One Stop Away

On that day, the memory remains vivid in my mind. I woke up full of energy and enthusiasm, ready to embark on my journey to London's Black Horse Road. It was my regular routine to collect stock for my online business and bring it back to Brentwood, my hometown in Essex. The morning unfolded like any other. After walking the dogs, I returned home to feed them. With earphones in place, I made my way to the train station, which was about a 25-minute walk from my house. Music became my constant companion, blaring through my earphones wherever I went.

Just like every day, I purchased my ticket and boarded the train. The journey was uneventful as usual, with the train gradually filling up as we approached London. I moved from station to station, almost mechanically, until a few stops before mine. That's when a young woman in her early twenties, seated at the other end of the carriage, rose from her seat and took the one next to me. Concerned by her sudden shift, I asked if everything was alright. She confided in me, sharing that a man had been harassing her with lewd comments. I glanced down the carriage, locking eyes with the man in question. Assuring her that everything would be okay, deep down, I couldn't help but feel uncertain. It was just the three of us in that carriage.

Finally, we arrived at Black Horse Road station. I informed her that it was my stop, and she said it was hers too. As we stepped outside the station, he followed us. We stood in silence, unsure of what to do, until he eventually left. She believed she would be safe now and departed. I asked if she was certain, and she reassured me. Looking back, I wonder what I would have done if she hadn't needed to get off at that station. Would I have stayed on the train to ensure her safety, or would I have gotten off as well? I like to believe I would have stayed.

Typically, I arrived at my destination a minute past 9:00 a.m. I always aimed to time my arrival as close to 9:00 as possible. This allowed me the entire day to return home and list all the stock I had acquired on Amazon and eBay. Although I had ordered the stock the day before, the contents remained a mystery until I arrived. However, due to the incident on the train, I found myself about five minutes behind schedule. Regardless, the day proceeded like any other, at least for a little while.

The office at my destination was a long, rectangular space, appearing somewhat neglected, with a counter at one end. Upon entering, I pressed the service button on the counter. As usual, music played softly in the background. The person who typically assisted me poked his head out from the door, recognized me, and fetched my order without uttering a word. He placed the box on the counter, and I paid with my card before leaving.

Once again, I plugged in my earphones, escaping into the realm of music. Returning to Black Horse Road station, I failed to notice any significant changes, although in hindsight, perhaps there were subtle shifts. Boarding the train once more, I drowned out the disconcerting sounds of the area with my chosen melodies. In the early 2000s, Black Horse Road and the neighboring stations were not destinations one lingered in unless they resided there. Carrying over £1000 worth of stock, which would sustain me for the next week, it wasn't a place to engage in eye contact with strangers. Consequently, I fixed my gaze on a spot on the floor until I reached my stop and switched to a busier line.

As I transitioned to the busier line, I began to notice peculiar expressions on people's faces. Although everyone seemed stoic, I didn't pay much attention. Suddenly, the train abruptly stopped at Aldgate East, and I observed everyone disembarking. Removing my earphones, I caught the announcement over the train's speakers: "Due to an earlier incident." It became apparent that the train was going nowhere, so I joined the others on the platform. Just as I stepped off, I overheard the tail end of one final announcement, stating, "... no trains were operating on this line for the foreseeable future."

Deciding to walk to Liverpool Street and catch the Overground train back to Brentwood, I encountered an atmosphere of gravity as I stepped outside the station. People wore expressions of dismay, standing around without purpose or direction. Retrieving my phone, I checked for updates. Technology hadn't advanced much back then, and we were only beginning to move beyond basic texting experiences. Unfortunately, there was no clear information available. The BBC news page remained stagnant, displaying the same news as before. I crossed the road and proceeded towards Liverpool Street station. Along the way, a shop window caught my attention, displaying TVs. It used to be a common sight to see televisions in shop windows, but that would change almost a decade later during the widespread riots in London. Gazing into the window, I noticed every television playing the same footage—a bus that had clearly exploded. Though it was a bus in London, I couldn't determine the exact location. On each screen, the text read, "Many killed in Tavistock Square," or something similar. While there were no specific numbers, the implication was clear: multiple lives had been lost. I glanced back at my phone, hoping for some sign of life. That's when I realized that the news site I had previously checked hadn't updated. It remained frozen in the past, unable to convey any information. All communication within central London had ceased.

I continued my journey to Liverpool Street station, which felt unnervingly quiet. People were present, but an eerie silence enveloped the surroundings. Instead of seeking answers from others, I searched for any indication that my train was still running. Finding a train that appeared to be in operation, I boarded it and headed home.

Upon arriving home, I dropped my bag, stoked my dogs, and switched on the television. There it was, on every channel—the story that forever altered the London I knew. The city was under siege, a victim of a massive, full-scale terrorist attack. It was then that the gravity of the situation hit me. I had been so close to that terror, just one step away from being caught in the chaos. If I had been a little faster, I would have been on the train that exploded.

It was July 7th, 2005, and I had narrowly escaped becoming a potential victim of the London Bombings.