Through the revolving doors the police were preparing for the mass exodus. Those posted by the doors held semiautomatic carbines, one hand on the pistol grip, the other resting on the barrel.
‘Well at least we won’t die between here and the tube station,’ muttered Sam. ‘You sure about this, Famie?’
All staff had been offered cabs. Hundreds of London’s black taxi drivers had volunteered to ferry IPS staff home. Currently the only traffic in South Colonnade was the largest cab rank London had ever seen.
‘It is tempting, but what does it solve?’ she said. ‘We get home tonight, but tomorrow? And the next day? Transport Police are everywhere. The tube is open again, it’ll be quicker, and you won’t have to listen to some god-awful talk-radio-inspired shite theory about what’s going on and what we should be doing about it.’
Sam laughed, briefly. ‘You got a point there. Tube it is.’
The advice had been to take the cabs, stay behind or travel in groups. At Famie’s suggestion the three of them, all northeast Londoners, would travel together. Sam and Tommi would escort Famie home, then Tommi said he’d stay at Sam’s. She hadn’t accepted an escort since college days but today she didn’t argue.
‘Lanyards off, IDs away!’ someone near the doors shouted and the few remaining staff advertising their IPS employment hurriedly stowed the evidence. Famie’s was already in a small shoulder bag, Tommi’s in his back pocket.
The glass doors started to revolve and the crowd inched forward again. Outside, the police began to beckon them through. It was the theatre of it that quietened the crowd. Their workplace had been transformed from the mundane into the extraordinary. This was something they’d done hundreds, thousands of times without thinking; now it was covered live as ‘breaking news’, the giant screen in the lobby filling with shots of scurrying staff and departing taxis.
The throng of staff narrowed as it approached the exit, the doors now spinning at a constant speed, spitting out journalists. Tommi walked out first, then Famie and Sam. Two policemen waved them left. ‘Taxis up on South Colonnade, quick as you can, please.’
Famie turned right. ‘We’re taking the tube, thanks.’ She wasn’t sure why she’d felt the need to explain to the officer. Maybe she was still rationalizing it to herself.
As it turned out there were plenty taking the tube option: she guessed maybe twenty others were opting for the steps down to the plaza. Six Transport Police officers stood at the entrance to the station. They nodded at Famie, Tommi and Sam as they walked past.
‘I need a drink,’ said Sam.
‘You need to get home,’ said Famie.
On the escalator, Tommi turned to face his colleagues. ‘Honest question,’ he said. ‘Are you scared?’ He glanced from Famie to Sam. ‘Do you think we’re in danger? Doing this?’
They both said ‘Yes’ together.
‘A bit,’ Famie added, ‘but not much.’
‘So … just a bit of danger?’ queried Tommi.
They walked past another pair of Transport Police on to a sparsely populated platform. Everyone knew everyone else, and when an empty train pulled in all the IPS staff got in the same carriage.
‘Enough danger for everyone to do this anyway,’ Famie said, gesturing around at her colleagues.
Two policemen walked up to the carriage’s doorway; one nodded at a uniformed guard and the doors closed. The officers stood together at one end of the car, eyeing the passengers.
A woman opposite Famie cleared her throat. ‘We’re all IPS,’ she said to the uniforms.
‘We know,’ said one of them. He pulled the ventilation window behind him shut. ‘There was no one on this train till Canary Wharf. Special instructions.’ He adjusted his cap. ‘And we’re sorry for your loss.’
Heads nodded in appreciation.
‘How far are you riding?’ called another voice.
‘Till you all get off. Then we go back and do it again.’
‘So how far are you all going?’ asked the other officer. Most said Waterloo and Green Park, the furthest station being Baker Street. ‘We stay on till Baker Street then,’ he said.
The train pulled into Canada Water but the platform was deserted and the doors opened, then closed.
‘What have you heard?’ said Tommi. ‘About today?’
Both policemen looked unsure of themselves, exchanging the swiftest of glances.
‘Off the record,’ added Tommi. ‘No one will quote you.’
The older of the two, bearded and stocky, shrugged. ‘They wouldn’t tell us, we’re too lowly. We’re as much in the dark as you. Off the record.’
Now it was Tommi who shrugged. ‘So none of us know jack shit then.’
The London Bridge platforms were busy. As they pulled in and the train slowed, Famie, along with most of her colleagues, stared at the waiting passengers – the usual crowd of commuters and tourists, maps, bags and coffees in hand, waiting for the train to stop. She held her breath as the doors opened. She thought about that taxi she had turned down. One of the police officers, the stocky one, walked to the middle of the carriage. Making a show, she reckoned, and she was glad of it.
Of the ten or so new travellers, most sat, a few choosing to stand, the closest just a few metres away. An exhausted-looking woman in her sixties, rucksack on her back, big headphones on her head, held on to the rail with both hands.
Sam was watching too. ‘Why doesn’t she sit down?’ he whispered. ‘There’s plenty of seats.’
Famie smiled. ‘Thanks,’ she said. To his look of puzzlement she added, ‘I thought it was just me. Being paranoid. “People behaving strangely on the tube” will turn out to be a big subject.’
Sam snorted, put his hand in front of his mouth in embarrassment, then joined in the laughter from his colleagues. The woman, oblivious, stared at the floor.
As they approached Green Park, Famie, Sam and Tommi stood, acknowledged their friends and waited by the doors. Famie caught her reflection in the glass, then looked away. How she looked was how she felt – devastated. Her glasses hid the shadows around her eyes but the tube lights found every line,
