The Doctor Meets Her Match. Annie Claydon

took over again. She was dimly aware of someone stopping, and that Nick had spoken to them, but right now all she could think of was that she had to get out of there.

      ‘Okay, Abby. Everything’s okay. Come with me.’ He tried to move her, and she clutched instinctively for the handle of her case. ‘It’s all right. Someone’s bringing your bag. We’re just going outside to sit down.’

      Sit down. Yes. She’d like to sit down. She’d be okay in a minute if she could just sit down. She felt the slightly uneven sway of Nick’s body against hers as he led her through the automatic doors and out into the fresh air.

      ‘Would you mind? Thank you. No, she just needs to sit for a moment. Thanks.’ Nick had cleared a space for her on a nearby bench and Abby sank down onto it gratefully. Someone moved up and he sat down next to her, his arm around her shoulder.

      Her chest was still heaving frantically. ‘Anyone got a paper bag? Yeah, large one.’ His voice again. ‘Thanks.’ Nick shook the bag out and put it into her trembling fingers. ‘You know what to do, Abby. That’s right.’

      He helped her put the bag up to her lips and she took a breath. Then another. And another. That was better. There were a few crumbs left on the inside of the bag and she smelled the rich smell of almond paste. Must be the remains of an almond croissant.

      ‘Better?’ Nick was holding her, not tightly but close enough to let her know that he was there. That someone was there.

      ‘Yes… thanks. Sorry.’

      ‘Don’t you worry about it.’ A smartly dressed woman was bending down in front of her, and she brushed Abby’s knee with well-manicured fingers. ‘I get panic attacks, too. You’ll be okay in a minute.’

      A single tear of mortification prickled at the side of Abby’s eye and she brushed it away before Nick got a chance to see it. ‘Sorry to make such a fuss.’

      ‘Hey, there. You don’t need to apologise.’ Nick gently slipped the straps of her handbag from her shoulder, and she realised that she had been hugging it tightly to her side. ‘Let go. That’s right.’

      ‘She’s all wet.’ The manicured fingers brushed at her fleece, ineffectually.

      ‘Yeah, let’s get this off you, Abby.’ Nick pulled at the zipper and had her out of it in a second. Obviously the result of practice. ‘Your T-shirt doesn’t look too bad. Just a few drops.’

      She drew her arms across her body, shivering despite the warmth of the morning breeze. Nick wrapped his jacket around her shoulders and she snuggled into it, wondering if she could somehow contrive to disappear.

      At least he took the task off her shoulders of thanking the concerned passers-by and sending them on their way. Finally they were alone, his arm still protectively draped across the back of the bench behind her.