The whole room shook. I actually felt the floor jump beneath my feet, and at the same time the walls closed in on me and stuff was falling onto my head and all I could do was get my arms up to try to protect myself and crouch down to make myself as small as possible. The light had gone out, and everything was pitch black, and there was a noise like thunder but closer and louder than I had ever heard, and then the roaring was suddenly over and all I could hear was the faint sound of screaming. Lots of people screaming.
Liam’s voice came from somewhere very close by in the darkness. ‘Code 2, Code 2, critical incident in progress, I am on first floor of hotel. There has been an explosion, casualties unknown, requesting urgent back-up all units. Repeat: urgent back-up.’
‘What?’ I spluttered. I wasn’t hurt – at least I didn’t seem to be. There was all sorts of stuff on top of me, but I realised I could lift it easily: from the feel of it, most of the piles of towels and bedsheets had fallen into the narrow gap between the shelves and covered the pair of us.
There was an electric crackle from very close which made me jump, and then, no less startlingly, a third voice spoke in the darkness: ‘Ten-four receiving. Confirm status of principal.’
‘Status currently unknown; am investigating; over,’ Liam barked, and then in a softer but no less urgent voice, ‘Tommy, are you hurt? We need to get this door open.’
‘No, no, I’m fine,’ I muttered. I could feel him leaning over me and tugging at the doorhandle I hadn’t been able to find just a few seconds and a lifetime ago, but it wouldn’t budge. ‘There’s all sorts of stuff on the floor. Wait; I can clear it.’ And then reality caught up with me, and I sat up and spat savagely into the darkness, ‘You fucking bastard! Look what you’ve done!’
‘Tommy, I haven’t got time for this. I’ve got a job to do.’ He shoved me roughly out of the way and I could tell he was pulling armfuls of the fallen linen out of the way himself.
‘What, you want to get out there and finish off any survivors?’ I taunted.
‘Tommy.’ I could feel his hot breath on me; his face was close enough to kiss me. ‘I’m a police officer. Now help me get this door open, and we can get out there and start helping people.’
I didn’t. I was too shell-shocked to do anything but press my back against the wooden shelves while he finished the job himself and yanked the door open. Light flooded in, along with a cloud of thick dust that coated us both, getting into our eyes and throats and making us both start coughing violently. Liam let out a low ‘Christ’ and held his arm up to his face, but pushed on out into the hotel corridor.
‘Wait!’ I said, suddenly putting everything else aside and switching into some sort of weird adrenalin-soaked survival mode I didn’t even know I was capable of. If I didn’t start acting practically and living for the present moment there was a very good chance I wouldn’t be around to see many more. ‘Here.’ I grabbed two pillowcases from the heaps that were strewn across the closet and held one out to him. ‘Put it over your face.’
‘Good thinking.’ He stretched the crisp white material across his nose and mouth and tied the ends together behind his head while I did the same, but he didn’t stop moving forward, and, fumbling to scrunch the starched pillowcase corners into some kind of knot, I followed him out.
The lights were still on in the corridor, but the dust that filled the air plunged it into a murky twilight. It was so thick that I almost lost sight of Liam, just a few feet in front of me, and hurried forward to catch him up. The floor out here seemed to be clear; as far as I could tell, the corridor was undamaged, but I realised I could feel the same freezing wind I had felt on the seafront blasting us from somewhere up ahead. That couldn’t be good.
I cannoned into Liam’s back. He had stopped in front of one of the doors and was hammering on it. I could just make out that instead of a number, the sign on this one read ‘Napoleon Suite’. He turned towards me and gestured with his other hand. ‘You do the other side of the corridor.’
The door opposite was just a normal one, with a number on it. Spluttering despite my facemask, I banged on it. From further down the corridor I could hear loud crashes and, bizarrely, the sound of rushing water – not like you’d get from a tap or shower left running but what sounded like hundreds of gallons of the stuff crashing down a waterfall.
Behind me, Liam was hammering on the door and shouting. ‘Mam? Mam? DCI Kingston? Can you hear me?’ But at that moment the door in front of me was pulled open by a man in a pale suit, or maybe just a dark suit that was covered in the same dust that was coating everything else. He had a great mop of thick hair and a moustache, both peppered with the same grey dust, and for a mad second all I could think of was that it made him look like Dickie Davies, before he reached out an arm to push me aside and called across to Liam: ‘Principal is secured, Coyle. She’s in here.’
I found myself being ushered alongside Liam into a room that was already full of people. The electricity had gone in here as well, and it was hard to make out exactly what was going on in the little light that filtered in through the shattered windows on the far side, whose curtains were billowing out into the room. I could make out a couple of other men in suits: one clutching two red briefcases to his chest, who was ruddy-faced and quite nice-looking; another who definitely wasn’t, with thick glasses, an enormous forehead and wet-looking, droopy lips. Also, another much older-looking man in pyjamas, who looked like he’d just been pulled out of bed and hadn’t fully woken up yet. And about half a dozen women, who all seemed to be wearing tweed skirts and pearls, except for one sitting in a high-backed armchair, who was wearing a full-length dress in sparkling blue, its fabric still shimmering despite the dust that coated it. Liam and the Dickie Davies lookalike had gone into a little huddle by the door, conferring urgently with one another. To give them some space and make myself as inconspicuous as possible, I shuffled along the wall until I was standing right behind the chair, and it wasn’t until I looked down and took in the great helmet of coiffed hair that I realised who it must be.
‘Crawfie,’ she suddenly said, in that unmistakeable voice, and everyone in the room stopped talking and turned to look in her direction. ‘Where is Crawfie?’
‘I’m here, Prime Minister.’ The group in the middle of the room shifted to allow a small woman in a nightdress to push her way to the front. Mrs Thatcher held out a bony hand, and the woman came forward to clutch it. She was shaking.
‘It’s all right, dear. It’s probably a bomb, but don’t worry, dear. We’re quite safe now.’ It was the same voice I knew so well from the TV, but it sounded different: softer, with a completely unfamiliar tone. It was kindness, I realised, as she placed her other hand over the woman’s and gave it a reassuring squeeze. That was definitely something she never put on public display.
As if jealous of the attention, one of the other women stepped forward, proffering a wad of papers she had been clutching to her chest. ‘I’ve got the speech, Prime Minister.’
‘Good. Good. Well done, Amanda.’ Mrs Thatcher released Crawfie’s hand and leaned forward and pulled a black handbag out from under the chair. ‘Put it in here; that’s the safest place.’ She twisted the clasp, and for a moment I was granted a personal view of something so many people had speculated about: the interior of her handbag. It was too dark to see much, but I had a vague impression of handkerchiefs, a powder compact and what might have been a sewing kit before the papers were safely stowed inside and it was firmly closed again. ‘Now,’ she said, back in full speech-making mode, ensuring even Liam and his boss were listening, ‘what is the plan?’
The sound of approaching sirens echoed through the shattered windows. ‘We need to keep you here, Prime Minister, until we’ve confirmed there isn’t another device in the building,’ said Dickie Davies, and with my heart in my mouth I watched Liam give a little nod and slip out round the door into the thick fog of the corridor.
I was on my own with these people now. If I had wanted to, it would have been the easiest thing in the world for me to reach out and put my hands around Mrs Thatcher’s neck, or to pick up one of the shards of broken glass that glinted on the carpet and plunge it deep into her back or chest. So many people must have fantasised about doing something like that to her. I think I had probably been among them. And now here I was, and I all I was doing was pushing myself back against the wall and trying to make myself as invisible as I possibly could. Thank God I still had a mask over most of my face.
The man with the red briefcases stepped forward. ‘I strongly suggest you return to Downing Street as soon as possible, Prime Minister. Your own security must come first.’
‘No,’ Mrs Thatcher cut across him, sounding entirely like herself now. ‘No. I’m not leaving. The conference must continue exactly as planned.’
‘But PM…’ the ugly man started to object, and then everyone seemed to be talking at once. Dickie Davies, who had been muttering into the radio on his lapel, caught my eye and beckoned me over to his post by the door.
Oh God, I thought. This is it. Found out.
I went over, figuring I didn’t have a choice. But he was just pointing to the little map in the frame on the back of the door, showing all the rooms on this floor and where the fire escapes were.
‘Am I correct in thinking there’s a staff exit directly adjacent to the foot of this staircase here that will take us out of the back of the hotel?’ He pointed to the corner of the floor plan.
I gulped gormlessly. With everything else that was going on, I had completely forgotten I was still dressed as one of the hotel’s waiters. Still, it was a brief relief: I was going to give myself away now.
‘I don’t know,’ I admitted, and then realised suddenly that he must be talking about the way I had come in. ‘Yeah. Yes, I think so. I know there’s a staircase that comes down by the back door, yes.’
A curt nod. ‘Good. Sergeant Coyle is out there now checking we have a clear route.’ I blinked. Coyle. That was what he had called Liam. But I didn’t have time to process this thought any further before he was talking to me again. ‘That will take us out onto Russell Street, yes?’
‘Yeah.’ I was nodding like an overkeen schoolboy now. ‘By the multi-storey car park.’
‘Ah. That’s not good.’ He grimaced and then spoke into the radio clipped to his lapel again. ‘Requesting armed unit to multi-storey car park on Russell Street – Romeo Uniform Sierra Sierra Echo Lima Lima Street. Sweep for potential hostiles ahead of evac.’
There was a knock on the door beside us, and the policeman turned and pulled it just open enough for Liam to slip sideways through the gap without letting too much of the dust that was still swirling around in with him. I felt a little jolt of relief at seeing him again. He shook his head as he pulled the pillowcase mask down beneath his chin. ‘It’s a no-go, sir. Corridor is completely impassable in that direction.’ He lowered his voice so the rest of the room wouldn’t hear him. ‘It looks like a fair old chunk of the building’s collapsed. There’s a hole that looks like it might go through the whole place from top to bottom.’
‘Shit,’ murmured his boss.
‘It’s clear the other way as far as the main stairs,’ Liam continued. ‘But the lobby looks to be in a hell of a mess too. Rubble all across the front entrance. It’s hard to be sure but I’d say that way’s impassable too.’
‘Right. We’re going to have to sit tight then,’ muttered his boss. ‘If the fire brigade can get an aerial appliance to the front of the building we might be able to take them out that way, but I don’t like it.’ He lifted the radio to his lips again.
‘There’s another way through,’ I piped up, surprising myself. ‘If we can get down to the lobby, I mean. A back way through the kitchens that’ll get you to the staff entrance. I can take you if you want.’
Both of them turned towards me. The look of cool scrutiny I expected from the senior officer, but Liam had exactly the same detached expression on his face too. He looked like a completely different person. Which, of course, he was.
‘That sounds good,’ his boss said eventually. ‘Take Sergeant Coyle and show him the route. Coyle, I want a full risk assessment. And be particularly careful in the kitchens; I’m not ruling out the possibility that this is a gas leak.’
‘No warning?’ asked Liam.
‘Not a dickybird,’ sighed his boss, shaking his head. ‘Off you go.’
Liam jerked his head at me, opened the door and slipped back around it. With a quick last look back at the prime minister – I could hardly believe she was the second one I’d encountered, in circumstances scarcely less weird than the first – I followed him.
The dust had settled a little in the corridor, but it still got right into your mouth and nostrils and eyes. I tightened my makeshift mask, which I had kept on the whole time I was in the room. Liam pulled up his own.
‘C’mon.’ He set off up the corridor, away from what I could now make out was a gaping raw hole, open to the night air. The jagged joists and crumbling walls at its edge were alternately illuminated and hidden by blue flashing lights from below: the cavalry had arrived – not that it was much use to us up here. The lights caught and froze droplets of water that were still cascading down from somewhere above: though the gushing sound like a waterfall had stopped, the stream hadn’t yet run dry.
‘Come on,’ Liam repeated and I snapped to attention, hurrying after him towards the firedoors at the end of the corridor. Apart from the dust, everything ahead of us looked normal: the lights out here were somehow still working, and through the wired glass of the firedoors I could see the pink overstuffed armchairs still keeping their pointless vigil in front of the lifts.
‘Sergeant Coyle,’ I said levelly as I caught up with Liam.
‘That’s right.’ He didn’t look at me.
‘Is that still Liam Coyle?’
‘Ryan. And don’t you be starting on me, Alex.’
I suppose he had a fair point there.
We reached the fire doors, and he gestured me back as he eased them open, keeping a wary eye on the ceiling above. When nothing happened, he beckoned me through. ‘There’s a hell of a lot of structural damage. It wouldn’t surprise me if the whole place came down on top of us.’
‘I think it probably would,’ I started to say, but the urge towards sarcasm flew out of my head as we reached the staircase and I looked down into the lobby below. The dust filling the great space meant it was like looking down from above the clouds, but I could still make out that the great wooden check-in desk was now half-buried beneath a pile of rubble which was strewn far into the hotel’s interior. If the staff whose presence I had been resenting were still standing there when it came down, they wouldn’t have stood a chance. The whole front wall where the entrance had been seemed to have tumbled down, along with the floors above it: I could see the end of a bathtub protruding from the avalanche of broken masonry, and a big wooden beam that stood almost diagonally across it, a ragged flap of carpet hanging from its edge. The roses on the lobby’s own carpet were now only bright in the closest corner: as they twined out towards the front of the room they faded into a uniform grey and then disappeared completely at the fringes of the heap. The huge vase of flowers was still standing incongruously at the centre of it all, but now its blooms, too, were all grey.
There were dozens of people on the stairs and down in the lobby, wandering aimlessly about or sitting on steps or the plush armchairs, most in pyjamas and nightdresses. The walking wounded, I thought, as Liam – Ryan – hurried me past a woman who was bleeding heavily from a cut on the head. A man was holding her up, willing her on downwards one step at a time with little encouraging noises. As we reached the ground floor an old lady was sprawled, moaning, on the bottom-most step, a man clutching her shoulders while a hotel employee with a first-aid kit beside her wrapped a bandage that was already sodden and red around her outstretched leg. As we stepped around them I recognised the first aider as the woman from the front desk, so that was something at least.
‘It’s this way.’ I pointed to the door where I had emerged from the kitchens, which was thankfully well beyond the furthest point the debris had reached. I was still talking quietly, not because of the majesty of the place this time, but because I was trying to take in the full horror of what was around me. From somewhere in the piled rubble I could hear a man screaming and shouting for help. It was starting to sink in just how bad this was. ‘There’s going to be a lot of dead people, aren’t there?’
‘Yeah, there are,’ said Liam simply. ‘More if we don’t get people out. C’mon.’
They might never have discovered this way without me: from this side the door was quite well disguised, with only a tiny ‘Staff Only’ sign to give it away. It looked like it would only lead to a cleaning cupboard or something like that. Again, as I passed through, I got the feeling of going into another world: the dust dissipated and there was no sign of any damage in the trolley room or the kitchens beyond. The gas hob was even still burning: its blue flames helped guide our way because the lights in there seemed to have been knocked out too, and the only other illumination was the dull green glow of emergency lights above each set of doors. There was no sign of the chef. And we didn’t meet anyone else, either, until we made it all the way through the big kitchen and out into the back hallway, and found the policeman who had waved me through hovering nervously outside the staff door, his radio crackling away.
He held his hands up to stop us, but quickly subsided when Liam – Sergeant Coyle –pulled his mask down, whipped a warrant card out of his pocket and held it out in his direction. ‘Constable, I want you to guard these doors and make sure no one else goes in or out until I get back,’ he ordered, in that same familiar accent, but a commanding tone that was totally unlike the Liam I knew and more than a bit like Mrs Thatcher upstairs. ‘Come on,’ he said to me in the same stern voice, and I scuttled after him up the alley until we got to the metal barrier at the end. Finally I pulled off my facemask to take in gulps of the cold night air like it was the most delicious thing I’d ever tasted. Above us I could see torch beams sweeping across the concrete ceilings of the car park, and a faint shout of ‘Clear!’ came echoing down.
‘Right,’ he said, and suddenly he was Liam again, leaning in close to brush the worst of the dust from my clothes with his scarcely less coated hands. ‘Get out of here, Tommy. Just go. Walk, don’t run. Don’t do anything that’s going to attract attention to yourself. Don’t tell anyone you were here. Not anyone – d’you hear me?’ With a quick glance in either direction, he grabbed my arms, pressed his forehead up against mine and stared deep into my eyes, just like he always used to do. ‘Go home and wait for me. I don’t know when I’ll be able to get in touch, but I will, I promise. I promise.’ And he kissed me urgently on the mouth before letting me go again.
‘Go.’ he said. ‘Go!’
I went.