‘Did you manage to buy groceries for your mum?’ he asked.

Kerr knitted her eyebrows together, a perplexed look dawning across her honest country face. ‘Come on, let’s get you to a doctor. Can you walk?’

She helped him up, draped his arm across her bare shoulders for support.

‘I’m fine,’ he said, steadying his feet, one after the other.

‘You may be concussed or have internal bleeding. You wouldn’t realise either. Let a professional decide.’

He clutched at his side, grimaced in pain. ‘I said I’m fine,’ he snapped. His tone was sullen, irritated by his new discomfort and status as an invalid.

Kerr eased him into her passenger seat. Her face was mask tight with concern.

‘I wasn’t asking you,’ she said testily. ‘I was telling you. Now shut up, you bravely stupid man, and let the bloody stubborn woman take charge.’

And with that, she slammed the door, started the engine and spun the wheels in the direction of Cobb’s infamous base hospital. Resigned to his fate, Manolis ceased his protests, held his tongue and tried to ignore the sharpened dagger twisting into his ribcage.

They drove in an uncomfortable silence: the reluctant patient and his well-intentioned nurse. Kerr was careful to avoid potholes, of which there were many, and of considerable size. After some time, Manolis got to talking. He described the detention centre – what little he could – the suspects’ interviews at the station, the guards, the accident, and finally the brakes, or the lack thereof. In contrast to Manolis, Kerr seemed only vaguely interested in the likelihood of sabotage, and even less so the murder investigation; she was solely focused on Manolis’s health and wellbeing. He found it touching and frustrating at the same time. He reassured her again that his injuries weren’t serious but he could tell her mind was elsewhere.

At the hospital, they had to talk their way past an imposing triage nurse fighting off an angry crowd tired of waiting hours in emergency. Their police badges meant nothing alongside claims of a child who had drunk paint and a bloodied woman punched in the face by her partner. The officers were pelted with profanity and blasphemy as they pushed in the queue. Manolis apologised, insisting to Kerr that this was all unnecessary, overkill, he really was fine, but she was single-minded.

It was at that moment that Manolis felt decidedly uneasy. He couldn’t fully explain it but knew it was more an emotional reaction than anything physical, and all to do with his father. Even though he’d been back to several hospitals since Con’s death, he was now, for the first time, just like Con – a helpless, vulnerable patient. The association momentarily terrified him.