Your condition stabilises…

Once your condition’s stabilised, they move you to a private room deeper in the hospital. Doctor Hamada tells everyone it’s because you suffered complications.

Well, that’s true enough.

The pain fades, slowly, until it’s at more-or-less manageable levels. Hamada drops in regularly to make sure there aren’t any unexpected side-effects from the splenectomy, and you get visited by the cops twice. They don’t say much, and you get the feeling that they’re a little out of their depth here; shootings must almost never happen on the island.

You get an official apology from the mayor on ornate, gilded paper, which is clearly designed to stop you going online and scaring off the tourists. You get expensive flowers from the resort and even a hand-painted card from the local school; apparently you’re front-page news around here. Antigua is a tiny, tight-knit community, and both the Catholic and Protestant churches in town are praying for you, which is nice, if slightly confusing.

But Emma doesn’t come.

She doesn’t show up the day you’re permitted visitors.

She doesn’t come the day after that.

You don’t see her for a whole week, and the only thing that stops you tearing off the sheets and going out searching for her is Alan telling you that she’s still on the island. He won’t say anything more, no matter how hard you push… and eventually you stop asking.

It's a horrible, limboish feeling, lying there alone night after night, with tubes and wires sticking out of you and only the incessant sound of beeping to keep you company. You almost regret going out after Justin – it was a fucking stupid idea, prompted by fever and fury – but every time you try to feel sorry about what happened, the remorse won’t come.

When the door finally opens late one night and a slim figure slips inside, you’d almost given up hoping to see her.