He shifted in his seat. Saw something inside the dish. What was it? A light brown sludge in the bottom.

‘Ambulance!’ he shouted as he sprung up. ‘Ambulance now!’

He grabbed her under the arms and pulled her to her feet, bawling in her ear.

‘What was it, Chris?’

‘Doesn’t matter,’ she said, suddenly frail and vulnerable.

‘Tell me!’

He looked at the woman behind the counter, who was on already on the phone.

‘Overdose,’ he shouted. ‘Tell ’em we don’t know what she’s taken.’

He sat Chris on the edge of the table and got his wallet out. Ramming the corner of it into her mouth, he managed to prise her teeth apart enough to shove it further in.

‘No! No!’ she was trying to say, her body squirming in his grasp, too weak to resist.

He stuck his fingers into her mouth, waggling the wallet to one side so he could get the width of his hand inside. She tried to bite down, her eyes filling with tears and terror. The wallet was slipping out.

He had one arm around her body to keep her upright. He forced his other hand further in, ignoring the pain, knowing that her teeth had broken the skin of his fingers. She was biting hard. If the wallet slipped out, she’d be down to the bone. A low scream came from somewhere deep within her, but it was breathless and desperate, as her body flayed beneath her.

‘What was it?’ he shouted, knowing that she couldn’t tell him, not now.

She was resourceful, determined. It would have been enough. Plenty enough to kill her.

He wouldn’t allow that to happen.

When her body began to jerk, he knew he was there. Years ago, Andy had taught him how to make himself vomit, the squaddie’s nightcap. Eight pints and a morning shift looming, it was the best way to finish off a session. Just tickle the back of the throat ’til it spasms, then again, forcing yourself to go on, wiggling your fingers in until your stomach is empty.

‘Come on!’ he said, feeling the sweat on his face as he fought to keep his hand deep in her mouth.

One little spurt of bile. He pressed on. Her body went into spasm. He was losing her, but his fingers went further in, feeling the muscles of her throat contract around them like a soft embrace.

Then it came. A massive convulsion. Immediately another. Huge, hawking coughs from the guts. Her body was losing the last of its resistance. He struggled to keep her stable as sweet-smelling vomit covered him.

By the time it was over, she was hardly conscious. Joe’s face was streaming with sweat, and he was soaked in watery puke.

The woman in the café, not knowing else what to do, had gone outside to wait for the ambulance. The two uniforms from the patrol car saw her and came running.