Two, three, cha-cha-cha. Two, three, cha-cha-cha. I was several weeks into my rehearsal schedule for Strictly Come Dancing. Every spare moment became an opportunity to practise the timing of my steps, and I was fully immersed in the world of sequins and salsa.
It was late in the evening, and I had decided that a walk home would be a wonderful way to help clear my head. I wandered over Waterloo Bridge and noticed a group of people huddled in a small area by the edge. I swerved to avoid them and hurried on, but something was not right.
