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urge to hear him speak, to hear his voice and reassure him. He looked like he was having a good dream, and she wondered how that was possible. She tried to remember when she’d last had a good dream.
    His eyes fluttered open and he looked at her, confused.
    ‘Shhh,’ she said. ‘You’re safe.’
    She saw it on his face as he began to recognise where he was and who he was with, as he remembered what had happened. The confusion turning to distress, panic.
    She was still stroking his head, but he pushed her hand away and tried to sit up.
    ‘It’s OK,’ she said. Her hand lay limp on the bedclothes where it had landed. She looked at it as if it wasn’t part of her.
    Sam seemed more together than he’d been earlier, more aware of his situation. He went into the pocket of his hoodie and pulled out his phone. Checked for messages with a trembling hand, then pushed call and held it to his ear.
    Ellie could hear it from where she sat. She prayed for it to go to voicemail. Five rings, then it did. Sam hung up without leaving a message.
    ‘Who are you trying to get hold of?’ she said.
    He shook his head, trying to drive the sleep away.
    ‘Is it your little sister?’ Ellie said, thinking about the coats and shoes in the hallway earlier.
    He stared at her. ‘How do you know I have a little sister?’
    She tried to put her hand on his, but he slipped away from her touch.
    ‘I just want to make sure you’re OK,’ she said.
    ‘How do you know about Libby?’
    ‘Libby, that’s a lovely name. How old is she?’
    ‘I asked you a question.’ He shuffled back against the headboard. ‘Who are you?’
    ‘You know who I am,’ Ellie said. ‘Do you remember being on the bridge earlier?’
    ‘Of course.’
    ‘I found you. Brought you back here to get you sorted out.’
    He glanced at his phone then rubbed his face. ‘How do you know about my sister?’
    She looked at him, held his gaze. ‘I’ve been to your house.’
    ‘What?’ He seemed younger than his age suddenly, had the scared look of a toddler in trouble.
    ‘I was worried. You fell asleep. I wanted to get in contact with your parents, let them know you were safe.’
    He rubbed at his fist with his other hand. ‘And?’
    She shook her head. ‘I didn’t. At least . . .’
    ‘What?’
    She took his hand. ‘Why don’t you tell me what happened at home?’
    He pulled away from her and sat up, swinging his legs off the bed in a tangle of blanket. ‘I need to speak to my sister.’
    She put a hand on his thigh, felt his muscle through the material of her son’s jeans. ‘Wait, I can help. Tell me what happened and I’ll help you find Libby.’
    He looked at her hand on his leg. ‘I can’t.’
    She stood up, positioning herself between him and the door, arms folded across her chest. Not that it would do any good if he wanted to leave.
    ‘Let me tell you what I found,’ she said. ‘I went to your house, 23 Inchcolm Terrace. There was no answer but the door was unlocked, so I went in. I found a man in the kitchen with a knife in him. I think that man is your dad. He was still alive. I heard your mum come in the front door and I ran out back. A few minutes later I heard an ambulance arrive, then I came home.’
    He looked down at his lap and played with the zip on his hoodie. Ellie thought about the bloody T-shirt underneath.
    ‘Now your turn,’ Ellie said.
    ‘Do you think he’s still alive now?’ Sam said, his head staying down.
    ‘I don’t know. I think so. He opened his eyes when I was there.’
    ‘He saw you?’
    Ellie nodded. ‘But I don’t know how aware he was of anything around him.’
    Sam sat in silence.
    ‘Is he your dad?’ Ellie said.
    A nod.
    ‘Who attacked him?’
    Sam rubbed his hands.
    ‘Was it you?’ Ellie said.
    Sam closed his eyes, pinched at the bridge of his nose.
    ‘I saw blood on your T-shirt.’
    He nodded again.
    ‘Was it an accident?’
    Sam raised his head and looked at her. ‘No.’
    Ellie thought for a