The noise starts up as quickly as it stopped. Voices, car horns, doors opening and slamming. I’m lying on my front in the middle of the road, the odour of burning rubber and hot tarmac in my nostrils. The taste of blood in my mouth. Am I okay? I don’t know. I really don’t know.

‘She just stepped out into the road.’

‘Is she hurt?’

‘Has anyone called an ambulance?’

I open my eyes to brightness, my left cheek pressed into the gravelly road. A man’s face hovers above me.

‘You all right, love?’

I swallow and try to speak, but my throat is dry. ‘I… I don’t know. She pushed me.’ I lift my head off the ground and it feels like I’ve left a layer of skin on the tarmac.

‘Not sure you should be moving. You took quite a tumble there. Lucky my car’s got good brakes. What the hell was you doing, stepping into the road like that?’

I push myself up with scraped palms, shakily sit back on my haunches. Everything feels bruised, but nothing is unbearably painful.

‘Lucky you wasn’t killed,’ the man says, shaking his head, his eyes wide. He’s middle-aged, grey-haired, wearing denim shorts and a FatFace T-shirt.

He keeps saying I’m lucky, but it doesn’t feel that way to me. I glance around at the halted traffic, at the people crowded on the pavement, staring. A sea of mobile phones point my way. Great. I’m probably going to go viral. Just what I need.

The man takes my hand and helps me to my feet. He puts an arm around me and guides me back onto the pavement. The crowd parts like the Red Sea, letting me through. A café waiter gestures to a chair and I sit. A glass of water is placed in front of me, but I’m too dazed to touch it.

‘What happened?’ the man asks. ‘It looks like you threw yourself into the traffic back there. You wasn’t trying to kill yourself, was you?’

‘What? No!’ I try to think back, but I can’t be sure what actually occurred, it all happened so quickly. ‘I was waiting to cross. And then… someone ran past me and pushed me into the road.’

‘You got knocked over?’

‘I… I think they did it on purpose. It felt like I was shoved.’

‘On purpose?’ The man stares at me like he’s trying to work out whether I’m telling the truth or not. ‘You sure?’

‘Yes. I felt someone push me.’

He looks around and calls out to the people milling around. ‘Anyone see what happened? Anyone see this lady get pushed into the road?’

A few people shake their heads, some slide their gazes away and walk off. Others don’t take their eyes off their phones. Too busy tweeting about what happened. But no one actually steps forward as a witness.

‘Are these yours?’

I glance up.

A teenage girl stands next to me, holding out a carrier bag and my handbag. ‘I think you might have dropped your bags.’

The handbag is mine. I look at the white plastic carrier bag, trying to register it. I think I must be in shock because I can’t seem to find the words to reply to her. The girl looks to the man for assistance. He takes the bags and thanks her. ‘You see what happened?’ he asks. The girl shakes her head, mumbles an apology and leaves.

‘These yours?’ the man asks.

I nod. I remember; it’s the security camera I bought earlier. That seems like hours ago. I feel bad for not saying thank you to the girl for rescuing my belongings.

‘Okay, look,’ the man says, ‘I better move my car out of the way. Everyone’s going mental over there. Traffic’s probably backed up all the way to Gloucester.’

I realise that there are car horns blaring quite a way down the road. People yelling, ‘Move the fucking car, dickhead!’ They don’t realise that I could’ve died. That this man’s quick reactions probably saved my life.

‘Of course,’ I say. ‘You go. I’ll be fine.’

‘I’ll come back,’ he says. ‘Just gonna move my car over to the side of the road. The Old Bill will probably want to speak to me, anyway.’

‘Okay,’ I reply. ‘Thank you.’ As he moves away, I think about what he’s just said – that the police will arrive, and probably an ambulance. In fact, I can hear the sirens now, drawing closer. What will I say to them? That someone pushed me? But how can I even be sure that’s what happened? Could it have been an accident? Someone nudging me as they ran past? I don’t know. It didn’t feel that way. It felt deliberate. And… I thought I saw Emma running away, dodging and weaving through the crowd. But that’s crazy. My sister may not like me any more, but does she hate me enough to push me into oncoming traffic? The thought makes me nauseous. I swallow down bile.

I can’t stay here with all these people watching; even though they’re pretending not to, I can see them still milling around, sneaking sideways glances through their phones – a socially acceptable way to excuse a lack of decency.

I need to get home. It’s so hot out here I can hardly breathe. I put a hand to the side of my face, my fingertips running over the grit that’s embedded in my skin, in my hair. My knees and arms are scratched up, too, the heels of my palms red raw. But the pain feels distant from myself. I stand shakily, steadying myself on the table. The waiter asks if I’m okay, if I need anything, but I give him some non-committal answer, thanking him for the water, which I haven’t touched.

‘You should stay where you are. An ambulance is on its way,’ he says.

‘I’m fine,’ I say, picking up my bags. I don’t think about where I am or which direction I need to go in, I just start walking. Needing to get away from the curious stares. To escape from the drama of the situation. I need to be somewhere cool and quiet.

I shamble down the street as though in a dream, weaving through the crowd, attracting curious stares. I glance down to see that my green dress is covered in black marks, torn in places. Goodness only knows what state my face is in. The skin on my cheek and forehead is beginning to burn. I probably should have waited for the paramedics to clean me up. I’ll do it later. I feel irresponsible that they were called out for nothing. Should I go back? I stop walking for a moment. My mind skitters all over the place. I really do think I must be in shock.

‘There she is!’ A cry from behind. The sound of footsteps coming closer. I cover my head and sink down onto the pavement. Is it them? Are they going to push me into the road again?

‘Hey, it’s okay. Are you okay?’

I peek out from my cowering position on the ground. It’s the man who almost ran me over. I find that I can’t speak, can’t move.

‘Sorry if I scared you,’ he says. ‘I was worried when I saw you’d gone. The ambulance is on its way. Come on.’ He takes my hand and helps me to my feet. I keep my head down, staring at the dusty pavement, too nervous to look up and see if people are staring. I feel like a freak.

We walk back the way I’ve just come and stop outside the café where I was sitting moments ago. I see that an ambulance is pulling up outside. A man and a woman wearing green uniforms get out and start speaking to me, but their words just sound like a buzzing in my ears. They turn their attention to the guy I’m with. I hear the words ‘shock’ and ‘she can walk okay’ before they lead me into the interior of the vehicle.

I sit down on a fold-out chair while they get to work cleaning me up, checking me over for anything serious. Turns out I bit the tip of my tongue, which is why I can still taste blood. The rest is just scrapes and bruises.

‘How are you feeling, love?’ the female paramedic asks. ‘You can talk to me here, if you like. Or we can take you somewhere where you’ll get some proper support.’

‘Support?’

‘The man who brought you here, he said you might have stepped out in front of his car.’

The implication jolts me out of my stupor. ‘I didn’t try to harm myself, if that’s what you think! I’m not… I’m not suicidal or anything.’ I wince as she cleans the dirt and grit out of my hairline.

‘Sorry, love, I know this stuff stings. The gentleman was quite concerned about you.’

‘Well, it’s nice of him to be worried, but I didn’t do it on purpose. I think someone tried to push me.’

‘Push you?’ She frowns. ‘Are you sure? Whatever happened out there, we can sort it out, okay? Look, here’s the police now. They’ll be wanting a chat. Best thing is to tell them the truth. No point keeping any problems to yourself. We’re all here to help you, love. Do you feel up to talking to them yet? Or shall I tell them to hold fire?’

‘I’m okay. I’ll talk to them.’ Part of me is touched at her concern, but the other part is annoyed that she actually believes I tried to kill myself. Do they really believe that? Is she going to try to section me? I spy a couple of uniformed officers through a gap in the ambulance doors. Exhaustion hits me at the thought of having to explain what happened. I wish my local officers were here instead. Knowing my recent history, Llewellyn and Ryan would be more likely to take me seriously. Now I’m going to have to tell these guys everything that’s been going on. I close my eyes and try to gather my strength.

One of the officers climbs up into the back of the ambulance. He’s dark-haired with a few flecks of grey at his temples; his face is kind. ‘You okay?’ he asks, his eyes flicking to the paramedics.

‘A bit shaky, that’s all,’ I reply.

‘You up to telling me what happened?’

I nod.

He whips out a notebook and pen.

‘I’d been shopping,’ I begin, ‘and I was heading back to my car, waiting for a break in the traffic so I could cross the road. And then…’ I break off, remembering the feel of those hands on my back.

The officer waits patiently while I get myself together.

‘… and then someone shoved me into the road.’

‘Shoved you?’ he asks.

I nod.

‘Shoved you how?’

‘I felt hands on my back pushing me hard.’

‘You think it was deliberate?’

‘Yes.’

‘Could you have been mistaken?’

I pause, and think. As the seconds go by, my memory shifts and becomes less set. Like a solid cloud dispersing into wisps. ‘I felt them push me,’ I say.

The officer looks up at the female paramedic once more.

‘We’d like to take her in,’ she says. ‘Just in case.’

The officer nods.

‘Take me in!’ I cry. ‘Where?’

No one replies.

‘You still think I tried to hurt myself?’ I get to my feet, shaky, hot, a little dizzy.

‘Please, love, just sit down,’ the paramedic says. ‘Let me finish cleaning you up.’

‘Listen,’ I say to the officer. ‘You don’t know what’s been going on. This isn’t an isolated thing. I’m being harassed. Threatened.’

The officer holds out his hand to try to calm me down. ‘Can you tell me what’s been happening?’

‘Speak to Sergeant Llewellyn, in Malmesbury. They’ve got a log of everything. Someone’s stalking me. I’m not mad. I’m not suicidal. You can check. Here…’ I reach down and root about in my purse until I find Llewellyn’s card. ‘She gave me her contact details. The case number’s on the back. Quote it. You’ll see.’

The officer nods and takes the card. ‘Wait here, okay?’ he says, before stepping out of the ambulance.

The female paramedic continues cleaning my injuries while we wait for the officer to return.

‘You had any alcohol today, love?’ she asks.

‘No,’ I reply, stiffening.

‘Any other substances I should know about?’

‘No! I’m not on anything, and I’m not suicidal. You’ll see in a minute, when that police officer’s checked it out.’

‘I wouldn’t be doing my job properly if I didn’t ask,’ she says kindly. ‘I need to make sure you’re okay.’

I sigh. ‘Thank you. I know. But I also know what just happened to me out there.’

Despite the oppressive heat, I start to shiver as the truth of it hits me. I’m worrying about what this paramedic thinks of me, when I should be worrying about something far scarier.

Someone followed me here today.

Someone pushed me into oncoming traffic.

Someone just tried to kill me.