‘Would you like another?’ he mouths.

‘Yes please,’ I mouth back.

Tomas and the boy come over with the drinks and join Erna and me. The band strikes up a new tune. The dance floor is filling up.

‘Dance with me,’ Tomas says and holds out a hand.

He slips his arm around my waist and leads me around the dance floor, weaving in and out of the other couples. Our step is out of time and I keep bumping against him. Different to Walter whose body and step fitted so neatly with mine. I glimpse Erna over Tomas’s shoulder, her mouth close to the ear of the good-looking Heer boy, capless now, his blond hair tousled. I sense Tomas looking down at me, willing me to look into his face, but I can’t. I won’t.

I begin to feel dizzy. The drink, the smoky atmosphere; all these sweaty bodies pressing in. The band, the chatter and laughter. Suddenly it’s all too loud.

‘I need some air,’ I whisper to Tomas, leaning against him, fearing I might faint.

‘Of course. Let’s go outside.’ He grips me around the waist, drawing my arm around his, and leads me to the door. The fresh air hits me in the face, instantly reviving. We move away from canoodling couples clustered around the entrance and rest our backs against the wall. I take several deep breaths and my head begins to clear.

‘Thank you,’ I say and smile at Tomas.

‘C’mon,’ he says, ‘let’s find somewhere quieter still. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?’ He looks at me intently.

I nod, glad to be in the clear air, glad not to be feeling ill. He leads me by the hand into a little park across the road from the bar and we sit on a bench between two trees. It’s peaceful and dark away from the street lamps and the noise of the bar.

In one swift movement, Tomas swings round and pushes me against the arm of the bench. He dives onto me and his tongue, rough and probing, forces its way deep into my mouth. He stinks of beer and cigarettes. His body is heavy and solid on top of me, the arm of the bench digging hard into my back. I’m paralysed with shock. This is nothing like Walter’s soft, light touch. Tomas is brittle and unyielding. I can feel a hard bulge swell in his trousers and he begins to grind his crotch against my thigh.

I want him off me. I’m suffocating and struggle against him for air, but he resists and presses harder. He slips his hand inside my dress and grasps my breast, pushing my legs apart with his. Panic rises and I try to push his tongue from my mouth, twist my face away. My arms are pinned down. He’s hurting my breast and I try to resist the weight of him parting my legs, but he’s too strong. He pushes up my dress and claws a hand up my thigh. No, no, no. Please don’t do this. I struggle harder, against the solid roughness of him. He’s tugging on my underwear, fumbling, pulling at it, scratching me in his desperation to get it down.