To hear the author read this chapter for you, click here.

     Ronan Leavy breathed in the cool smell of the thin plastic-cased device pressed against the side of his face, jiggling his computer’s mouse as his wife finished her rant.
     His screen displayed a new email from Lisa Macgregor:

     You need to see the news: it’s started.
     Lx

     His wife’s voice sizzled through the phone’s earpiece, simultaneously arresting Ronan’s attention whilst repulsing his head. "Well?"
     He shook his head and sighed silently. "Well what?"
     His wife’s sigh was like a hurricane down the line. "Can you promise me you’ll be there?"
     Ronan rubbed his eyes and leaned back in his office chair. "Babe, it’s Bentley. Of course I’ll be there."
     "Don’t ’of course’ me, Ronan, that’s what you said last time. All the last times. Promise me and–"
     "Look, I promi–"
     "–make sure – and no, don’t interrupt, I haven’t finished. Promise me and make sure you keep that promise, or it really will be the last time. Do you understand?"
     Ronan bit the pad of his thumb gently, then pressed it under his nose. "Babe, I promise I’ll be there, and I will. You know it’s different now."
     His wife’s voice did seem to soften. A little. "I know things have changed. But I need to know you’ve changed too, Ronnie. Not just, you know... I mean how you think. I need to know you’ve changed because you want to, not just because you need to."
     "How can I prove that to you?"
     "Well, being there for our son is a good... Holy fuck!"
     Ronan frowned and blinked. "What?"
     "Ronnie, Grays Inn – that’s your road, right?"
     Ronan’s brow furrowed further. "Yeah...?"
     "God. On the news. There’s been a terrorist attack."
     Ronan stood, looked out the office window onto the central London thoroughfare below. Traffic wasn’t moving, and people seemed to be gathering in tight clusters all along the pavements on both sides. The triple glazing reduced the already-distant sounds to near inaudible, but when he held the phone away from his ear Ronan caught the unmistakable sliding tones of several emergency vehicles. They seemed to emanate from the north, and they weren’t getting any closer.
     He brought the phone back to his face. "King’s Cross?"
     "No. Jesus, it looks like... oh god..."
     "Jenny, what?"
     "They’re saying it’s a school."
     When Ronan rushed into the open plan office, it was already void of all the legal secretaries. He found them at the bottom of the stairs – which he took, because common sense told him the lift was probably not the best option right now. Some of his colleagues were huddled by the open door, some pressed against the wall-length windows to observe the action taking place outside, others standing solemnly around the receptionist’s desk.
     His phone still pressed to his ear, Ronan bounded to the door, asking "Can I see?" as he forced his way between his colleagues.
     As his head poked out into the open to look northwards, something collided with the back of it, sending his phone flying. Ronan turned in time to catch a speeding figure – one he recognised all too well...
     But if the Bishop of London recognised Ronan, he made no sign of it – the terror on his face was clearly directed at something else. The bishop even said "’Xcuse me" to Ronan before sprinting on, colliding with another party, excusing himself again, and continuing apace.
     Ronan retrieved his phone from the ground. A sharp cobweb now covered the screen. His wife’s voice was pleading. "Ronnie? Oh god, please, Ronnie?"
     "I’m here, Babe, it’s OK – but I have to go. I’ll call you back."
     "Ro–"
     Ronan killed the call, shoved the phone into his pocket, and returned to his office block.
     Lisa was right. He had to see the news.

Next Chapter: Lois