In the silence following the explosion Sean slowly pulled himself to his feet. He had been flung back against the outer wall of the bus station. Choking on plaster dust from the bus concourse roof, his ears ringing from the sound of the blast, he tentatively checked himself over for serious damage. He seemed ok. His hands were damp, he held them out in front of him. They were shaking and his left hand was bloody. He bound his scarf tightly around it, and tried to make sense of the scene around him. He couldn’t see very far ahead, the air was filled with dust. He could just make out the twisted scrap metal shape of what had been a bus at the next stand. All around people were lying on the ground, bodies twisted and contorted. They could have been crying out in pain, but Sean couldn’t hear a thing. A few others, less seriously injured like himself, were staggering to their feet, confused, trying to understand what had just happened.

Sean noticed that the man who had been queuing next to him was lying motionless on the ground. He must have protected Sean from the worst of the blast. Sean knelt down, checked his pulse, nothing. Blood trickled from the man’s ear to the concrete, belying the illusion of peaceful sleep.

Only minutes before Sean had stared enviously at the man. He looked the same age as Sean, like him a City type, a broker maybe or merchant banker, expensive suit, silk tie, browsing through the Financial Times, waiting for the commuter bus to work. Except, unlike Sean, he probably wasn’t on his way to a disciplinary hearing for insider trading. At least they will have to delay the hearing he thought, you can’t discipline a man who has just escaped a bomb blast. His brain started to work quickly, he always functioned best under pressure. He might be able to turn this to his advantage- a visit to the doctor, claim he had post-traumatic stress or something.

He noticed something on the ground. A photograph of a pretty woman and two small children had spilled from the man’s wallet, dislodged from his jacket in the fall. Sean’s wife had left him and taken the kids at the first hint of trouble at work. Trouble which signalled the end of the good times his dodgy deals had bought them. Maybe he could get Miranda to change her mind, she might soften up when she heard what an ordeal he had gone through. No, on second thoughts there was no point, she was no use to him now Daddy’s money had run out. Still, he would miss the kids. They’d survive without him – after all he’d survived without his father.

Sean became aware of movement, and some sound, possibly sirens. The emergency services were arriving. Quickly, he reached inside his jacket, removed his credit cards, drivers licence and work id, and scattered them on the ground. He bent to where the contents of the stranger’s wallet, together with ID and drivers licence lay fanned out on the ground in the dusty sunlight. ‘Cheers, mate,’ he said and with one hand Sean scooped them up and walked away into his new life.