I looked round at the voice, struggling to regain my equilibrium. Fay Carter was gazing up at me. ‘Does your foot really hurt? I’ve had loads of problems with my arm. They have to keep re-setting it.’

‘Oh dear.’ I tried to disengage myself without causing offence. ‘No, I’m fine, really.’ But I moved too fast; my crutch went crashing down the bloody stairs. I bit my lip, swallowing my pain and irritation.

‘I’ll get it.’ She pattered after the crutch. ‘It’s nice to help each other, don’t you think?’

‘Yes, of course,’ I replied uneasily.

‘After all,’ Fay returned the crutch to my freezing hand, ‘I’m only returning the favour.’ Her huge eyes were so serious, too serious, as she looked up at me. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t get the chance to thank you before today for saving me.’

‘Look, I’m sorry, but I really don’t think I did.’ I heard the screaming metal on the motorway again and blanched. ‘You must have me confused with –’

‘No, Maggie.’ She just kept staring. ‘It was you, it was definitely you. They told me after, the rescue-workers. They pointed you out. And now you’ve just helped me again, in there.’ She indicated the television studio. ‘So I really owe you now.’

‘You don’t, honestly.’ I hopped down the steps as fast as my leg would carry me. ‘I’d better – you know. The cab’s waiting. I’ll see you –’

A metallic car with darkened windows pulled up opposite the studios, sounding its imperious horn.

‘That’s me,’ Fay smiled dreamily. ‘I was going to say’, she tapped lightly down the stairs beside me, ‘we should get together sometime, don’t you think? Give me your number, yeah?’

My heart sank, but she rattled on, not seeming to notice my reticence. ‘A few of us were thinking of starting a survivors’ group. I’d love you to be part of it, Maggie. You’d be great. Really helpful.’

Fay was too near me now, right in my space, peering up into my face. Was the girl always this upbeat? I felt truly exhausted. How could I explain that the idea of being in any sort of group right now filled me full of dread, least of all one that would reminisce endlessly about that hideous night? The silver car hooted again. Fay waved a little pearl-tipped hand.

‘Coming!’ She turned back to me. ‘Look, here’s my number, yeah?’ Fishing around in the sequinned handbag that dangled from her own plaster-cast, she handed me a small shiny pink card.

Fay Carter, Entertainer Extraordinaire, it announced in black flowing script. A tiny big-bosomed figure high-kicked beneath the words.