Beth arrives at Clapham bandstand and pauses. The circular platform with its upside-down teacup roof is a central marker on the common, and six paths branch out from it like a pedestrianised roundabout. She chooses the first path on her left, which takes her along the edge of woodland and towards the football pitches. She’s careful to keep Luna in her eyeline – there have been too many stories about dog thefts for Beth to ever let her guard down – but otherwise she lets her roam free; that dog needs to be worn out.

The pitches are empty, no matches played on a Tuesday morning, and it’s a lot quieter away from the playground and smattering of cafés. Dark clouds have formed in the sky, and the threat of rain seems to be keeping people away. Beth usually loves the solitude of running alone, but today she finds herself searching for the reassurance of others, of strangers doing familiar things. She shakes her head in annoyance. Is this how life is going to be now? Scared of her own shadow? That squatter kid will have forgotten all about his threat, so why can’t she?

Especially with her background.

Beth started running when she was 14. It was an excuse to get away from the chaos of her home and forget about the gypsy taunts she suffered at school. Those streets were far more dangerous than where she is now, and as she’d pounded the pavements, she’d imagined running somewhere with views and fresh air and no one lurking in the shadows. Somewhere like Clapham Common.

And yet here she is, feeling like that scared teenager all over again.

The woods on Beth’s left provide a thick barrier to soak up the pollution from the road, but in her current mood the towering oaks and horse chestnut trees look ominous in the low light. She sees two thick-chested men walking through them, heads together, deep in conversation. They’re not interested in her, of course they’re not. But what if they were? What if they tried to drag her into the woods? She looks at Luna, splashing through puddles, chasing birds. She’d be no help. Beth’s skin is fizzing now, tiny needles of adrenalin pricking the back of her neck.

Damn it, and damn the kid who threatened her. She wants to run the fear off, but her heart is racing too fast, and shadows seem to be jumping out from every angle. She swivels on her toes and starts heading back towards the bandstand and the busier section of the common. A little faster, just in case. She’s sprinting now, running away. Even though there’s nothing there. She can sense Luna at her heels, thinking this is a game. Tears start to sprout, but they’ve become ones of frustration.

And of regret for choosing the wrong route home on Thursday night.