‘Ivy, unhand that man!’

Anorak Man whimpers. Realising I should probably let go, I release my grip and watch as he cradles his arm to his body. More visitors appear and the man blinks up at them, seemingly as confused as everyone else.

‘Why would you … how dare you!’ he blusters.

He looks embarrassed and more than a little outraged, but otherwise normal. And yet just a moment ago … If I hadn’t witnessed it myself, I wouldn’t believe it was the same person.

Mr Neeson heaves the guy to his feet, both men sweating and grunting from the exertion, and I watch in disbelief as my boss fusses over him. ‘I’m so sorry, sir. Here, let me help you.’ He actually apologises to him. Injustice throbs in my throat, but I know how this could go and there’s no way I’m being dismissed as the hysterical girl in all this.

I speak loudly, my voice steady. ‘Mr Neeson, this man attacked me.’

Anorak Man’s cheeks wobble with indignant alarm. ‘I did no such thing. There’s been a mistake.’

My boss surveys the herd of bewildered mums then narrows his eyes at me. Surely he can’t imagine this is my fault.

‘Do you know this man?’ he asks.

‘No.’

‘Why would he attack you?’

‘I don’t know.’

Mr Neeson addresses the onlookers. ‘Did anyone see what happened?’ A few people murmur but most watch in silence. I point to the mum who was staring wide-eyed at me just now, but she shakes her head.

‘I only saw him on the ground. I didn’t see what happened before that, sorry.’

Suddenly everyone is talking. My boss gestures for quiet, but several of the women raise their voices, outraged he’s questioning my version of events. A pretty woman with an afro puts her arm around my shoulders and then the lady in the jumpsuit does the same on the other side. I smile at them and my heart softens with gratitude.

While my boss calms the crowd, I gently extricate myself from the women and take out my phone. I’m hoping my mum might have messaged or left a voicemail, but there’s nothing. Mr Neeson grabs my wrist and hisses through clenched teeth, ‘Put that thing away and tell me what the hell’s going on here.’

Dot’s voice warbles out. ‘Someone needs to call the police! If you won’t let the poor girl do it, then I will.’ She winks at me then rummages in her handbag and I feel a surge of affection for her. Dot doesn’t own a mobile; it came up during one of our chats once. She buried hers in the garden after the Daily Mail said they make your hair fall out.

Mr Neeson drops my wrist with a forced laugh that’s as tight as his shorts. ‘Oh, I don’t think there’s any need for that. I’m sure we can sort this out, can’t we Ivy?’ He glares as if daring me to say otherwise and I keep quiet, enjoying his discomfort. Having the police here isn’t good for business, but it might not be good for me either. I don’t want the man to be taken away; I need to find out why he tried to attack me. I nod and my boss lets out a breath. ‘Good girl,’ he says, rewarding me with a smug smile that makes me want to drop-kick him into next week.