‘What, Bombadeen?’ he asked, pseudo indignant to match. ‘Bombadeen’s the cultural capital of the known world.’

‘Right,’ she managed, and tried for a smile. Then, as he moved to check her legs she added, ‘My legs are fine. Do you think I could have carried him with a broken leg?’

‘Toes?’

‘Also fine.’

But they weren’t. He tugged the lone trainer off her right foot. That was okay. He gently peeled the remainder of the sock from her left foot. Less than okay. Gravel was deeply embedded. The foot was bleeding, rubbed raw.

Not life-threatening, though. Move on for now.

‘Tummy?’

‘That does hurt,’ she whispered, finally acknowledging pain. ‘Like I’ve-just-been-retching hurt. But, no, I wasn’t hit in the chest or abdomen. I’d imagine my kidneys and spleen are in one piece and I’m breathing okay.’

She had medical knowledge, then? He smiled but he didn’t take her word for it. He put his hands gently on her abdomen and felt, still watching her face.

‘It’s true. I’m fine,’ she whispered.

‘In fact, you’ve never looked better,’ he agreed, relaxing. Then triage kicked in again. ‘You’ve been in a car accident. You’re sure no one else was hurt?’

‘There’s only me.’

‘And your car…You’re sure it’s not blocking the road? Do I need to call the emergency services to clear it?’

‘It’s way off the road,’ she said, suddenly bitter. ‘But even if it was, would you need to clear it? Apart from the car that caused me to crash-which didn’t even stop-I’ve seen no other car for hours.’

‘It’s a quiet little town in the middle of coastal bushland-and we’re on holiday.’ He was still watching her face, thinking the situation through. What next?

In the warm room Erin’s colour was starting to return. Her foot needed attention, as did her mass of cuts and bruises, but if she’d carried the dog for miles she must really care about it. Maybe triage said he ought to check.

‘If you’re okay for a minute, I’ll see what’s happening to your dog.’