“Hello?”

“Sorry – I’m still here – it’s just – “

“It’s okay. It’s hard to talk about it. I know.”

The two of them were silent for a moment, listening to each other’s breathing.

“Are you still there?” said Jake. He suddenly sounded unsure of himself.

“I’m here. I’m sorry. What did you ask me?”

“Um – was it about sleeping?”

“Yeah, that’s it. I’m not too bad. I – it’s more that I can’t sleep. I go to sleep and then I wake up, for no reason, and then I can’t get back to sleep. I feel so tired all the time.”

“Must be hard for you at work.”

“I’m not working.” Bella shifted her weight from foot to foot. “I only left university this summer and I haven’t really got – I haven’t really thought about what I was going to do. That’s why I was in London that day, I had a job interview. That’s why I was on the train – I stayed at my Dad’s place so I could get the tube in the morning – my interview was in the West End and I didn’t want to be late, so I ran for that train – the train – and I almost didn’t make it, the doors nearly shut on me, but I did get on and I thought wow, just about made that in time, and then we were just going into the tunnel…”

She tripped over herself; the words were coming too fast for her to speak properly. She’d not talked about that day with anyone, not really, not even her mother. But she could talk to Jake. It was as he was tugging speech out of her, each word emerging like a knotted rope of coloured silk handkerchiefs flourished by a magician. She stopped eventually, more breathless than her speech had warranted.

There was a long moment of silence between them, long enough for Bella’s comfort. She was suddenly afraid she’d said too much, and spoken too wildly. The handset slipped a little in her damp palm. Then, after another beat of silence, she heard Jake’s intake of breath at the end of the line.

“We should meet,” he said.

“Meet?” she said, stupidly.

“Would you like to? I mean – only if you want to.” Again, he suddenly sounded unsure of himself and that gave her the courage to answer.

“No! I mean, no, I’d love to. I want – there’s – it’s hard to say everything that I want to say on the phone.”

He chuckled and she smiled at the sound, relieved.

“There’s so much I want to say to you. I thought you might think I was a complete nutter ringing you up out of the blue. I bet you don’t even remember giving me your home number.”

Bella groped through the fog of memories. Had she given him her number? She must have. She took a deep breath. “Where shall I meet you?”

Jake hesitated.

“Could you – could you bear to come to London?” He began to rush his words, much as Bella had done before. “I’ll understand – I’ll completely understand if you don’t. I could understand if you never wanted to set foot in the fucking place ever again. But if you don’t mind –”

She did mind. She minded terribly. For a moment, she couldn’t answer. Could she bear it, being there again? She was so scared of London, terrified of the capital. She tried to imagine being on a train again, thought about being underground. No, she couldn’t go underground. She couldn’t go anywhere near a tube tunnel. Her pulse thumped in her ears. She would be so scared… but she longed to meet him again, this rescuer, this stranger, her mysterious tunnel vision…

“I don’t mind,” she said, surprising herself with the firmness of her voice.

“Oh, that’s great. That’s fantastic.”

She interrupted him. “It’s just –“Her voice failed her for a second. “As long – as long as – can we meet somewhere where I don’t have to take the tube?”

He actually laughed. “Of course! God – of course. Of course we can, Bella.”

There was the usual tangle of suggestions, retractions and final confirmation. A little pub near Waterloo, so she could take the overland train – near enough to walk from the station, said Jake, and quiet enough to talk properly. Bella fumbled for a pen to write down his directions.

“So I’ll see you on Saturday, then,” said Jake. He began to say something else but stopped himself. Then he said, with an oddly fervent tone, “I’m really looking forward to seeing you again, Bella. See you then. Goodbye.”

“Goodbye,” said Bella, shakily. Her mouth suddenly felt coated in acrid underground dust. She swallowed and said goodbye again, more firmly.

“See you then, Jake.”

She put the phone down and leant against the wall.

For the rest of the week, she thought mainly of two things – the bombing and Jake. Saturday, three o’clock. Saturday, three o’clock. She went through her wardrobe, looking for the right thing to wear, a piece of armour that would take her to London and back unscathed. The idea of getting on a train again, even an overland train, made her hands shake and her breath come short and fast. But yet, she had to. It was either that or spend the rest of her life cooped up here, safe behind the walls of her mother’s house.

There were other, smaller anxieties. How would she recognise Jake? Even when they’d emerged into daylight, she’d been half blinded by dust and smoke. His face had been blackened by soot and before that, she’d only glimpsed him as a dark shape in a darker tunnel. She didn’t even know his last name. She wondered about looking up newspaper reports of the bombings to see if she could find out, but couldn’t bear to read them. What if she couldn’t find the pub, or was late and he didn’t wait for her? What if he didn’t turn up at all?

Then there was the actual meeting. Bella was horribly afraid she would burst into tears on seeing him. Would she scream, faint, wet herself? There were too many what-ifs. The thoughts chased themselves around in her head, stuck in an endless merry-go-round; she shouldn’t go – she should go – she shouldn’t go – she should.  At night, in her dreams, she walked the tunnels of the Underground, wandering lost and scared through an endless black maze, dragging herself back to consciousness in a fever of sweat. She tried to eat the meals her mother placed in front of her, pushing the food around the plate with a fork, chewing and swallowing past the tension in her throat. The days ticked relentlessly away and quite suddenly it was Saturday and she was sat in a near-empty carriage, on a train bound for Waterloo.

Being on a train again wasn’t quite as bad as being on the tube would have been, but it was still pretty bad. She sat rigidly by the window, staring out at the fields flashing past, the gradual encroachment of bricks and mortar as the train drew nearer London. I’m being brave, she told herself, trying to find some comfort in the thought. Soon, she could see the giant arch of the London Eye and felt the train begin to slow, shuddering its way into the station. Immediately, the tension inside her screwed a notch tighter. Bella felt sick. She fumbled for her bag with shaking hands and stepped onto the concourse on legs that felt as if they were made of rubber. She walked stiffly through the tumult of the station, flinching at the loudspeaker announcements, hardly breathing.

Walking calmed her somewhat and being out in the open air was better. She stiffened at the sight of the first red bus she saw, remembering the footage of the bombed Number 30, the roof peeled back like the lid of a giant sardine can, seating ripped apart as if by enormous, careless hands. She found the pub, tucked away on a little back street, just as Jake had said. As she approached the entrance, she made herself breathe slowly and deeply. She put her hand to the handle of the saloon door and pushed.

She saw him immediately and recognised him straight away. The sight of him, sat up by the bar opposite the door, caused such a wave of feeling to crash over her that she heard herself give an audible gasp. She staggered forward, crumpling at the waist like someone shot in the stomach.