She was kneeling, which meant the damage to her leg must be superficial. The scratch on her face wasn’t deep either. She was moving her arms freely. There didn’t seem to be any major injury.

Maybe she was retching from exhaustion. If he’d had to carry that lump of a dog far, he might be retching, too.

This afternoon had been sultry before the change, and the kids had set up their paddling pool by the sandpit. A house-proud man might have tidied the place as soon as the colder weather hit, but housework was well down Dominic’s list of priorities. So towels still lay on the veranda, albeit damp ones. As she ceased retching, he used one to wipe the worst of the mud and blood from her face. She submitted without reaction and he thought again, This is exhaustion.

‘Let’s get you inside.’

She looked up then, as if seeing him for the first time. ‘Where…where…?’ She was almost incoherent.

‘I’m the local doctor,’ he said, smiling at her in what he hoped was his best bedside manner. ‘I assume you know that from the sign on the front gate. My name’s Dominic Spencer. Dom for short.’

‘Dominic,’ she managed.

‘Dom will do fine. And your name?

‘Erin Carmody.’

It wasn’t a comprehensive patient history but it’d do for now. ‘What hurts?’

‘Everything.’ It was practically a wail and he relaxed a little. In his experience, patients who were deathly ill didn’t wail.

‘Anything specific?’

‘N-no.’

‘What happened?’

‘I crashed my car.’

Where? The roads round here would be deserted at this time of night. Where had she walked from?

‘Is anyone else hurt?’ he asked, and she managed to shake her head.

‘So there’s no one else at the car.’

‘N-no. I was by myself.’

‘Is the car obstructing the road? Do I need to call the police?’