I stumble around in my head trying to remember. It just happened, but I can’t immediately catch it. There was a man. A bottle.

‘Tripped,’ I say. The woman in the house obscures everything else, but I can’t tell in this spinning state whether I have done something I need to hide. I could have saved her. Does this make me guilty of some kind of manslaughter?

He writes something in his book, licking the tip of the pen as he does.

‘Where?’ he says.

I straighten up against the door to get a better look at him. He is young. His face has the glow of youth.

‘Where did I trip? I have no idea.’

He looks at me suspiciously.

‘In the park,’ I say then. ‘Hyde Park.’

He smiles a little and rubs his hair. The blond is gold in this light.

‘How did it happen?’

‘I told you. I fell,’ I say, feeling my temper rising.

He swallows and looks at me again, pen poised.

‘How though?’ he says. ‘What made you fall?’

‘I don’t know. It was wet. I fell.’

‘What did you fall on?’

‘The ground.’ I narrow my eyes at his persistence. ‘Does it matter?’

‘On the grass?’ he continues.

‘Yes,’ I say. ‘Look. I’m feeling better now, Officer. I think I want to go,’ I say and make to get to my feet. I catch the eye of a young woman as she passes. She is no more than curious – probably on her way home after a party – but still I feel the connection she is creating with her passing glance.

‘Hold up, there’s the paramedics now,’ he says, and waves at the ambulance flashing towards us. He helps me back to the ground and continues with the questions as the vehicle draws to a halt. ‘I don’t get it,’ he says then, sniffing the air.

My heart misses a beat. ‘What? Get what?’

‘How did you cut yourself by falling on grass?’

I close my eyes. ‘I fell on the grass but I hit myself on the corner of a bench on the way down,’ I say. And as I say that, the image flashes into my mind of the woman falling, her knees collapsing beneath her weight. Her head smashing into the corner of the table. He notes down my answer before going over to introduce himself to the paramedic team. They are a man and a woman, their demeanour curiously casual. They seem too upbeat for ambulance people.

‘Hello, Xander, is it?’ the woman says brightly, coming next to me. Her eyes join her smile so that I am drawn to them a little – green flecks in brown irises. ‘Just going to ask you a few questions. Do you know your name?’

I sigh. ‘Why do I need to know my name when you know it already?’