Her Perfect Family(4)

Then Matthew turns to push against the tide of people running away from the cathedral.

As he forges forward, he puts his phone up to his ear and speed dials the only person he can think of. He prays for the sound of sirens. Prays that he won’t be needed after all.

DI Melanie Sanders picks up immediately. ‘What is it, Matt? Emergency here.’

‘I’m on Maidstead High Street. People screaming there’s a gunman in the cathedral.’

‘That’s my emergency. What are you doing there?’

‘Never mind. I’m not hearing sirens yet . . . Why no sirens?’

‘Traffic. They’re on their way but it’ll be a few minutes, Matt. I just got the call. I’m on my way too.’

‘And armed support? What’s the ETA for armed support, Mel?’

A pause.

‘How long Mel?’

‘Ten minutes minimum.’

Matthew increases his pace. As he reaches the green in front of the cathedral, there is the shock of a crush outside the main door. Some people are running away but others are standing still, faces terrified, calling out the names of loved ones.

‘Move away from the doors,’ he shouts. ‘Everyone away from the doors.’ He presses the phone back to his ear. ‘I’ll do what I can, Mel. But it’s chaos here.’

‘Not on your own, Matt . . .’

He hangs up and runs around the west side of the cathedral, avoiding the throng.

There’s a man in a high-vis jacket – some kind of usher or maybe security – looking completely overwhelmed, standing by temporary fencing, designed presumably to keep the graduation visitors to the front lawn, but which is now making the crisis worse – restricting the flow of people.

‘Get these fences down now so we can get everyone away faster.’ Matthew kicks one of the temporary barriers over by way of demonstration. The man in the yellow jacket copies him. As the fence is reduced – crash after crash after crash – people start to step and leap over the barriers, which slowly improves the flow.

‘Are all the doors open?’ Matthew barks.

The man frowns – can’t hear him over the screaming.

‘Are all the doors open?’ Matthew now shouts and the man shakes his head.

‘We locked some to check tickets.’

‘Get them all open now. All of them, you hear me – fast as you can? What’s my best way in? I can’t get through these crowds.’

‘Tower at the back. There’s a door by a laburnum tree. It was supposed to be left open for the staff to leave.’

Suddenly another man, grey-haired and face desperate, holds on to Matthew’s shoulder. ‘Are you in charge? Our kids are in there. The students. Some of them are still in rooms at the back. We can’t get to them. How do we get to them?’

‘I’m on it. Move away from the crush, sir. Help get this fence down. And get more doors open. Can you do that for me?’

The man nods. Matthew then jumps a fence on the ground himself and runs around the back of the cathedral towards the laburnum. Sure enough there is a small oak door with a large, black iron handle. Open.

Inside, Matthew moves fast through a narrow stone corridor to find himself to the side of the choir stall. This end of the cathedral is almost empty but there’s still a large crush of people at the main door, trying to get out.

There’s a lot of shouting. Some men are urging the women and children to leave but others are screaming to know where the students are.

‘Where are our children? Are they out? Who’s getting them out?’

In front of him, Matthew sees a small throng of people crouched down around a young woman on the ground in a pool of blood. Instinctively, he looks up, trying to work out where the shot would have come from. There is an upper gallery with carved shapes in the stone balcony. He watches. No shadows. No sign of movement. But the gunman could still be up there.

He realises what easy targets they are: sitting ducks. He thinks of Amelie and Sally and feels this terrible lurch. No choice. No sign of any uniforms yet . . .

He moves out into the open central area and joins the small group surrounding the shot girl. A woman is rolling her over, testing a pulse and doing compressions while instructing someone else to hold the girl’s neck in place. The woman’s voice is steady and firm – must be a doctor or nurse at least. Good. It may be a while before an ambulance is allowed through.

At last he hears sirens but not close yet.

‘Help’s on the way. I’m ex police. We’re going to get you all out of here.’

Another woman turns to look at him, tears pouring down her cheeks. The mother then. Alongside her is a man, face white. The father.

‘What should I do?’ The man’s voice is breaking. ‘What should we do?’

‘Stay with her. Talk to her. Help’s coming.’

Another man steps forward, his face steadier. ‘Marine. A parent. My wife and son are on their way out. What can I do?’

Another slim, tall woman in a black suit joins them, her face white with terror. ‘We have a lot of students in anterooms out the back. We don’t know what to do. Is it safe to bring them through? Two of my ushers have bolted. What should I do?’

‘Right. Take me to them. They’re opening more doors. The crush will reduce soon. How many shots were fired? Did it sound like an automatic weapon?’