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say in my defence. My eyes
and nose were streaming, and my hands were still clenched in front of me, my
knuckles white, as if they were still gripped fast to the buggy’s rubber
handle.
    “Don’t
just fucking stand there! Say something!”
    I
opened my mouth, but no words came out. 
    Then
I felt a hand on my arm, and heard a calm voice say, “Can’t you see she’s in
shock? Stop shouting at the poor woman. You were going far too fast, you were
riding like an idiot. Don’t you know this is a school?”
    “She
needs to looks where she’s going. Stupid cow.”
    “I
could say the same about you,” the voice replied frostily. “And I shall, when I
take this photograph of you to the police.”
    “You…what?”
The cyclist suddenly seemed a little less confident.
    I
turned around to look at my rescuer. She didn’t look like your stereotypical
guardian angel – unless guardian angels had changed their uniform to ripped
skinny jeans, over-the-knee boots and pistachio-coloured leather jackets, and
replaced their harps with iPhone 6s.
    “Yes,
I intend to report this,” the woman said. “This road is a death trap, the way
people drive and park. I live here and I see incidents like this all the time.
It’s a wonder a child hasn’t been killed.”
    “Well,
at least no one was hurt,” the cyclist said. “Look, I’m sorry, I probably was
going a bit fast but I was running late for work, and…”
    “Best
you get on your way then,” the woman said dismissively, then turned to me. “You
look like you could do with a cup of tea. Want to come in?”
    “Yes,
please.” I realised my knees were trembling violently, and if I didn’t sit down
I’d fall down.
    “It’s
this one right here.” She guided me through her front door and into a space-age
kitchen, all stainless steel and skylights, and gestured to a canary-yellow
sofa. “Here, have a seat and I’ll put the kettle on. Unless you’d prefer a
brandy? That’s meant to be good for shock.”
    “Thanks,”
I said. “Tea would be lovely. I’ve done my bit of irresponsible parenting, I
don’t want to start drinking before ten in the morning or someone will call
Social Services on me for sure. God, what was I thinking? If Owen had been in
the buggy…”
    “But
he wasn’t,” she said. “No harm done. Would you rather builders’ with sugar or
herbal something with honey?”
    “Herbal,
please,” I said. “Thank you so much for this, I really appreciate it. My name’s
Laura, by the way.”
    “Zélide.
Call me Zé, all my friends do. Now, chamomile’s good for sleeplessness so I
reckon it’ll do the job. I did a herbal medicine course ages ago but I’ve
forgotten most of it, and I suspect it was mostly bollocks anyway.”
    If
she didn’t quite look the part of a guardian angel, Zélide was stunning
nonetheless. Her dark hair hung in two straight wings on either side of her
oval face; her lips gleamed with gloss; her fluttery eyelashes were just too
long to be real. She sat next to me on the sofa and crossed her slender, booted
legs.
    “Thanks
so much for this,” I said. “I’m really sorry to mess up your morning – were you
on your way out?”
    “Just
back from the school run,” she said. “Same as you.”
    “I
wish I looked like that for the school run,” I said, glancing down at my own
jeans, which the label had promised were ‘boyfriend’ but were really just
shapeless, and battered converse.
    Zé
laughed. “I have a fashion blog. I post every day, and include a selfie. Talk
about making a rod for my own back! I spent less time getting ready in the
mornings when I worked at Tatler . But now I’ve kind of got into the habit, and
if I slack off I’ll lose readers. What about you – what do you do?”
    “Nothing,”
I said. “Well, being-a-mum nothing. We only moved here a few weeks ago. I used
to work in PR as an account-handler. I expect I’ll look for temp work at some
point but I haven’t got around to it yet – you know