She felt sick. The world spun like a loose wheel. Darkness pressed close and with it a sense of time spiralling away. She thought she must have fainted even if only for a moment because she came around to the feeling of water on her face—either rain or tears, she was not sure—and the coldness of the London night. People were talking over her head, a jumble of voices, curious and eager:

“I’m calling an ambulance—”

“It’s Lizzie Kingdom—”

“What’s happened to her?”

Hard wood scored her cheek and she realised that she was slumped on one of the benches along the edge of the river embankment. People were crowding around her. She felt confused and disoriented.

“Johnny?” she said, remembering. She tried to raise her head. It felt weighted with lead. There was a bitter taste in her mouth as though she had swallowed dust and ashes. “What happened? Where’s Johnny?”

“...An ambulance...” someone repeated. “The police—”

“I’m fine,” Lizzie said. “Really, there’s no need for an ambulance.”

A flash went off, adding to the sense of unreality, and then another. Lizzie wondered how long she had been unconscious. She had absolutely no idea but she had the oddest feeling that time had skipped a beat, that it was dislocated, that the moment she had thought no more than a second had somehow stretched into an hour, or even an infinity.

She levered herself up onto her elbows and then to a sitting position, looking around. All she could discern were strange faces, crowded close, giving her a momentary sense of panic and claustrophobia.

“Where’s Johnny?” she repeated. “He was here a moment ago...”

Another flash from a phone exploded in her face. The crowd seemed to be growing exponentially, like sharks drawn to blood. It was frightening when Lizzie felt so off-balance and so ill-equipped to deal with it. If this had happened a few weeks ago she would have chatted to everyone and made light of it all as she hurried back to the flat but that had been in the days when everyone liked her. Now there was an edge to the crowd. She could sense their mood.

“Johnny?” She craned her head, searching the dark sea of faces, but he was nowhere to be seen. A chill crawled over her skin. Johnny had been right beside her when she had reached out to touch the plaque. She’d seen his shadow against the light. She remembered the vivid kaleidoscope of images before the dizzying spiral down into darkness...

“Who’s Johnny?” someone asked. No one was offering any practical help; they were jostling to take pictures and viewing her like a zoo animal.

“Excuse me.” She stood up and immediately felt horribly sick. Her stomach lurched. She had to find a way through the crush of people. “I need to go home—” she said. “Excuse me.”

Her phone was still in her pocket. She felt a clench of relief as her hand closed about it. She could call Bill. He’d get someone to help her within five minutes. There was no need to panic. She felt shaky and light-headed as she dialled his number.