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Bernstein snapped.
    “Well it’s not asleep, is it?” Sarah protested. “George Forman doesn’t put people to sleep, does he? No. He sparks them out!” She shrugged and looked at her older brother. He smirked and shook his head in warning. Mr Bernstein was not in a joking mood.
    “Very funny, how long?” Richard asked again.
    “Nearly a week, young man.” His doctor had arrived. “Can
I see the patient, please?” He approached the bed, and David
tepped away.
    “A week, that’s not good,” Richard commented on his own condition. “Sub-cranial haematomas, no doubt?”
    “Several, young man, you are lucky to be alive.” The doctor smiled at his young patient’s knowledge.
    “Did he cut me?”
    “Who?”
    “I remember a knife,” Richard mumbled. “I don’t remember who it was, but I remember a knife.”
    “You have a number of knife wounds, Richard; some we stitched, and some we stapled.” The doctor checked his eyes again.
    “How many stitches?”
    “Hundreds,” the doctor answered, pressing his stethoscope to his chest.
    “Can I look?” Richard was eager to see his injuries in a mirror.
    “Not right now, I think we should allow some of the swelling to go down before we do that,” the doctor replied.
    “You look like the Elephant Man, except you’re purple,” Sarah joined in the conversation.
    “Sarah!” her father said angrily.
    “I know. Shut up, you stupid girl,” she mimicked her father and folded her arms sulkily.
    “I don’t know what has got into you. I’ll deal with you when we get home. For now, be quiet. If you can’t be polite, then be silent,” Mr Bernstein added.
    The doctor completed a series of checks, noting his findings on the chart at the end of the bed. He agreed with the young girl, his patient did look like a purple Elephant Man, but he kept his opinions to himself. The boy had been very lucky indeed. It had been touch and go for a while as they had battled to keep the swelling on the brain under control.
    “I’ll be back to see you in the morning. If you suffer any discomfort or headaches, then tell the nurses straight away.” The doctor smiled at Mrs Bernstein before heading off on his rounds.
    “Thank you, Doctor,” she called after him. She turned to her son. “How do you feel, Richard?”
    “Hungry,” Richard moaned. His older brother sniggered.
    “Typical Einstein, he’s on the mend,” he said laughing. “Be back on your feet in no time.”
    Two plain-clothed detectives entered the ward. They spoke briefly to the doctor, and then approached the Bernstein family. Mrs Bernstein frowned as the stale odour of cigarettes and alcohol reached her. She had met the detectives briefly when Richard was attacked, and she had noticed it then, too. It didn’t instil confidence in their ability to catch her son’s attackers.
    “How is the patient?” Detective Wallace asked. He had a broad Liverpool accent.
    “Hungry,” Sarah spoke first, receiving a dig in the ribs from her older brother. Her father gave her a withering stare. Richard giggled, but the pain it caused in his face cut it short, turning it into a gasp. Everything felt like it was happening in slow motion.
    “We need to ask him a few questions,” Detective Sergeant Aspel added. “It shouldn’t take too long.”
    “Really, detective?” Mrs Bernstein asked concerned. “He’s only just woke up, surely it can wait a few days.”
    “I’m sorry, Mrs Bernstein, but the trail is going cold. This was a very serious assault. We need to ask Richard some important questions,” Wallace nodded as he spoke to reinforce the point. He had gaunt features, sunken cheeks and deep-set eyes, which gave him an intense look. Richard thought he looked scary.
    “Five minutes, and no more,” his mother said reluctantly.
    The detectives shuffled uncomfortably to the bedside. Aspel was the senior officer. He was older than his partner by twenty years, and he wore his grey hair in a military crew cut. His nose