that he wanted anything, he just wanted to look inside it, it was what you did in hotel rooms.