I felt buoyant, the sun shone overhead, and above the volume of Bastille’s ‘Pompeii’, I could hear the birds chirping in the surrounding trees. As I neared the café, I could see its grey anti-vandalism shutters were down, covered in tags of local graffiti artists. A sign on the front indicated it didn’t open until 10 a.m. I checked my watch. It was 8.35 a.m. Bugger, I’d hoped to grab a coffee for my journey as I’d missed breakfast.

Gravel underfoot shifted behind me, but before I could turn, I was slammed into the wall of the café. Stunned, I twisted my head and caught a glimpse of a black wool balaclava and a flash of ice blue eyes over my shoulder. Cold and emotionless. My breath caught in my throat and my limbs froze. I couldn’t scream, I couldn’t breathe. Pressed up against the yellow faded bricks, unable to move. The only sound I could hear was my heart beating in my ears.

A small, sharp penknife waved in front of my eyes, reflected the morning sun and blinded me momentarily.

‘Scream and I’ll cut you,’ he whispered just behind my ear, his breath rippling strands of my hair. A sweet citrus smell mixed with coffee emanated from him. His voice was unnerving; soft and non-threatening, yet in complete control.

He gripped my shoulder and shoved me a few steps to the rear of the café. I resisted, legs rigid, stumbling over the contents of my bag which had spilled out onto the ground during the scuffle. The designer purse Jane bought me last birthday lay amongst the dirt. It registered with me that money wasn’t what he’d come for and a feeling of dread seeped into my body. Behind the building was a narrow concrete walkway, hidden in the shadows and shielded from the view of the field and path ahead. The back door to the building was old, its green paint flaking off, a tiny padlock entrusted with keeping thieves out. Next to it was a large black lidded industrial bin, surrounded by cigarette ends. It smelt of chips and oil and attracted the flies.

Terrified to look back, but the fear of not knowing greater, I swivelled my head, getting another glimpse of his face. I couldn’t see much, the majority covered with the balaclava, his lip turned up into a snarl. Hostile, close-set eyes stared at me with an emptiness that made my blood run cold. A flash of anger passed across them before he smashed my face back to the wall, scraping my cheek. I let out a whimper, a metallic taste pooled in my mouth.