She raised her head and saw a middle-aged guy with a short, grey beard.

‘I really didn’t think I’d be able to stop when you fell in front of me,’ he added.

He must be the driver behind the headlights, she thought. The man whose quick thinking had probably saved her life.

But she had neither the time nor the inclination to show her gratitude. She needed to get up and away from here. But she wasn’t sure how easy that was going to be.

She could see other faces now, hear more voices, as people were being drawn to the scene of the accident.

‘Fuck.’

‘Perhaps you should stay where you are until an ambulance gets here,’ someone else said. A woman this time.

Rosa managed to shake her head. ‘No. No ambulance. I’m fine.’

And then she struggled to get up, but it proved difficult because she was disoriented and in shock.

‘Please help me,’ she said. ‘I need to go.’

She felt hands on her arms, helping her to her feet. Her head was spinning, but at least her legs didn’t give way beneath her, and that came as a relief.

She felt a little giddy and stars fell past her eyes. She took a deep breath. Then another.

She straightened her back, moved her neck from side to side. Flexed her arms. Satisfied herself that all her parts were still in working order.

Then she looked around and realised that at least three pairs of eyes were watching her. The bearded man started speaking again but the voice was drowned out by the sound of a siren. Was it an ambulance or a police car? She couldn’t be sure. She hadn’t been in London long enough to distinguish between the two.

She took a step forward, shoving the man out of the way. She needed to locate the bike and get going before the emergency vehicle arrived. Or before these people tried to stop her.

She saw the bike lying on its side against the kerb a few metres away. It appeared that the engine had cut out but she didn’t see any damage to the wheels or frame.

Rosa pushed herself towards it, her limbs protesting every step of the way.

‘You can’t just leave the scene of an accident,’ someone said behind her. ‘The police will want to talk to you and you’re in no fit state to ride a motorcycle.’

She was still wearing the hat but it had shifted upwards, revealing her ears and strands of hair that fell across her forehead.

As she approached the bike she felt a hand on her left shoulder and it caused an explosive pain.

She whirled round and stared at the bearded man who was shaking his head at her.

‘The police will be here any second, miss,’ he said. ‘They’ll want to talk to you.’