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Dylan smiled down at Alan and grasped his hand.

“They know what they’re doing, Alan. You’re in good hands.”

“Thanks, man,” Alan said with obvious gratitude.

Dylan released him and stood while Charlie and his colleague moved their stretcher beside Alan and expertly maneuvered him off the floor and on to it. The crowd parted as they wheeled him out and finally began to disperse.

Dylan exhaled a long breath. The store manager shook his hand and muttered some effusive words of thanks. Dylan smiled and shrugged, handed him the opened box of aspirin, then turned to me. He ran his hands through his hair, leaving it spiky, and I stared at him in complete awe.

Dr. Dylan Knightley.

“Thanks for your help,” he said as I continued to gape, and he frowned. Two young women with babies in pushchairs, stragglers from the small curious crowd, stopped to congratulate him.

“You look too young to be a doctor,” said the bolder, prettier of the two.

Dylan reddened. “I’m older than I look,” he muttered, embarrassed. “Anyway, if you’ll excuse me, ladies, I have to take my niece home.” He wrapped his arm around my shoulders and pulled me close.

I gasped at the contact as he took me by surprise.

“I’ve gone off the shopping idea. Let’s go, we can do this tomorrow.”

“You were amazing,” I whispered.

“Thank you, Emily, but it’s what I do. Are you all right?”

I shook my head.

“I didn’t think so. Come on.” He took my hand and dragged me outside into the fresh air, where he let me go as he headed for the car.

Doctor Dylan Knightley.

Dazzled and dazed by what I’d just witnessed—the drama, the fear, the risk—I suddenly had an overwhelming urge to cry. I bit my lip to fight the need but failed, and slowly, tears began to ooze down my cheeks. Halting, I wrapped my arms around my middle.

Dylan glanced over his shoulder to check I was keeping up. He turned around and ran back to me.

“Oh, Emily,” he said and pulled me into his warm embrace.

“The last time I went out with Mum, we went shopping to Morrisons in Canterbury together. I’d forgotten that until today. Such a mundane trip, but now it seems so significant.” Dylan rubbed my back and let me cry into his shirt. “And then you were here to save that man. There was no one to save my family. Why is life so unfair?”

“I don’t know, sweetheart,” he whispered and held me in the middle of the car park at Sainsbury’s. I cried and cried, unable or unwilling to stem my tears, I wasn’t sure. It was nice to be held again.

A young woman dressed in lime green approached us. “Is she okay?” she asked in a menacing tone to Dylan.

He tightened his hold on me. “I’ve got this. Thank you for your concern.” His tone was frigid.

“Let’s go,” I whispered while still sniffling.

He nodded and led me back to the car, leaving the young woman eyeing us with suspicion.

Once in the car, he handed me some tissues. “I’ve got a stash of these in here now,” he said dryly. And despite my sorrow, I giggled. His smile was warm. “I like it when you laugh,” he said, his eyes softening.

Taking a tissue, I wiped my dripping nose and gazed out of the car window. Hazy and confused, my thoughts bounced inside my head—my mother laughing while I recounted a story about school as we wandered through the supermarket aisles picking up the weekly shop: granola for us, Coco Pops for Billy. I tried hard to remember what we discussed, but it was a frustrating blur. Our last trip out together and I couldn’t remember what we discussed.

Mummy.

I should have paid more attention. My tears fell, and I cried in silence.

Dylan switched on the car stereo and the gentle strains of Pachelbel’s Canon filled the interior, the familiar melody slowly consuming me until my fingers pressed strings on an imaginary cello fingerboard. It took all my will not to let my right hand simulate the bow.