I felt for a pulse in her neck. It was faint but it was there. I didn’t touch the umbrella. ‘Where’s your phone?’ I said to Maddy. I’d left my bag under the bar. But she was still screaming hysterically, unable to do anything except open her mouth. I pulled her back into the marquee, grabbed my phone out of my bag and dialled 999.‘Ambulance and police,’ I said. ‘The top field near the seafront where the jazz festival is being held. Swanage. A woman has been stabbed. She’s still breathing but only just. Hurry.’I didn’t wait to give them my name and address. I wanted something to cover the woman to keep in her body heat. My new silky top was hardly suitable; neither were Maddy’s T-shirts. There was a sleeping bag rolled up behind the bar, stored from the previous night’s vigil. I hauled it out and hurried outside to the woman. A crowd had gathered, undeterred by the rain.‘Don’t touch anything!’ I shouted. A man was on his knees, trying to remove the umbrella.
