The Brighton Bomb

 

The Brighton Bomb

The ringing phone on my bedside table woke me. It had just gone 4.30 am. A call at that time generally means a problem of some sort, so I answered hesitantly. I recognised my sister’s voice at once.

‘It’s me, Chris. Don’t worry, everything’s fine but I just need to tell you…” She was speaking very quickly, yet trying to sound calm:

‘Mum and Dad have phoned. They’re OK, but when you wake up you’ll hear the news. There’s been an explosion at their hotel. They think it’s a bomb.’

‘A bomb!’ I was wide awake now. ‘How big?’

‘Not sure, but it sounds bad. Half the hotel’s blown up. Everyone was in bed. They got out, but Mum was phoning me in her nightie.’ …

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