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Penny is still deliberating when the rain comes back on, big cold drops splashing around us.

“Come on, Pen. Any time you like.”

She squats at last. After the poo bag is safely deposited in the bin, I get her clipped on and we hurry back the way we came, my head down against the downpour. All I can see is wet pavement and the tips of my trainers.

There’s a hiss behind me. Wheels on wet pavement. Then something wrenches at my shoulder so hard my feet leave the ground.

The strap of my bag snaps, and before I can put my hands out, my face hits the pavement with a smack that goes through my teeth. For a while there’s nothing but the ringing in my head and the rain drumming on my hood.

I can’t make any sense of what just happened.

Then the sting arrives, hot and sharp along my chin. Slowly, I get my hands under me and lift my head.

A hooded figure on an e-scooter is speeding away, my bag swinging from one hand. He doesn’t look back. He turns the corner, and just like that, he’s gone.

Penny noses at my cheek, then licks my chin. She whines.

“I’m okay,” I say. My voice comes out strange. I say it again, to convince myself as much as her. “I’m okay.”

Footsteps come hurrying over. A woman’s voice: “Oh my God, are you all right?”

“This is your crime reference number.” The officer lays a card on the counter in front of me and taps it. “If you remember anything else, or if you see him again, give us a ring and quote that.”

“Okay.”

“You said you’ve contacted your bank already?”

“That’s right.”

“I made her call them while we were waiting for you,” Emmy says beside me. Penny and I are back in the shop, and I’ve spent the last twenty minutes answering questions from two police officers. “Her card has been cancelled.”

“Good. Well done for doing that so promptly.”

The younger officer, the one who hasn’t said much, taps his phone. “I’m just going to take a couple of photographs of your injuries, if that’s all right. For the file.”

He takes one of the cut on my chin, then another of my cheek, which feels fat and hot and is, according to Emmy, “starting to go a lovely shade of purple”.

“If you start feeling dizzy, sick, confused, or your headache gets worse, you’ll get yourself checked out, won’t you?” the female officer says.

I nod. She asked me earlier if I wanted medical attention, but I said no. I really don’t want a fuss. I’m bruised, sore, and a little shaken, but that’s it. I’ll be good as new in a few days.

“All right. We’ll check CCTV along the route and ask in the shops,” she says. “You were hurt, so we’re taking this seriously. But I want to be honest with you, Briony. There have been a few of these across the West End lately. Hood up, in and away. No number plate on the e-scooter, no physical description to go on. We’ll do what we can, but I don’t want to give you false hope. Unless we get lucky with the CCTV, it may be difficult to trace him.”

“I understand.” I give a small smile. “Thank you for your help. You’ve been very kind.”

We exchange a few more words, then the bell tinkles as they head out into the rain. Now it’s just me, Emmy, and Penny, who’s been pressed against my ankle for an hour and shows no sign of moving.

I close my eyes. My chin throbs in time with my heartbeat.

The bell goes again. I open my eyes, sure it’ll be the police back for something, but it isn’t them. Ryan fills the doorway, his T-shirt damp across the shoulders from the rain. The very man I went to the park to try to stop thinking about.

“Saw the polis van pulling away,” he says, the word “police” coming out “po-lis” in his broad Glaswegian accent. “Did somebody try to rob the shop?”

“Ryan,” I say. “Hi. It’s not really the best time…”

I trail off because he frowns, steps closer, and takes a proper look at me. His eyes go hard, his jaw sets, and his hands close into fists at his sides. I thought he looked frightening in the cage on Saturday, but right now he looks like he wants to kill somebody.

“Who did this to you?” he says very quietly.