Arms and legs wrapped around his father, baby-gorilla style, Artemio sobs. When his tears have finally subsided into the occasional gulp and snuffle, Gillem picks him up and carries him upstairs to bed. Just before he disappears, Gillem looks back over his shoulder and gives Rat a look that is half frown, half smile, equal mixtures worry and tenderness.

“Celia, your mum called just before you got back to see if you were all right,” Kate says, as if that’s something absolutely normal. “I told her we’d phone as soon as we heard from you.”

Rat is soaking in a bath scented with honey-ginger essence. She feels as if her body and hair still stink of the London Underground, of poisoned tunnels, policemen, mass fear.

The others are still watching television, glued to the same tarot deck of reshuffled images: burning bus, hovering helicopter, derailed train, ashen crowds. Face cards: the man from the Ministry of Defense; the man who knows about Middle Eastern terrorism, the expert on explosives.

Her cell phone is ringing. She’s left it out on the kitchen counter, but she can recognize its little bleat.

She jumps out of the bath, wraps herself in a towel, grabs the phone just before it goes on to message service.

“How come all the calls are for Celia, how come nobody wants to know if I’m all right?” she can hear Artemio complain to his mother, but his tone is jokey. Gillem’s got him calmed down somewhat.

“You still alive?” It’s Jérôme. “I’m with Florian,” he says. “We just heard.”

Rat describes to Jérôme what it was like to move in that silent obedient crowd being herded by Underground officials up to the surface, and down the London streets. “It felt like zombies in a science-fiction movie, everybody was so obedient. You just know, if it was France, they’d be bitching their heads off.”

“I think it’s time you came home,” says Jérôme’s voice, firmly. “Are you coming back soon? If you aren’t, me ’n’ Flo are coming to London to get you.”

“I dunno know, Jérôme. It’s kind of interesting here. I wouldn’t want to leave just because of some bomb. And I’ve just started working, it’s really fun. I mean, can you believe it, I’m this kid who can’t even speak English, and immediately I find a job? In France, you can have six advanced degrees and you still can’t find work.”

Jérôme snorts his disapproval. “What do they have you doing, clearing mines? Well, don’t take the Tube anymore. Or the bus.”

“Yeah, we’re all talking about getting bikes. What’s going on at home? How are things?”

“Well, I have interesting news for you. I didn’t want to say anything till it looked a hundred percent sure, but—”

“What?”