There’s something on my eyes, something on my face. I’m sure my eyes are open but I can’t see anything. I blink. A synthetic material brushes against my eyelids, it is cool and scratchy. I’m flat on my back, I realize. Laid out like a kipper. I wriggle my toes and my fingers; everything seems to be intact, although I appear to be half-submerged in a puddle.

‘Pardon,’ says a voice – French, if my C-grade O level serves me correctly – and something navy blue and plasticky is lifted from my face. I see a Hello Kitty fluffy toy swinging from a key chain, as a backpack goes floating up in the sullen air and on to someone’s shoulder.

‘I’ll see to her. Grazie.’

A face appears in front of mine. Huge, amused eyes the colour of fir trees, wrinkled at the corners. Long eyelashes. A handsome mouth curled into a smile. A nose that looks like it may have been broken, once upon a time. If I flick my eyes down (and I don’t want to), I know I will see a flash of purple and gold.

‘Hi. You OK?’

‘Yes.’

I sit up. I’m a few feet from the shelter of the covered market. I scan the crowds of people, all huddled under the archway. ‘Where’s my father?’ I immediately ask.

‘He’s fine. He’s over by the Moomin Shop being chatted up by a couple of pensioners.’

I follow the line of Salvi’s pointed finger and yes, there is Dad, indeed surrounded by women – more than a couple, actually – who are talking animatedly into his face and clutching on to his arms. I wonder if they followed the golden rule of Approach, Introduce, Offer, like you’re supposed to with blind people. Perhaps they offered to talk his ears off … Dad has his head thrown back and he is laughing, a sight I haven’t seen for a long, long time. I’m so surprised to see it.

‘We got separated. He’s blind; we can’t get separated,’ I say.

‘Here, let me help you up.’ Salvi holds out his hand to me, closes it tightly around mine and pulls me up. The touch of his hand is confident, assured; so confident it borders on audacity.

‘I’m Salvi,’ he says. ‘Salvi Russo.’

I know. ‘I’m Prue,’ I reply, although he already knows this.

He doesn’t let go. He keeps his hand tightly around mine as he begins to guide me over to the Moomin Shop, and Dad. The rain has stopped as abruptly as it began. The sun is beginning to make itself known again, shy after its defection.