I run out onto the street, cross the road and sit on a bench. A shadow crosses me from behind: just two girls on a night out, arms linked, laughing brightly. The moon is a tiny inverted C, peeking out from behind the clouds. It throws its meek shafts of light on the murky canal water, which appears lacquered black. I have a weird desire to wade in, not in a dramatic I-want-to-die way, but just to submerge. I lie on my back on the damp grass, imagining I’m floating, staring at the flashes of the lunar C as the clouds move across its surface. I close my eyes for a moment, and then they jolt open on reflex. It’s a furtive place here, among the trees and the benches, the looming long-necked swans. There are shadowy men walking. I stand tall, all spiky elbows and taut body, and go for a walk, swinging my arms, fists clenched. I need to pump my muscles, fill my lungs with air. The rain starts up again, softly at first, but then it pelts down, and still I walk on.

Twenty minutes later, drenched as a water rat, I notice a figure lying on the ground on the pavement in front of me. I start to cross the road to avoid any trouble, but when I look back I see that it’s a girl and she’s in bad shape. As I draw nearer I notice she’s shaking and jerking and her eyes are rolling in her head, her jeans pulled down to her hips.

‘Are you ok?’

She tries to open her eyes and focus on me, but can only manage a nod.

‘What’s your name?’

‘Natasha,’ she says.

Christ. ‘Where do you live?’

She manages to mumble something along the lines of ‘Take me anywhere you like …’ and then she blacks out again. I kneel on the ground beside her, put her head on my lap, take off my wet jumper and lay it on her chest. I do my best to pull her skin-tight jeans back up over her hips. She wriggles and makes a practiced moaning sound. She looks like a child. A car slows down, and a man leans out the window. ‘Fuck off, can’t you see this girl needs help?’

The car speeds away, and another one slows down, but as soon as this guy sees me and what’s going on, he’s gone. I dial 999. ‘Emergency,’ I say, ‘girl unconscious.’ I don’t know exactly where I am but I describe the building and the canal bank. The voice says she knows where I mean, that I’m to hold tight and they’ll be there as soon as possible. Twenty minutes pass and the girl falls in and out of consciousness, at one point opening her eyes and reaching towards my zip. I gently push her hand away and turn her on her side, in case she chokes.