Chloe stood and watched as a brutal beating took place right in front of her.
The victim was a teenage black boy who refused to hand over his mobile phone to two much older white boys. One of the boys reacted by punching him in the face before pushing him roughly to the ground. The other boy then kicked him in the back of the head as he curled up on the pavement.
It happened outside a Chinese takeaway just yards from where Chloe was cowering in the doorway of a boarded-up shop.
She stared, numb with fear, as the attackers searched his pockets and stole his wallet along with his phone, before casually sauntering away, triumphant smiles on their faces.
Chloe was so shocked and horrified that she stopped breathing and couldn’t move. She just continued to stare at the boy on the ground as he began to cry. Hundreds of people rushed past him as though he wasn’t there. It reminded Chloe of the battles she’d seen in war films, where casualties, both dead and alive, are ignored by those who are determined to fight on to the bitter end.
Chloe had stepped into the shop doorway about fifteen minutes ago to rest her tired legs and get her breath back. But she couldn’t stay there any longer. She had to move on.
What had happened to the boy stayed in her mind as she took to her heels again. She knew how lucky she was that the same thing hadn’t happened to her. She was sure that it would eventually if she didn’t get off the streets. But that wasn’t easy because most of the doors she passed were locked, boarded up or burning down.
For a while her mind blanked out the chaos that raged around her. She found herself thinking about her father again, wishing he was there with her, holding her hand and leading her to safety. But he wasn’t, because he had made the fatal mistake of bringing her back to London. And that was why he was dead along with Sophie. And why she was trapped in this terrifying situation with no idea if she would survive the night.
She wondered if he was looking down on her from Heaven and regretting what he did. And if so she just hoped he didn’t find it so easy to forgive himself.
Suddenly the screaming and shouting wrenched her back to the present. It had got much louder, and so had the wail of sirens.
Moments later Chloe saw why when she followed the road as it curved sharply to the left. About fifty yards ahead of her a fierce battle raged between police and what seemed like hundreds of rioters.
Through gaps in the crowd she could see the police lined up across the road in front of two white vans parked sideways. It looked to Chloe as though they were trying to stop the mob from getting past them.
Some carried shields and wore dark helmets that also covered their faces. Others had on the more familiar yellow coats.
But they were vastly outnumbered and struggling to hold their ground as bottles, stones and petrol bombs were hurled at them.
The air locked in Chloe’s chest as she came to a stop. She couldn’t move or breathe, but she could feel the heat from the fires on her face and the fumes in her throat.
For what seemed like an eternity she just stood there in the middle of the road, rooted to the spot by fear and indecision.
Then she heard a blast that sounded like a gun going off. It was followed by three more in quick succession. Suddenly the crowd of rioters started to disperse, and Chloe caught a glimpse of a figure lying in the road. It looked for all the world like a policeman.
But she didn’t have time to make sense of it because most of the panic-stricken rioters were running towards her. It was like a stampede, and her only option was to turn around and run as fast as she could in the same direction.