Harold removed his socks and shoes, although it hurt to bend, and unpeeled the most recent set of plasters. He could sense her watching carefully. As he set his naked feet side by side, he couldn’t help but see them through the eyes of a stranger and he was shocked, as if he were noticing them for the first time. They were an unhealthy white, verging on grey, the indent of his socks making ridges into the skin. Blisters swelled from his toes, heels and instep; some bleeding, others inflamed sacs of pus. The nail of his big toe was tough as a hoof, and a dark blueberry colour where it had rammed against the end of his shoe. A thickened layer of skin grew over his heel, cracked in places and also bleeding. He had to hold his breath against the smell.

“You don’t want to see any more.”

“I do,” she said. “Roll up your trouser leg.”

He winced as the fabric brushed over his right calf and scalded it. He had never let a stranger touch his bare skin before. He remembered how he had stood on his wedding night in the hotel bathroom in Holt, frowning at the reflection of his bare chest, and fearing Maureen would be disappointed.

Martina was still waiting. She said, “It’s OK. I know what I am doing. I’m trained.”

Harold’s right foot shot of its own accord behind his left ankle, and hid there. “You mean you’re a nurse?”

She gave him a sardonic look. “A doctor. Women are these days. I trained in a hospital in Slovakia. That’s where I met my partner. He worked there too. Give me your foot, Harold. I won’t send you home. I promise.”

He had no choice. Gently she lifted his ankle, and he felt the soft warmth of her palms. She touched the skin, working her path to the sole of his foot. Catching sight of the bruising above his right ankle, she winced and stopped, and craned her face closer. Her fingers crept over the damaged muscle, and sent a spasm fireworking deep inside his leg.

“Does that hurt?”

It did. Very much. He had to clench the insides of his buttocks, in order not to grimace. “Not really.”

She lifted his leg and peered at the underside. “The bruise goes all the way to the back of the knee.”

“It doesn’t hurt,” he repeated.

“If you continue to walk on this leg, it will get worse. And these blisters need treating. The bigger ones I will drain. Afterwards we’ll bandage your feet. You need to learn how to do that.”