A doctor should come around soon to tell me he was okay.

The drawer beside Caleb’s bed was open, revealing the sketchbook he’d clutched, walking the streets. One corner was torn. I touched it, lightly. I didn’t flick through the pages – not then. I respected Caleb’s privacy, as I needed him to respect mine. His revolting pewter eyeball ring was there, too. I wouldn’t let myself think about throwing it out.

My stomach growled. How long since I last ate? How long since I had a glass of water, tea or coffee? I couldn’t remember bringing my handbag but there it was, on the floor beside my chair. I stooped to pick it up and checked my wallet. Nearby, I’d find a drinks machine. At the very least, a bar of chocolate.

Standing, I noticed Caleb’s right arm was firmly bandaged. What was it like underneath? A cut I hadn’t noticed? Had he needed stitches? I touched the bandage, appalled by a vision of scarred skin.

Something – my intake of breath? – made him stir. His eyelids twitching, his fingers rose and fell, as if he were trying to move his arm. I watched him as closely as I had as a baby, waiting until he was perfectly still before I let myself breathe out and tiptoe to the door.

A police officer waited on a stiff metal chair out in the cool tiled corridor.

A police officer.

My imagination flashed through all the crime dramas I’d seen over the years. The police officer in blue uniform waiting, gun drawn, outside the hospital ward of an injured man who was either a potential flight risk or a target.

Did Caleb need protecting? Was someone trying to hurt him?

The police officer looked up. ‘No change, Ms Wharton?’

How did he know my name? I shook my head. ‘No change.’

The police officer nodded enigmatically. I noticed a nurses’ station a few doors away. A group of police officers were clustered there. I recognised a couple of them, including Sergeant Michael Gillan. A tall man with sparse hair parted slightly too far to the right, he attended the car accident Caleb was involved with that year. Now he looked up at me and frowned. Was he thinking of last time we met? No, this was something new. Something wasn’t right.

Watching them carefully, I inserted coins into a nearby coffee machine. My fingers shook over the buttons as I selected a flat white and waited for it to begin brewing. The police officers glanced at me then moved into a tighter huddle. My presence had unsettled them. This meant something. I carried the dispensed coffee into the women’s toilet, resting it on a shelf before the mirror. After relieving myself, I gulped, staring at my dirty reflected face, as if that alternative me might explain.

I stepped back into the hall. The number of police officers had shrunk and Caleb’s door was closed. Sergeant Gillan coughed meaningfully.

‘What’s going on?’ I demanded.