Ray followed me in. ‘Whereabouts?’
‘The Arndale, I think. It was all blocked off.’ I put the radio on.
I couldn’t stop shaking.
I listened to the local radio all afternoon, my eyes brimming with tears each time they read the headlines. It seemed as though no one had died though there were many people injured. Sunday was Father’s Day and town had been full of children off to get something nice for Daddy. My mind kept turning to the people who’d have to live with the results of today for the rest of their lives. Had Debbie Gosforth been caught up in the blast? I’d leave it over the weekend, try ringing her on Monday.
Mid-afternoon, our lodger Sheila rang; she was visiting friends in Blackburn for the weekend. Were we all right? What was going on? They’d heard about it on Radio 4 news. We exchanged words of shock. She would delay returning home, she told us; apparently there were no trains in or out of Victoria Station.
By the end of the day they were still talking about the injured rather than the dead. The first witnesses were on television; shoppers, medics.
The coverage rolled on all weekend. No one had been killed. It was a miracle. And in the teeth of all the chaos they went ahead with the football at Old Trafford – Germany versus Russia.
On Monday I rang my client.
‘It’s Sal Kilkenny, we were going to meet on Saturday. Are you all right?’
‘Yes, I got stopped on the way in. It’s a shock though. Where I work, it’s on Deansgate – it’s in the cordon, you can’t get in. I rang the boss to see what was happening. Even he can’t go in yet. He’s no idea if the shop’s all right or when he’ll open up again. It’s awful. He doesn’t know if the insurance will cover it. He doesn’t even know if he can pay us.’ She sighed.
‘Can we rearrange our meeting?’ I said. ‘I can come to you at home or you can come here if you’d prefer.’
‘You come to me,’ she said.
‘Today? This morning?’
‘Yeah, I’m not going anywhere,’ she said bitterly. The edge in her voice was a change from the resigned depression I’d heard during our last conversation.
I promised to be there in an hour’s time. I walked the three hundred yards round the corner to my office first. I rent a cellar there in the Dobson family home. Grant and Jackie are teachers and during term time I hardly see them. Their four daughters are all at school or sixth form college. The arrangement works well. I can keep my work separate from my home, I can interview clients and store my papers there. The Dobsons seem to enjoy the curiosity value of a private eye in the basement. Not as noisy as a rock band, anyway.
