‘What did she say?’ the woman asks, her phone hanging loosely in her hand, as the man grabs me round the shoulders and slowly lowers me to the floor.

‘Something about how you can’t feel pain in a nightmare and oh God, I’m awake.’

‘What did you ring an ambulance for?’

‘Because that guy sounded so worried about her.’

‘Why didn’t you wait until we got to her? As if the NHS hasn’t got enough problems without their ambulance crews being called out for no reason. She looks fine and she’s not injured.’

‘Malcolm, just because she’s standing up again doesn’t mean she’s not hurt. She’s only just stopped shaking.’

‘She’s probably a prostitute. Why else would she be hanging round the men’s loos at ten o’clock at night?’

As they continue to argue in hushed tones, but not so quiet that I can’t hear them, I look around. The walls are pale and grubby and there are grey stairs, the edges painted yellow that stretch above and below the small square of concrete where the three of us are standing. A black metal handrail runs the length of the stairs and, on the wall, is a blue sign that says, Have you paid and displayed your ticket?

I’m in a car park.

‘Where is this place?’ I touch the woman on the arm.

‘Oh!’ She leaps away from me and clutches at her husband’s arm. He takes a step towards me, instinctively tucking her behind him, protecting her. From me.

‘Bristol. You’re in a multistorey car park in the centre.’

‘Who sounded worried?’

‘Sorry?’ The man smiles sympathetically but there’s a different emotion in his eyes now. He thinks I’m on drugs, or drunk.

‘You said someone was worried. Were you talking about me?’

‘There was a man,’ the woman says. ‘He ran past our car shouting that a woman had collapsed in the men’s toilets.’

‘Was he young?’ My heart contracts with hope. ‘Could he have been fifteen?’

‘I don’t know.’ She glances up at her husband.

‘He was wearing dark clothes, maybe a hoody, but I didn’t see his face.’

‘I need to ring my family,’ I say. ‘I need to tell them where I am.’

As I unzip my handbag I see something wrapped in my tissue and the ground seems to drop from beneath me. The knife is real. I didn’t dream that either.

‘She’s gone very pale,’ the woman says. ‘I think she’s going to pass out.’

‘Do you want to sit down on the step?’ The husband reaches out a tentative hand. ‘My wife’s rung an ambulance. It should be here soon.’