In the café, his breath on my face. His face in my face. His dirty glasses make me feel sick, Mummy. Can you hear me? I can feel you near. I am here in the café but it’s not now, it’s… When is this? When am I? I am today. I am this morning. I am now. I am in two moments in time, travelling but not travelling. Being. I can feel the pillow under my head. I can see the water above me… I am lying under the dark, the weeds… the hard seat hurts my bottom… not enough padding, you say… when do you say that? Did you hear me say that to myself? My mouth is dry, Mummy, but I’m not thirsty. He is sitting too close too close too close. I want to call you, Mummy… you are near but you are foggy. I can’t shout to you. I can’t call you. I left my phone in the… I ran out in a rage… You are such a pain, you won’t leave me alone. I was so pissed off with you, but now I need you and I can’t call you. You’re always nagging me to call, and I don’t want to have to call all the time but now I do – I do want to call and I do have the time, but I can’t call because I left my phone in the flat I can’t I can’t I can’t. Mummy, help me, help me, help me escape from this horrible man. He’s saying he’s Ollie. He’s not Ollie, he’s someone else – he’s an old man and his glasses are dirty and he’s making me feel sick.

The man smiles. I sense you’re disappointed, which is a shame. I’m really rather a nice chap if you get to know me. I like your jeans, by the way. Is that the fashion, to have the rips and the holes in them like that? He chuckles like an old man. He is an old man.

You’re not… what have you done to Ollie?

The girl from the till comes over. The man smiles at her and asks her how she is. She replies OK but her eyes are dead like she’s bored. I try to talk to her with my eyes, Mum. Help me, I try to say. I really try, Mummy, but I can’t speak. I can’t speak. Is this now or then? Where are you, Mummy? Are you outside the café with Auntie Bridge? No. No, you’re not because that’s last week and this is today. Today – this morning. I’m opening my mouth but no voice comes out. The girl looks at my hot chocolate, but when she sees that the cup is still half full, she walks away.

Come back, I shout to her with my eyes. Come back, come back.

What’s the matter, Sexy Lady? Cat got your tongue?

I have to do someth— I have to… I have to move get out run away. Come on, Rosie. Come on. Get your arse off the chair for fuck’s sake and run. Run, Little Red, run.

I must say, I feel like you’re cross with me about something. Are you sending me to Coventry, young lady? After all the encouragement I’ve given you?

I… I have to go, I’ve got a… a thing. I have to be… sorry.

So soon? Why not stay a while longer? We can chat. You can get to know me better. It seems a shame not to spend a little time together after we’ve got to know each other so well. You’ve grown up through knowing me, don’t you agree? You’re more confident now. I think if we talked you’d learn that beauty is only skin deep and that a man like me actually has a great deal to offer. Experience, for one. He leans forward. Tell me, are you wearing that wonderful red nail varnish on your toes?

What has he done with Ollie? He has killed him! Oh God, he has killed Ollie and stolen his phone and hacked into his computer. He has seen my… he has seen my… oh God.

I pick up my bag. I thread my arms through my jacket sleeves.

My mum’s waiting outside, I say.

Is she, dear? I don’t think so. That was last week, wasn’t it? You’re getting all muddled. We’re doing so much better this week, aren’t we? Last week you left and before we had the chance to chat, we were interrupted by your mummy.

There is no Ollie.

It hits me like a kick in the chest.

People do this. Fake profiles. We learnt about it in PSHE. Oh, Mummy, you will be so cross with me. This is the bad thing. I think this is it. I don’t get away, do I? He takes me and ties me up in his van. It’s not Auntie Bridge’s van. It’s his. He throws me in the back and drives off with me. I remember the tin space, banging my arms, my head. It’s him, standing in the light when the door opens. It’s him ripping the tape from my mouth. He knows everything. He knows everything because I have told him everything. Me. I did that. I gave him that. Everything. Idiot!

Am I dead? Am I dead, Mummy? Is this heaven’s waiting room?

What’s the matter, cat got your tongue?

He is leaning towards me. His breath smells. What should I do, Mummy? Keep it nice – stop it from turning nasty? Keep it safe and nice. Shout? I can’t shout. I want to, but I can’t.

It was nice meeting you, but I… I really have to go now.

When I get home, I will tell you everything. I am so sorry I lied. I am so, so sorry. This is what I am sorry about. Yes, this is the nasty thing.

I get up. My legs shake.

He gets up too. Perhaps a walk in the park would be better, what do you say?

No! I mean, sorry, I… I actually have to go home.

Then at least let me pay for your hot chocolate. I wouldn’t be much of a gentleman if I didn’t pay for your drink on our date, would I?

I’ve already paid, thanks. I back away. He stays at the table, thank God.

I turn away from his horrible big blinking eyes, his dirty glasses. I try not to run. I walk quickly towards the door. The girl on the till isn’t even looking; she is serving someone, chatting, smiling. The other girl, with the blue hair, is at the back, putting cooked breakfasts on big white oval plates onto a crowded table. The café is noisy but no one is even looking at me. How can this be happening in front of everyone? In daylight? In this nice, busy place? Why can’t I ask for help, Mummy? Why can’t I tell him to leave me alone? Why can’t I shout to her, the girl with the blue hair? To the four women who have just come in, laughing together? To the Polish girl on the till? They would help. Blue-hair girl would be cool. What is wrong with me? Why can’t I tell her what’s happening? It is broad daylight. Why can’t I speak out?

If I get outside, I will be OK. I will get the bus.

No, I won’t, because he could get on the bus too, and if no one else gets off at my stop or if there’s no one out on our road, I will be toast.

I will walk home.

No, I won’t. He could follow me, wait until we are alone, until there is an alley or a quiet street or a doorway, and just push me into it, quick, while no one is looking.

I will call you, and if you don’t answer, I’ll call Auntie Bridge. No, I can’t, can I? I’ve left my phone in the flat.

I will walk… around. Just around. I will stay here on the high street where there are people. I will do my breathing, like before a performance. It is broad daylight. Do re mi fa so la ti do.

I will calm myself down. I will go into a shop and politely ask to use their phone. If he follows me in, I will say, This man is not my father, I don’t know him, he is following me. Help. Help me. Call the police.

Beep beep… Is that you? Is that you, Mummy?

I step out onto the street. The light hurts my eyes. I feel the door behind me not quite close, open again. It’s him. I know it without having to turn around. I can feel him. My mouth is dry. I am gulping. I am moving my tongue around, trying to create spit.

Heavens, you are in a hurry, young lady.

Beep beep…

I turn left, walk towards the crossing. I will not cross. I will not go into the park or near the park gate. I will walk slowly. I will do my breathing. Do re mi fa so la ti do.

There are people on the pavement. There are couples, there are families with dogs, little kids in buggies. I smile at them. A mum smiles back. A kid eating a croissant in his buggy waves at me. I wave. I smile. Can’t they see the sweat on my face? Can’t they see him behind me, talking to me like he knows me?

Good idea, he is saying. A brisk stroll around the town on this fine Saturday morn. I don’t often get out, you see. This is quite a treat.

It’s OK; it’s OK. I will calm myself. I will do my breathing. There is a church on the left just before the crossing. There are old people outside selling plants and second-hand books. I will buy a second-hand book! Or a plant. I will buy you a plant, Mummy, to say sorry. You love plants. I will ask them, politely…

Hey, slow down, he says from behind me. Don’t you want to stroll in the park with me? It’s such a lovely day and so crowded here.

Beep beep…

Calm. Breathe. I will pretend to buy a geranium here at this nice church. You love geraniums, Mummy. I’ll buy one and I’ll whisper to the lady with the short grey hair: This man is following me. Help. Help me.

Rosie darling, you can’t ignore me like this. He says it quietly but his head is near my head and I hear him. All I want to do is talk – get to know you a little. You could come back to my place…

Beep beep… Beep beep… Beep beep. I know that sound. That sound saves me, doesn’t it? Doesn’t it, Mummy?

Cooee! Rosie! Rosie darling!

Beep beep. Beep beep beeeeeep. A red Mini. The sunroof is down. It’s Emily! She stops at the crossing. She is waving. I burst into tears and run to her.

Rosie my dear, fancy seeing you here! I was just on the way to your place with the notes. Your mum mentioned your printer was on the blinkeroo. Do you want a lift, or is the Pope Catholic?

Her car is half a metre away. She has her hazards on like you do, Mummy, when you need to pull in. I run, fast, open the car door, can’t believe I’m getting in Emily’s car, can’t believe I’m safe. I am safe I am safe I am safe.

Thank you! I say. I am full-on crying now. That man – that man was…

Her smile fades. Oh my dear, whatever’s the matter?

Behind us another car beeps, wanting us to get going. Emily turns around and holds up her hand. She calls out:

Just a tick. She turns to me. Is that man bothering you, dear?

I nod. Please. Let’s go.

The man has reached the car. He is right there. He has stopped talking to me; he is pretending to stroll. He passes the car as if nothing has happened. I look at Emily and she reads my eyes; she hears me without me having to say. She raises her eyebrows and looks from me to the man. She gives him a stern look. I’ve see this look before – she calls it her Paddington Bear stare – but he doesn’t see her; he is facing ahead. Emily drives slowly, until we’re level with the man. Someone beeps; she waves them past, she doesn’t care. Go, Emily!

Excuse me, she says to the man. My young friend here says she’d rather not talk to you. Do you hear? I say! You should know better than to talk to young girls who do not wish to talk to you. Now go and bother someone else. Goodbye!

She guns the engine. The car behind beeps her again, in an angry way. The man doesn’t look at us, but I can tell he’s heard. His face is red. He is looking at his feet. We drive away. I don’t turn around, because I never want to see him again.

I am crying but laughing at the same time. Emily is laughing. We repeat the whole conversation and laugh at ourselves.

You were brilliant, Emily, I say.

If I see him again, I will jolly well poke him in the eye! She chuckles. I love Emily’s chuckle; I just love it. I am safe.