Good Friday

Chapter Four

The Dip Squad team gathered around a small colour TV. The basement office had poor reception, and Stanley was holding up the aerial trying to get a decent picture. The other men were all yelling different instructions, and eventually he stood up on a chair.

‘How is it now?’

‘Just stay up on the chair,’ Jimmy Church said.

On the screen the news reporter was standing outside Covent Garden station. He announced that the IRA were suspected of being responsible for the bomb, even though the usual coded warning had not been sent prior to the explosion.

They all remained silent as they listened to the reporter confirming that there had been many fatalities and a huge number of people injured. Church gestured for Stanley to get down from the chair.

‘Bastards!’ Stanley snapped.

‘Do we know how many fatalities there are yet?’ asked Blondie.

‘Not yet,’ Church said. ‘They haven’t released any information, but it was rush hour at Covent Garden. I’m guessing there will be quite a few.’

There was an uneasy tension in the room. Church spotted yesterday’s arrest reports on his desk.

He wasn’t exactly changing the subject, but at the same time, work had to commence. ‘The Hernandez case: did Miguel get to see his sister, Regina?’

‘Yeah, he was taken over to St Thomas’ hospital around midnight, but she was heavily medicated. The doctor at the hospital wanted to keep her in overnight for observation. Miguel’s back in the cells upstairs, but even if he pleads guilty, with no previous against him, he’ll make bail. The leather-coated yob, Matías Agatha, probably likewise,’ said Dunston.

‘What about the uncle, any word on him?’

‘All I know is he seems to have friends in high places. The Vice Squad will keep us updated,’ Stanley confirmed.

There was a pause in the room as the television reception cleared up just as the one o’clock news came on. It began with a broadcast of new footage from the bomb scene.

‘Dear God, that was some explosion.’ Church looked at his watch. ‘Where’s Tennison? Anybody seen her this morning? Stanley, call the court and see if she showed up.’

‘I already did, sir… she wasn’t there.’

Despite his hangover, Stanley had felt concerned when Tennison failed to show.

‘Well, does anybody know where she is?’

‘I took a call from her early this morning,’ Stanley said. ‘She was asking about what time the magistrates got into court.’

‘But you just said you contacted the court and she hadn’t showed.’

‘That’s right, Guv, but she sort of implied that she was on her way there.’

Church was looking really concerned. ‘Has anyone called the section house, or her parents?’

At that moment, Jane walked into the room. Everyone stared at her. It was obvious from her dishevelled appearance that she had been at Covent Garden.

‘Where the fuck have you been?’ Stanley exclaimed, not intending to sound angry.

Jane snapped at him, ‘I spoke to you earlier this morning, so you should have known precisely where I was. You stitched me up with the court case and I nearly got killed because I was at Covent Garden—’

‘Come on, I was just being facetious… just calm down. You’re here and obviously safe. It was just bad luck that you were in the wrong place at the wrong time. We were all really worried about you… but you aren’t dead, so everything’s OK…’

‘Shut up, Stanley,’ said Church. He gestured for Jane to follow him into his office.

Jane glared at Stanley and looked coldly at the rest of the shame-faced team. She tossed her briefcase onto a desk and went into DCI Church’s cramped office. Slamming the door behind her, she said, ‘I called here before I left for the court, and I was at Covent Garden underground station—’

‘Sit down, Tennison.’ Church pulled out a chair, tipping off a bundle of files onto the floor. ‘We were concerned about you. You should have called us from the court to say you were OK. We were told you hadn’t turned up.’

‘Nor did the two men we arrested yesterday.’

‘I know… I know that. But we were not to know what had happened. Stanley called the section house, and I was about to contact your father to find out where you were.’

‘I was at the underground station when the bomb went off, and I was so close to the explosion. There was an old lady called Daphne, who I’m sure saw whoever it was that left the device… but she was badly injured. Afterwards I did what I could to help the other injured people, and I accompanied Daphne to the hospital.’ Jane was speaking so quickly she barely stopped to draw breath. ‘I wanted to see if she could give me any details, but she was unconscious and was taken up to the operating theatre. So, I went to the court much later than I was told to be there.’

Jane found herself hyperventilating, the stress of the events catching up as she tried desperately to process the explosion and aftermath at the same time her words tumbled out about the court case, arrests and all the events of the past twenty-four hours.

‘All right… all right. Now, I’m going to get you a cup of coffee, and maybe you should call your parents? Use my phone. This has been all over the news, so if you use that underground station a lot, it’s best to let them know you’re OK. Then you’re to go home and take the rest of the day off.’

When Church left the room, Jane tried to calm down. Eventually she picked up the desk phone and dialled her parents. The number was engaged. Just as she replaced the receiver DCI Church walked in carrying a mug of coffee.

‘Here you go. I put a couple of sugars in it, but I didn’t know if you needed them so I haven’t stirred. Bad scene, eh?’

She looked at him. DCI Church’s gentle manner confused her. There was such compassion beneath the simple enquiry. For a moment she thought he was going to embrace her but instead he patted her shoulder. ‘Tell me about it when you are ready, but don’t bottle things up. If you want to talk about it further, I’m here and the whole team is here for you, too.’

She turned away, desperate to change the subject.

‘Will the two men we arrested be in court tomorrow morning?’

‘No idea. Don’t waste a moment thinking about them.’

‘I was thinking about the young girl, Regina.’

‘She’s being well looked after. And the Vice Squad are now handling that douchebag Uncle Andres. It seems he has contacts — he’s already organised his own legal representation.’

‘But what about all the passports, the young girls the same age as Regina?’

Church could feel the panic behind her innocuous enquiries, so his response was quiet. ‘It’s not our problem… it’s down to the Vice Squad sorting it.’

He left her in the office to finish the coffee. It was strong, soothing, but her hand was shaking again so she stayed sitting for a while. It was not until she had drained the mug that she felt a bit more in control. She stood up and dusted down her jacket, examining the torn sleeve. She felt much calmer as she walked out into the main office. There was no one around and Jane picked up her briefcase. She had no intention of going back to her flat.

St Thomas’ hospital was quieter now than it had been that morning. At the main reception desk, Jane enquired of a receptionist with badly dyed hair about Daphne’s condition.

The receptionist scowled at Jane, replying through tight, plum-red lips, ‘Lots of people came in with severe leg injuries this morning. Unless you have a surname I can’t help you. I have been on duty since six and my phone has not stopped ringing.’

Jane stood her ground, holding up her warrant card. ‘I’m very sorry, but I am a detective with the Metropolitan Police and I would like you to take my enquiry seriously.’

The bad-hair job scowled even more as she snapped, ‘I have been taking everybody seriously all day! If you want any further information I suggest you contact the duty sister on the intensive care ward.’

‘Do you have the name of the duty sister?’ Jane asked, tight-lipped. Only then did she notice that in fact the receptionist seemed close to tears and she felt sorry for her.

‘Yes… it’s Mitchell. I’m sorry I can’t be more helpful but we are inundated, and it’s been a terrible time.’

Jane headed up to the intensive care ward and approached the nurse’s desk. A male nurse was writing on a file.

‘Excuse me, I need to speak to Sister Mitchell.’

‘You’re talking to him… I’m the charge nurse. What can I do for you?’

‘I accompanied a lady called Daphne here this morning. Her leg was severely injured in this morning’s bombing. I’m trying to find out how she is.’

Mitchell glanced down a page on his clipboard and turned it over.

‘I’ve got an elderly woman called Daphne who sadly had to have her leg amputated. She’s currently in a drug-induced coma in the intensive care unit. We have no surname for her yet… Are you a relative?’

‘No, I’m a police officer, WDC Tennison.’ Jane showed him her warrant card. ‘I was with Daphne at the time of the explosion. Would it be possible for me to see her?’

Mitchell beckoned her to follow him to the ward of curtained cubicles. He eased back the curtain of one of the middle beds. Jane was shocked to see just how small and frail Daphne looked. She had breathing tubes in her mouth and nose, a drip attached to her left arm and a protective cage over her injured leg.

‘And you didn’t find any ID on her?’ Jane asked.

‘No, nothing… we know her only as Daphne. No one has made any enquiries about her… Only time will tell if she’ll survive.’ Mitchell waved his arm, taking in the ward. ‘We’ve got a lot more victims in a really bad condition.’

Jane could hear moans and sounds of weeping from the curtained cubicles. As they stood looking down at the old woman, who seemed so vulnerable and tiny, a voice made them turn.

‘Excuse me… I need to talk to the doctor in charge here.’ A tall man wearing slacks, an open-necked shirt and a tweed jacket, stood behind them. He was a big man, with a tough, square-jawed face and broad shoulders.

‘I think they’re all tied up just now… Are you a relative of one of the patients?’

‘No.’ The man peered past Jane. ‘Is that elderly woman one of the bomb victims?’

Jane moved from the bedside, astonished at the man’s rudeness.

‘Yes, she is, and she’s in a coma.’

‘Who are you?’ He glared at Jane.

Offended by his brusque manner Jane showed him her warrant card.

‘I’m WDC Jane Tennison. Can I ask who you are?’

He gave a cursory look at Jane’s warrant card before he took out his own.

‘I’m Detective Chief Inspector Crowley, Bomb Squad.’ He moved towards her. ‘What can you tell me about this woman?’

‘I only know her first name’s Daphne. I accompanied her from the underground station in the ambulance. I believe she may have seen the man who planted the bomb.’

‘Why wasn’t I told earlier about this witness?’ he bellowed.

‘Please keep your voice down,’ said Mitchell.

‘You a nurse, are you?’ Crowley asked abruptly.

‘Yes, I’m the charge nurse on this ward and patient care is my responsibility. So, please let me show you where you can continue your conversation.’

He ushered them into a small side room with a couple of easy chairs and a coffee table. Crowley stood with his back to the window, which had a green blind drawn over it, as Jane sat down in one of the comfortable chairs. Mitchell remained standing by the door, which he left slightly ajar. He spoke quietly as he gave the details of the old lady’s condition.

‘How long will it be before I can talk to Daphne?’ Crowley said brusquely.

‘I’m afraid I’m unable to say. You will need to speak to a doctor.’

‘I want her moved to a private room as soon as possible. Go and talk to whoever necessary to find out when I can speak to her.’

Mitchell nodded and walked out, shutting the door behind him. Crowley opened a notebook, flicking over pages.

‘So far, we’ve got a host of injured people unable to give detailed accounts, but one witness heard an old woman shouting about a rucksack being left unattended—’

‘That was Daphne, sir. I was standing almost beside her when she first called out about the rucksack. I believe she saw the suspect leaving it.’

Crowley sat down in the other chair. For a moment it appeared that he could hardly take on board what Jane had said. When he spoke, his voice was very quiet, clipped and unnerving.

‘You believe she saw the suspect leaving it?’

Frightened by his manner, Jane nodded.

‘Right… Start from the top, will you?’

‘Have the IRA claimed responsibility?’ Jane asked.

‘Not yet. There was no coded warning prior to the bomb exploding but it has all the hallmarks of an IRA attack. So, tell me exactly what you were doing at Covent Garden station.’

Crowley had exceedingly thick, bushy eyebrows and small, thick-lashed piercing blue eyes. He stared at Jane without blinking as she nervously began to explain exactly what had happened to her that morning.

Almost as soon as she’d started, Crowley held up a finger for her to stop speaking. ‘So, you were intending to have breakfast at Bow Street police station where you were previously stationed with a colleague? Your intention was to then continue to the Magistrates Court?’

‘Yes, sir, which is why I was at Covent Garden station.’

‘Right,’ he said curtly. ‘We now have you at 8.30 a.m. at Covent Garden underground station.’

‘Yes, sir, I was heading up the stairs—’

Again he held up his finger. ‘Why were you on the stairs?’

‘Because we were told on the platform that the lifts were out of order.’

‘So, you are moving up the stairs at Covent Garden underground station…’

Crowley’s unflinching eyes bored into her as he gestured for her to continue. Jane’s mouth was dry as she described helping the mother and baby up the staircase.

‘I was looking in my handbag to show my warrant card to the ticket collector when I heard a woman’s voice calling out to a man that he had left his rucksack. That was Daphne.’

Crowley pursed his lips, ‘So are you saying that Daphne had a good sighting of the suspect and may possibly be able to recognise him again?’

‘Yes, I believe so.’

Now Crowley really unnerved her as he clenched his fists. ‘Why the hell didn’t you inform the Bomb Squad earlier about such a vital witness?’

‘I wasn’t sure if she’d got much of a look at him. That’s why I came back to try to see her. She was unconscious in the ambulance, so I couldn’t question her then. I told a uniformed PC that I was accompanying her to the hospital and I assumed the information had been passed on. When I left earlier I had to go to Bow Street Magistrate’s Court regarding a two-hander, but when I got there it was closed. So, I made way to the Dip Squad office, and—’

Crowley interrupted her. ‘Yes, yes… no need to go into details about where you were, or what you did afterwards. What’s important is whether you saw the same suspect?’

‘Yes, but I only had a side view. I did go after the suspect to stop him. I caught his sleeve and said I was a police officer, but he pushed me away and ran on.’

‘Christ! Why the hell didn’t you report this before now? If we’d known at the outset then we might have had got some vital information, like the suspect’s bloody description…’

‘I’m sorry… I was still in shock. All I can remember is that he had dark stubble, and dark hair, and was wearing a thick, greyish raincoat. But it was just a flash really… I mean, I didn’t see his whole face—’

‘Yes, all right… but you should have contacted the Bomb Squad at the earliest opportunity. We’ll need a full statement from you about exactly what you saw, as well as the old lady’s possible closer look. It’d help if we knew exactly who she is.’

‘She told me at the scene her name was Daphne, but there was no ID on her when she was brought in. Her clothing must be here somewhere, so we can check that to see if the hospital missed anything. Maybe her handbag will be found in the debris…’

‘Even in a coma Daphne is still a threat to the IRA, and people like them usually try to eliminate anyone who could cause trouble. They shot a TV personality for daring to offer a reward for information leading to the Balcombe Street ASU’s arrests. The old girl needs to be heavily protected… if she got a good look at them I guarantee they’ll want her, dead or alive. I’ll get an armed officer to be on guard outside her room, as soon as they get the poor bloody woman moved. I want you to stay with her until the guard arrives.

‘I’m sorry if I sounded off on you,’ he added, towering above Jane as they both rose to their feet, ‘but it’s been one hell of a day. If you can just keep an eye on her until I get organised and hold the fort here… I’ll arrange for a direct line number for you to contact my office. You can ring with hourly updates on her condition, but let me underline to you that she could be targeted…’ He hesitated. ‘Do you understand what I am saying, because you are also going to be a possible witness? You need to be very diligent about anyone making enquiries about the victim, relative or otherwise. Get their ID and don’t allow anyone to see her unless it’s been authorised by me or my team.’

A knock on the door announced Mitchell’s return. He told them Daphne would be moved within ten minutes to a private room. A doctor would also be monitoring her, as she was still in a coma.

Crowley glanced at his watch as Mitchell left the room.

‘I’m going to organise the armed officer now. I hope to God you haven’t mentioned this to anyone else? Just stay put and I’ll get you brought into my office at New Scotland Yard in the morning so I can take a formal statement from you.’

‘I have to go to court in the morning, sir. I should also contact my DCI about where I am, as he gave me the afternoon off…’

‘Just sit tight with the old lady. I’ll contact your squad. What’s the DCI’s name?’

‘Jimmy Church.’

‘Oh, right… I’ll talk to the doctor first and then contact him. I’ve got to shift and get things organised.’

He walked out, leaving Jane speechless.

While Daphne was moved to a private room, Jane went back through the ward, through the double doors and into the corridor to find the ladies. Looking at herself in the mirror above the washbasin, she was shocked at her dishevelled appearance. Her face was filthy and her hair was full of plaster and dust. She washed her hands and face, and pulled down the towel to dry herself. She took a comb from her handbag and did her best to tidy up her hair. There was nothing she could do about the rip in her jacket sleeve, and she was also minus her belt, which she had used as a tourniquet.

Refreshed and calmed by the cold water, she returned to the ward to find Mitchell looking for her. He led her out of the ward, to the far end of the corridor, and through a second set of double doors. The private rooms were situated along this short corridor, a fire escape door marked the end.

‘She’s in here,’ said Mitchell, showing her in to one of the rooms. ‘We still haven’t had any response but considering what she’s been through it might be a while.’

Daphne lay unmoving in a single bed, wired up with drips and covered in a lightweight white blanket. Her childlike hand rested on top, the cannula held in place by two plaster strips. Between the bed and a small chest of drawers was a wingback chair, with a trolley on the opposite side of the bed.

Jane sat down beside her and gently touched her fingers, talking softly to her in the hope that Daphne could hear her voice, and that it would be a comfort to know someone was with her. Even though there was no response, Jane continued to hold her hand. Suddenly, Daphne’s hand moved, and Jane jumped to her feet. She was about to go and find someone when Mitchell appeared. Jane explained what had happened. Mitchell moved to Daphne’s side and checked his patient, then turned to Jane.

‘It was probably just an involuntary muscle twitch. I came in to let you know that an armed officer is here.’

They left the room together. The armed officer had placed a chair outside and was already sitting down. He looked a bit surprised when Jane asked to see his warrant card, but showed it to her with a grin.

As Jane walked back down the corridor with Mitchell, she thanked him for his help.

‘Where are you off to now?’ he asked.

‘I probably should go and see my parents in Maida Vale. Apparently one of the team I am working with called them, but I think they must have been concerned when they heard about the bomb — Covent Garden station is close to where I worked until last week.’

‘Can you wait a few minutes? I’m going off duty and could walk you to the tube.’

Ten minutes later he joined her, having changed his nurse’s tunic for a T-shirt, with a raincoat over the top. Together they left the hospital. Jane was grateful Mitchell was with her to show her the way. She also liked the fact that he took her elbow and guided her across the road. He was rather pleasant-looking, tall and broad-shouldered with sandy hair and a lovely gentle manner.

‘What’s your first name?’ she asked.

‘Michael. And yours?’

‘Jane. How long have you been a nurse?’

He smiled. ‘A long time — ten years. I usually get disparaging looks when I’m asked what I do. Most people assume that nursing is a woman’s profession, and automatically think I must be homosexual. I think air stewards get the same reaction…’

Jane laughed. ‘Well, if it’s any consolation I’m probably regarded as being a woman in a man’s world most of the time. The male officers refer to us as “plonks”, or even worse, “a bit of skirt”.’

‘How long have you been in the Met?’

‘Nearly four years. Before that I worked in my dad’s office but I wanted to do something more challenging than surveyors’ tedious paper work. It’s odd, you know… I can’t remember the exact moment when I considered joining the police force. I think it may have stemmed from an article I read in the newspaper about the Met; it said the role of women within the organisation was changing, and that female officers were being fully integrated with the men on shift work.’

‘So, it wasn’t exactly a calling…’

‘No, not really. I think it was more of an opportunity to get out from behind a desk, stand on my own two feet and do something rewarding. My parents, especially my mother, didn’t approve. What about you?’

‘I don’t often tell people this, but when I was eight my dad had a brain tumour. He was an incredibly fit man… used to have me out playing football with him every spare minute, even after a hard day’s work in the printing factory. But then he became frail and dependent… he couldn’t even feed himself. My mum was forced to go out to work, so I used to wash him and cook for him — it’s awful to be on a liquid diet for so long. His speech gradually went but I could understand what he needed. When he was lucid he used to give me this look… “Thank you, son,” he’d try to say. So, I became a nurse.’

Mitchell shook his head. ‘I dunno how you got all that background from me.’ He turned to face her. ‘I’m going over to the pub now to have a few well-earned beers with some of my colleagues. Do you want to join us?’

Jane hesitated. For a few minutes she had forgotten about the awful things she had seen that morning. Mitchell had been easy company and she had enjoyed talking to him.

‘No, I really should get home and see my parents… but thank you.’

‘OK. Just go straight on down here and the underground station is on your right.’

They shook hands and parted. She had only walked a few yards when he called her name and hurried back towards her.

‘Listen, would you like me to phone you when I find out more about Daphne?’

‘Oh, yes, please.’ Jane took out her notebook out of her bag, wrote down her home phone number and tore out the page to give to him. ‘Thank you, Michael.’

‘Good to meet you, Jane. Have a safe journey home.’

Jane walked away, smiling. He was so nice and she hoped she would hear from him again. Michael had been honest about why he had chosen his career, but she hadn’t been as open with him. Jane hadn’t told Michael about how she’d had to fight her mother’s opposition to her joining the police because she hadn’t wanted to share what had happened to their family. It was something from her childhood that she kept to herself. Jane’s brother, who was also called Michael, had drowned when he was a toddler. He had been given a fishing rod by her father, and had been too impatient to wait for her father to take him fishing. He had squeezed through the hedge in their garden to go next door, where he knew they had a fish pond.

Sitting on the train as it rattled towards Maida Vale, Jane closed her eyes as she recalled what she remembered of the awful tragedy. They had found her brother face down in the pond. His lifeless little body had been carried home and when the ambulance arrived, accompanied by police, her mother had become hysterical, refusing to allow them to take Michael from her arms. There were uniformed officers everywhere, asking questions as if there had been a crime instead of a tragic accident. This began her mother’s deep-seated hatred of the police, because she felt they had blamed her for her son’s death. She only recovered from her breakdown when her younger daughter, Pam, was born, but for years afterwards the sight of uniformed police officers made her freeze with anxiety. At the time of her brother’s death, Jane had been too young to understand why the police were involved. She now knew they were just doing their job, but their manner of dealing with the situation should have been more caring and understanding.

Jane sighed. She wasn’t sure why she hadn’t opened up to Michael, when he had been so honest with her. Truth was, Jane never went into depth about her life with anyone as, like her father, she was always protecting her fragile mother.

Shaking off her thoughts, Jane got off the train at Warwick Avenue, and walked along Clifton Gardens towards Maida Vale. She passed a row of shops, the Evening Standard displayed outside showing the headlines about the IRA bomb. She didn’t stop to buy one and instead turned onto Maida Vale, passing the large Clarendon Hotel on the corner. From there it was a short walk to Clive Court, the big building where her parents’ flat was situated.

Jane had her own key but she rang the doorbell first. When no one answered she used her key to open the front door.

‘Is that you, Pam? We’ve still had no news. I called Scotland Yard but they didn’t have a report and—’

‘It’s me, Dad… it’s Jane!’ she called, shutting the door behind her.

Her father came hurrying down the corridor from the bedroom, his face ashen.

‘Jane! You’ve no idea what you’ve put us through today! Didn’t you get any of my calls?’

Jane put up her arms to hug him, but he was white-faced with anger. She was so shocked that she stepped back as her mother came running down the hall.

‘She’s here… she’s here… she’s all right,’ he said.

Mrs Tennison let out a cry, then her legs buckled beneath her and she collapsed in the hallway. Mr Tennison quickly gathered her up in his arms.

‘It’s all right, darling… she’s safe… she’s here… Come on now, come and sit down on the sofa. Jane, help your mother, quickly.’

As Jane guided her to the sofa, Mrs Tennison burst into tears.

‘I’m so sorry, Mum. I tried to call but it was engaged, and then I got caught up in the… I’m so sorry.’

‘You should be! We’ve been at our wits’ end because we knew you often used that Covent Garden station. We’ve called everyone we could think of…’

Just then Pam arrived, using her own key to let herself in. On seeing Jane, she threw up her arms.

‘I don’t believe it! We thought you were dead, for God’s sake! This bombing’s been all over the news and it’s in all the evening papers… Why didn’t you call?’

‘I’m sorry… I’m so sorry… I tried but this number was engaged. I was at the station when the bomb exploded… But I was so lucky… I wasn’t hurt.’

‘I can’t cope with you being a police officer… it’s too dangerous,’ Mrs Tennison exclaimed, as her husband handed her a small schooner of sherry.

‘Mum,’ Jane said, doing her best to reassure her, ‘the bomb wasn’t aimed at police officers. The injured were all innocent… one man saved my life because he shielded me from the explosion; he saved—’

‘I don’t want to hear the details!’ her mother snapped. ‘Your work brings you into contact with murderous people like the IRA. We’ve been worried sick about you since the day you joined up.’

Pam sat beside her mother as she sobbed again. It was a difficult half hour until her father suggested that she should get something to eat. He eventually persuaded her mother to go and lie down and by this time Jane was completely drained.

‘Are you going back to your flat?’ Pam asked, as they went into the kitchen together.

‘I don’t know… I’m totally wiped out.’

‘Maybe you should stay the night here and talk to Mum in the morning? I’ll make you a sandwich and a cup of tea.’

‘What I’d really like is a hot bath…’

‘Well, you go and have one. I’d better be going back. Tony was worried about you as well.’

Jane nodded and sat down on one of the breakfast stools. She wasn’t hungry but Pam had buttered two slices of bread and was peering into the fridge.

‘So, what happened? I mean, were you in the thick of it?’

‘Yes, I was right there. It was dreadful. I haven’t really got my head around it. One minute I was walking out through the ticket barrier, and the next—’

‘Will a ham sandwich do? And there’s tomatoes and lettuce?’

‘Yes… thank you.’

‘Or there’s some cheese?’

Mr Tennison walked in. ‘Your mother’s lying down,’ he said. ‘She’s taken a sleeping tablet. I don’t think I’ll bother waking her up, now — she can sleep in her clothes tonight.

‘Jane wants a bath, Daddy… she’s staying here tonight. I’m going to go back to Tony. I’ve made her a sandwich. Do you want one?’

Jane didn’t have the energy to argue about staying, and found it difficult to even start a conversation as her father and sister were talking across her as if she wasn’t there. She got down from the stool and said she would run herself a bath, and eat her sandwich later.

Her bedroom was almost as she had left it, with her old towelling robe hanging on the back of her door. As she slowly undressed she could hear Pam and her father talking in the kitchen.

‘She said she was just coming out of the ticket office when the bomb went off,’ Pam said. She heard her father reply that he would talk to Jane after her bath.

Jane almost crept to the bathroom, not wanting to face either of them. She locked the door and sat on the side of the bathtub, watching it fill. She poured in some bubble bath and watched as the water became frothy. When it was almost to the overflow, she turned off the taps, slowly stepped into the water and lay down, submerged in the warmth with her eyes closed.

The sudden realisation of how lucky she was not to have been maimed or killed at the Covent Garden explosion hit her like a massive wave crashing against rocks. She didn’t know the names of the dead, not even the young mother or the man who’d saved her. After controlling her emotions all day, she began to tremble and then started to weep. She placed a wet flannel over her face, pressing it down over her mouth to stop anyone from hearing her cries. Her breathing turned to small gasps.

‘You’re OK… you’re OK…’ she repeated to herself. As she sat up, there was a knock on the door.

‘Are you all right in there?’

‘Yes, Daddy, I’m fine. I won’t be much longer.’

‘Pam’s gone, and I’ve made you a hot chocolate. I’ll put it with your sandwich, on your bedside table.’

‘Thank you.’

Jane sighed and closed her eyes. She started to weep again, trying to muffle her sobs so that her father wouldn’t hear. Eventually she forced herself to get out of the bath, wrapped a big, soft towel around herself and unlocked the door. She went into her bedroom and opened one of her drawers, taking out an old, long nightgown. Everything had been washed and pressed as if awaiting her return. Jane sat on the edge of her bed and sipped the now tepid chocolate. Pam’s sandwich was a bit soggy and unappetising. The bread was thick with butter and slathered with mayonnaise, with tired lettuce leaves and thick tomato chunks.

It was after ten and she was beginning to feel as if she could go to sleep, when her father knocked on her door and inched it open.

‘You all right, darling?’

He edged further into the room. Jane’s hair was still wet and she used the hand towel from the bathroom to rub it dry. She was sure her eyes would be red-rimmed from crying and she didn’t want him to notice.

‘You can always talk to me, Jane… you know that, don’t you?’

‘Yes, Daddy.’

He was uneasy, even a little embarrassed, as he sat beside her on the bed.

‘Your mother will be all right in the morning. You know how nervy she can get, and what with worrying about you she got herself into quite a state.’

‘I am so sorry, Daddy. I really did try to call you. I went to the hospital with this old lady called Daphne… She was badly injured…’

Mr Tennison gave her a sidelong look. He could tell she had been crying and he patted her hand.

‘It must have been one hell of day for you, sweetheart.’

‘Yes, but it didn’t hit me until I was in the bath… I sort of relived it all… the explosion, and the awful aftermath. At the time I controlled my fear enough to help as many of the injured as I could, in particular the old lady.’

‘Well, I’m very proud of you. I understand what you must have been through. I lost many friends in the D-Day landing in Normandy. There were awful explosions and terrible sights — the injured and the dead… So I know what it feels like to have that fear. It was felt by all of us, but you eventually learn how to supress it and cope. Fear is in the mind of every soldier in battle, and only fools fail to admit it.’

Mr Tennison put his arm around Jane. She had never felt so close to him.

‘What you did today, sweetheart, was beyond the call of duty. You were brave and totally selfless. In the morning, I’m going to talk to your mother and try to make her understand that she should be proud too, and not afraid of the job you do.’

She hugged him and he kissed her cheek.

As he opened her bedroom door he turned and said softly, ‘It’s good you came home… good we had this time together. Now, try to get some sleep.’

He closed the door quietly behind him, and Jane lay back on her pillow. She felt safe in her old bedroom and knew how much it meant to her father that she was here. She had not expected that she would be able to switch off, but only a moment later she was in a deep and dreamless sleep.

The following morning Jane woke up and realised that it was already after eight. She was just getting out of bed when her mother knocked on her door and walked in. She was holding Jane’s washed and ironed shirt, and had pressed and repaired her suit.

‘I woke up early and Daddy and I had a long talk. I’ve got everything ready for you to go into work… unless you don’t feel up to it.’

‘I do. Thank you so much, Mum.’

As her mother hung up the clothes on the hook on the back of her bedroom door, she asked, ‘Would you like an omelette and some bacon?’

Jane was near to tears. She walked over to her mother and held out her arms.

‘That sounds just perfect… and I’m so sorry again for not getting in touch sooner yesterday. Please forgive me.’

Mrs Tennison gave Jane a small, tight smile as she hugged her.

‘Let’s not go back into that again, shall we? The fact that you are safe and sound is all that matters… I am proud of you. Get dressed and come and have breakfast, just like we used to.’

Alone in her room again, Jane knew that nothing could ever be just like it used to be. But what was important was the love she had felt from her parents, a love she reciprocated. She felt so lucky to have her family supporting her.

They ate breakfast together then Jane left with her father to walk to the station. Mr Tennison went into their local newsagent’s to buy his usual paper and Jane continued to the station in Warwick Avenue.

Mr Tennison was folding his newspaper to tuck under his arm when he caught sight of the front-page headline about the Covent Garden explosion. He walked out of the shop and opened the newspaper, stopping in his tracks when he saw the black-and-white photograph of Jane, her hair matted and face smeared with what was obviously blood. He thanked God that they didn’t have their newspapers delivered. If his wife had seen what he was looking at, the lengthy conversation about Jane’s work and her promise to be supportive about their daughter’s career would have disintegrated into hysteria. As he passed a dustbin he threw the paper in it.