The van driver hadn’t seen us, hadn’t been looking. He was sitting in the gutter, head in his hands, another officer squatting over him with a notepad. Blond hair, cropped short. Work boots. Normal. You wouldn’t notice him on the street.

‘I’ve written another number on the back. Trauma team. In case you—’

I shook my head again. More glitter. Had there been glitter before? At—‘I’m fine.’ A party. A birthday. I couldn’t remember whose. ‘I’m okay.’

‘I know. But you might be in shock.’

‘I’m fine.’

‘I know it might not feel it, but you were lucky.’

I nodded. Lucky.

‘If I were you, I’d be buying a lottery ticket tomorrow, that’s for sure.’

‘I will,’ I said, not meaning it. ‘Thanks.’

But I kept hearing the sound.

I just needed to get home. Across the park, up the hill, left at the second street, up the steps, inside. I’d get home and make a cup of tea and it would all be okay. I looked at my phone. The screen was cracked. It wasn’t even midnight. Helen might still be awake. We could have tea together. She made good tea. I just had to get across the park. My shoulder hurt. My head hurt. I’d been drinking. Maybe that was why. Maybe it was shock. I wasn’t in shock. I was just tired. Dead tired.

Dead.

No.

I wasn’t dead.

Someone was dead. They hadn’t said it but we all knew. Gerry. How did I know that? The app. When I’d booked. Gerry. And he’d told me. He was Irish. He had a—a car seat. A kid. A doctor’s appointment. A sick wife.

I wasn’t dead. I turned my head, side to side, to make sure I could. It hurt, but I could. And I saw glitter. Again.

Not glitter. Glass.

All the glass had shattered. The windscreen. The windows. Glass everywhere. All over the seats.

Not glitter. I touched my hair—fairy floss—and I felt it in my palms. Stinging.

Oh God.

Something broke. A bottle hit concrete. A tin can crushed in a fist. Another sound. Closer. A siren. Or a wail.

‘Oh God.’

My throat burned. I looked at my hand and it didn’t look like my hand and I could see where it stung, a sliver of red. I shook it, looked again, but it was still there. I could feel it. On my hand on my arms in my hair on my face, crawling, stinging.

Lina.

That was where I’d been.

Lina’s birthday.

No.

Matt’s birthday.

I was going to tell her.

I shook my head. More glitter. Glass. My chest hurt. My eyes hurt. Was there glass in my eyes? I blinked and it burned. There was glass in my eyes. Hot.

No.

I blinked again.

Just tears.

Hot. Burning.

‘Noooo …’