‘I know.’ Gently, he detached himself and put his arm around my shoulders. ‘Cassie, are you alright?’

She was white, her top still smeared with blood. ‘It’s – it’s Dad’s. It’s not mine.’

‘Have they brought him in?’ My eyes were swivelling, looking for a doctor or anyone to ask. The ambulance had come so quickly, within minutes it seemed, and the paramedics said to follow them straight over. Everyone was so calm. It was amazing, really. Here was the worst moment of my life, terrible seconds crowding on top of each other until it seemed things could hardly get worse, and there they were in their reflective coats, the ambulance and court officers and the police, putting it all calmly back together just as fast as we kicked it to pieces.

‘Let’s go and see, shall we.’ It occurred to me that Bill was one of those people. The ones who put things back together, who helped in a crisis. Who made meals and washed dishes and held hands. On top of all the other feelings, I was hit by a terrible regret that we’d lost each other, that I hadn’t seen him in so long, not since Jodi and Callum’s wedding, where even then he’d ignored me most of the night. My fault, like so much else. But I couldn’t think about that now.

We made our way to the reception desk, which was crowded with people looking lost and confused. Legs propped on chairs and rags clutched to heads. A man in the corner was raving to himself, facing the wall. The receptionist, a middle-aged woman with thick blonde streaks in her hair, looked cross. ‘You’ll have to wait. You’ll have to wait. Have a seat. Have a seat.’ She said it over and over, till the words seemed to lose all meaning.

When we’d fought our way to the front, I said, ‘Mike Morris?’ Fully expecting to be told the same. But instead her gaze lifted from the computer screen. She picked up her phone and murmured into it. It sounded like the wife’s here. And the trails of fear were back, like snails crawling down my skin.

I turned to Bill. ‘Keep Cassie out here.’ He nodded. Then there was someone at my elbow, a doctor in green scrubs, or maybe not a doctor, maybe a nurse. I didn’t know how to tell.

‘Mrs Morris? Can you come with me please?’

The hospital was full of activity, in that hushed controlled way. I tried to be comforted by it, by the soothing tone of the doctor or nurse’s voice, the beep of machines and swish as we pushed through automatic doors. He was saying something: ‘. . . husband was quite badly injured . . .’

‘Is he alright?’ My voice was too loud but I couldn’t seem to control it.