But I couldn’t let go. New Me wanted to do the right thing and leave it to the trained soldier, but Rhiannon didn’t want to be left out.

‘Take him,’ I said, nodding at the blond. ‘I got this one.’

I lurched my head back and nutted him square in the face, the way Dad liked to do, kicking him backwards into a plastic table and chairs. I was on him like a panther, mounting his trunk and grasping his head with one hand, half a glass bottle in the other, stabbing his face, his neck, his eye sockets. Stabstabstabstabstabstabstabstabstabstabstab. Just like old times.

The man screamed and beat my arms, smashing into my throat with his fists as he writhed on the sand. I didn’t know what was happening until Rafael had hold of me, shouting

‘Let go, baby! Let go!’

I turned my attention to the guy’s shorts and yanked them down, grabbing his cock in one hand and the broken bottle in the other but before I could get stuck in, Rafael had pulled me away. The blond guy, now covered in blood too, scrabbled for his screaming, blind friend and dragged him up the beach, away from us.

‘We’ve gotta get out of here,’ Rafael panted, pulling me to my feet and taking my hand. ‘Come on.’

I dropped the bottle and we ran through the streets and didn’t stop until we had reached the cemetery where we could hide amongst the trees. We were both covered in blood, shaking like leaves and laughing like maniacs.

‘Fuck!’ Raf shouted, grabbing an empty jug from one of the graves and filling it with water from a nearby tap. He poured it over my hands first then his own to wash away the blood. ‘Fuck, fuck, fuck! Where are you hurt?’ He held my face with his free hand.

‘I don’t think I am,’ I panted. ‘Nothing hurts. I feel amazing!’ And I laughed, hysterically, almost in his face. I was so happy – it was the first time ever something like that had happened and I hadn’t risen to the bait until I had to. And I had done it to protect Rafael. It was for him, not for me. I loved him. I loved me. I loved us.

‘Your lip’s bleeding,’ he said, caressing my face so gently.

‘So’s yours.’

He pulled off his shirt and tore it right down the sleeve, soaking it with water and padding it gently over my mouth. We caught our breaths and wiped our faces and he sat beside me on a tomb.

‘My God, you can throw a punch, girl.’ He dabbed at my mouth with the torn cloth, making a face I couldn’t read.

‘What’s that face for?’

‘Doesn’t that hurt you?’

‘No. It was fun beating someone up with you tonight.’

‘You really are a maniac. Where’d you learn to fight like that?’