part0070

I half turn to look where he’s pointing and a hand connects with the middle of my back, violently shoving me. My arms go up as I fly forwards, then my body twists as my bag is ripped off my shoulder. I land awkwardly, pain spiking through my right elbow, hammering my right knee as they hit the ground first before the rest of my body. A moped whines into life suddenly and peels away as I lie motionless on the pavement.

Quick. So quick it takes me seconds to register what has just happened. Why my elbow hurts, why my knee aches, why I don’t have my bag.

‘Are you all right, love?’ a woman asks while helping me up.

‘That looked nasty,’ says the man who shouted the warning, helping me up, too. ‘Are you OK?’

I’ve just been mugged.

In quiet, laid-back Hove, I’ve just been mugged.

‘That happened so fast,’ the woman says. She’s still got hold of my arm because I’m unsteady on my feet, shaky where I stand.

‘Can’t believe it happened,’ the man adds. ‘I saw him coming for you. I shouted. Did you hear me shout? I shouted.’

A small crowd is forming around us, people murmuring, talking about what they saw. Which probably wasn’t much given it happened so fast.

‘Do you think they got much?’ a third person asks.

‘Just my bag,’ I reply.

‘That’s awful,’ the first woman, who is still holding me up, says. ‘I can’t believe that just happened. Are you all right?’

‘Yeah,’ I say vaguely. ‘I’m fine.’

‘Do you want me to call the police?’ the man says.

I shake my head. ‘No, no.’ I do not want him to call the police. The last people I want him to call are the police. Unless I have to, I have very little to do with the police. Most people won’t understand why. I’ve been the victim of a crime and that is the first thing I should want to do. I can see it on the faces of those in the small crowd: What does she have to hide that she doesn’t want to call the police? ‘I’ll call them in a bit,’ I add to explain my aversion. ‘I just need to get my breath back.’

‘Don’t blame you, love,’ the woman says. ‘That was awful. So terribly shocking.’

The outliers of the crowd start to drift away – it’s not that interesting, I imagine, given that I’m not bleeding or hysterical.

‘Thank you,’ I say to the woman. ‘You’ve been so kind.’ I lean out of her hold now, and she seems as pleased as I am that I don’t fall over.

‘Do you want to go and sit down somewhere?’ the man asks.

‘No, no, I’m fine, honestly. I’d better get home and report my cards missing.’

‘Do you want me to talk to the police with you?’ the woman asks. ‘Not that I saw much. It all happened so fast. One minute you were standing there and then you were on the ground and this guy in black was jumping onto the back of a moped holding your bag.’

So the moped did have something to do with it.

‘It came right up onto the pavement,’ the man says. ‘That’s why I shouted. Did you hear me shout?’

I raise my fingers and press them on my eyes. I feel sick. I can’t believe this has happened. I mean, I’ve always known these things happen and I’ve heard people talk about having their mobiles snatched from their hands by people on mopeds, but I genuinely thought that was a London thing. Not a here thing. At all.

I’ve just been to the post office down by the Floral Clock in Hove and sent all the DNA samples I had to various companies, as Friday is generally my posting day. I then started for home and got halfway there before I remembered I hadn’t sent off the consent and disclaimer forms to be lodged at my solicitor’s, so I turned around and was on my way back to the post office when I was shoved.

‘Are you all right?’ the woman asks again.

‘Yes, I’m fine.’ I smile at her. It’s just her and the man who shouted here now. Everyone else has gone. ‘I’m perfectly fine. I just need a minute.’

I always carry my mobile in my pocket, and my keys, so they haven’t got those things. But my purse was in my bag. My glasses. My diary, with the picture of Jude and me pinned to the inside cover. I can’t get that back. I have so few pictures of Jude and I have no idea where the negative for that picture is. That’s gone now. Out of everything, that’s the biggest thing that’s been stolen from me today. I can’t replace it.

Despite my best efforts, despite me creating an extensive family tree and contacting almost all the people on it in the past ten years, I didn’t find Jude and I didn’t change Jude’s mother’s feelings towards me. There’s no way she’ll give me a picture of her daughter to replace this one.

I press my fingers onto my eyes again to stop them leaking tears.

That’s why it’s pointless calling the police. I can tell them what happened, but what can they do about the keepsake items with no value? How can they return the picture of me and my best friend at the circus down by the King Alfred on the seafront? How can they get me back the tenth-anniversary pen from The Super that I had at the bottom of my bag? How will they retrieve the stickers Aubrey gave me that I stuck on the back of my glasses case? The answer is that they can’t.

I don’t understand why someone would do this to me. Out of all the people walking down this street at this time, why did they pick me? It’s not like I was closest to the edge of the pavement; I didn’t have my mobile in my hand. It wasn’t a designer handbag, just a big, black shapeless thing Macy gave me for Christmas.

Out of all the other people on this road, why me?

Bleep-bleep-bleep goes my mobile in my pocket. His message tone.

No, it can’t be because of that. Why would the Brighton Mermaid cause me to be mugged twenty-five years after I found her?

I’m being ridiculous. I know this.

I thank the woman and man for their kindness, reassure them I’m going to go to a café to have a strong, sweet tea to calm my nerves and then I’ll call the police.

I’m being ridiculous if I think someone is out to get me. Of course I don’t believe that. I haven’t done anything to make someone get me in this way.