‘Honestly, it’s fine.’

I huddle into my coat and turn my body to avoid the worst of the downpour, and he shouts again. ‘You’re waiting for him, aren’t you, the guy in the anorak? I don’t think that’s a good idea. I mean, phone the police, yes, but –’

‘I can handle it, Tom.’

My irritation must sound in my voice as he recoils with a gesture that says he wouldn’t dare argue with me. He disappears into his car and a moment later the window lowers and he leans out. ‘Think I might stick around for a bit. Come sit with me?’

I sigh, wishing he’d just go. It’s going to be hard enough to get Anorak Man to talk to me without any distractions – but at the same time, it’s nice that Tom cares enough to make sure I’m OK, and it would be good to escape the rain. I check the sky, hoping it might call off its deluge, but the stubborn clouds show no sign of relenting. Maybe I could wait in his car for a bit. I’m still thinking about how to reply when a black BMW drives by with Mr Neeson behind the steering wheel and Anorak Man next to him.

Goddamn it, cockwomble.

They must have left via the back of the building, where management park. I hurry towards them and Mr Neeson peers through the windscreen at me in alarm. He puts his foot down and I cut a diagonal and charge towards the exit junction. I’ll block them from leaving if I have to. The BMW reverses sharply, drenching me in a wave of cold puddle water, and I watch helplessly as it turns and speeds out of the car park.

‘What the hell, Ivy?’ Tom runs over and I want to tell him to get back in his car and follow them. But even as the idea comes to me, I know it’s no use. They’ll be at the main road by now, and there’s no way to tell which direction they’ll go.

He opens the passenger door of his car, but I step back and shake my head. ‘No, you don’t understand. I need to know why he attacked me. I need to …’ I take out my phone, my fingers fumbling in the wet. If I can’t talk to the man, then my mother has to explain instead. I wipe the raindrops from the screen and press the button to return the call. Number withheld.

No. No. No. This can’t be happening.

Tom flaps his arms. ‘Christ, Ivy, what does it matter? He probably doesn’t even have a reason. Maybe he just didn’t like the smell of your perfume.’

I stare at my phone in disbelief. I have to meet my mum. I don’t care what she said about staying away from the island.

‘Please, Ivy! Would you just get in?’ Tom glares at me in exasperation, rain dripping from the end of his nose, and I have a feeling it’s not the first time he’s asked.