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“Thanks. It sounds like we’re doing everything we can.” She saw someone approaching the phone box, and turned to face the door to let them know she wasn’t going to be long.

It took her a moment to register who was standing beside the door, but as she did, shock punched right through her.

“Ben.” Her lips felt frozen, and then she threw herself against the door to hold it closed, but the man outside was a second faster, and he shoved back, getting his shoulder and arm inside the glass box.

She put out her leg, using it to stop the door opening any further, and he was forced to stay half in and half out.

They locked eyes, and she saw almost nothing in his.

“Gabs? What’s going on?” Ben’s voice sounded tinny coming out of the receiver, and she realized she’d dropped it and it was hanging by its cord.

She picked it up, wedging herself deeper into the corner, giving herself more leverage to push at the door. “There’s a man trying to get into the phone box with a knife. He’s tall and thin. Young. He looks familiar to me, but I can’t place him. He’s going to stab me, Ben.”

“Give me the number you’re phoning from.” Ben sounded so, so calm.

The man’s eyes widened, as if he hadn’t noticed she was on the phone when he’d attacked.

Gabriella called the number out. “It’s on the corner of Holland Park.” She gave the two street names.

“It won’t help,” the man said. “It takes a few seconds to stab someone.”

“You’ve had a lot of practice, have you?” Gabriella asked.

He blinked again. “No.” He sounded insulted.

He lifted the knife, glancing at it, and Gabriella thought he looked like he was losing some of his bravado.

“Well, smile, you’re on camera. You’ll have an audience while you do it.” She’d noticed the tourist who’d stopped and lifted their camera and was taking shots.

She didn’t know whether to call the tourist a bastard or not, for not trying to help her, because his presence, and his photographs, were definitely affecting her attacker.

He turned his head, saw the man moving to get a better angle, and visibly jerked.

More people were stopping.

It was Holland Park on a clear winter day, and as such, there was a lot of pedestrian traffic.

There was a sudden beeping sound in her ear. “Ben, I’m out of money.”

“It’s fine, I’m hanging up to call the police and then I’ll call you back.”

She heard him disconnect and then the dial tone, and she reached over carefully to drop the receiver back in its cradle.

As soon as she did, he shoved at the door again, trying to catch her unawares, and she lifted her other leg, so she was suspended across the box, back wedged in the corner, both legs up against the door.

“Why are you doing this?” She felt short of breath as she asked.

“Because you’re ruining everything.” He managed to work his arm a little further inside, and she was relieved it wasn’t his right arm, because the knife was in his right hand.

“How am I ruining everything? I don’t even know you.”

“Oy!” A man shouted out from the crowd. “What’s going on?”

“Stay back.” Her attacker twisted his body, and brandished the weapon, and the man lifted his hands, palms up, and backed away.

“You are destroying my family.”

He was young. She’d noticed that since their confrontation outside her house. But that statement . . .