Keep calm and carry on shopping

Yesterday I went shopping with my son and daughter at Bluewater Shopping Mall.  It’s a great place to go, notably because every shop you can think of is under one glorious brightly-lit indoor circuit.  From coffee bars to restaurants, umpteen cinema screens to hand-painted china, baby paraphernalia to toys, furniture to every item of clothing your heart desire’s, it’s pretty much the place to venture for everything you need.  It’s also a target for terrorists.  According to police, there have been several foiled attempts.  On a cool autumn afternoon, I discovered first-hand what it’s like to be caught up in an ‘incident’.
          I’d arranged to meet my son at Bluewater, by the internal entrance of M&S.  My daughter and I were travelling together, and parked in our usual underground spot.  Leaving the car park, we walked into M&S from the rear doors, straight into the lingerie and nightwear section.  Our attention was immediately caught by the pretty seasonal pyjamas in the softest, silkiest fabrics.  Eleanor has only to touch material like this to instantly regress to babyhood.  Back then she used to sleep with a balled-up square of soft material called Cuddly.   For years, Cuddly went everywhere until, frayed and ragged, a cleaning lady on holiday thought it was rubbish and binned it.  Eleanor was heartbroken.  Now aged twenty, she doesn’t need a cuddly!  However, she’s very partial to stroking any garment that reminds her of a time where the world was full of unicorns and fairies, and the only monsters were animated creations in Disney films.
          ‘Oh look at these, Mum,’ she said, picking up the bottom half of some pyjamas covered in cute galloping reindeer.  The moment her fingers made contact with the material, she was lost.  ‘This is so soft.’
          ‘|You’re right,’ I said, letting a swathe of fabric slip through my fingers.  ‘It’s gorgeous.’
          Distracted, we were only dimly aware of a shriek in the background, followed by another, this time shriller, accompanied by the approach of people running at full pelt.  Someone bashed into me, nearly knocking my handbag off my shoulder.  Mildly irritated, my immediate thought was, ‘Flipping teenagers, can’t they have some decorum?’ Eleanor and I remained fondling the pyjamas and sniffing lavender pillow sprays, oblivious to what was going on until we were shoved unceremoniously into a rail of dressing gowns.
          Turning around to see what the commotion was about, our eyes widened at a human tidal wave of panic-stricken shoppers shoving, pushing, and fighting their way to the exit doors that Eleanor and I had walked through only minutes previously. A security guy was talking into a walkie-talkie.
          ‘What’s going on?’ we called.
          ‘You’ve got to get out,’ he yelled, ‘the entire mall is being evacuated.’
          We didn’t hesitate.  Stepping into the throng, we were immediately swept forward and out into the car park, where we paused to see if we could help some people who were in a very bad way.  Strangely, I felt very calm.  Two young girls were hugging each other, one shaking badly, and crying.  We offered to give them a lift home, but they said they had a car, and just needed to work their way around the perimeter to get to it.  Vehicles were screeching out of car parks, and within seconds the ring road around the shopping mall was at a standstill from congestion.  Three fire engines, blue lights flashing, sirens wailing, sped past us in the opposite direction.  People who had fled out of the first available exit but were nowhere near their cars, were standing on the grass verge, hugging each other, crying, talking into mobiles, reassuring relatives no doubt.
          ‘Ring Robbie,’ I said to Eleanor, once in the car.  ‘I don’t think he’s here yet.  Tell him to turn around and go home.’
          However, we couldn’t get through.
          ‘The network might have been immobilised as a security precaution.’  I said to Eleanor.  It was only then that I felt the first frisson of alarm.  Where was my son?  I was fairly sure he’d still be heading towards Bluewater.  On the other side of the carriageway, cars were flowing towards the shopping mall, the drivers blissfully unaware of the incident, but shooting puzzled looks at the pandemonium on the opposite side.  Slowly, slowly, we crawled our way out of the exit roads, some drivers in no mood to queue and cutting up vehicles in a desperate bid to put as much distance between themselves and a terror attack.
          ‘It’s ringing,’ said Eleanor, as Robbie’s line finally connected.  Frustratingly it went to voicemail.
          ‘Put it on loud speaker,’ I said, ‘and hold the phone towards me.’  Some might argue that now wasn’t a time to worry about whether you were hands-free or not, but I guess I’m a law-abiding citizen even in a crisis!  ‘Rob,’ I shouted at the handset, uncertain about the ability of the microphone at a distance. Best to enunciate for clarity too.  ‘There. Is. A. Bomb.’  I nodded at Eleanor, who rolled her eyes.  ‘Turn. Around. Now.’  I dithered whether to finish with, “Over and out,” but realised this was real life, not an action movie.
          Eleanor hung up, but seconds later her phone rang.  It was Robbie.
          ‘Where are you?’ he asked his sister.  ‘I’ve just picked up a ridiculous voicemail from Mum sounding like she’s doing an impersonation of Inspector Clouseau.’
          ‘Never mind that,’ said Eleanor, ‘where are you?’
          ‘At Bluewater.  Outside M&S, waiting for you!’
          You know, it doesn’t matter how old your kids are, being a parent, a protector, never leaves you.  In that moment I had a strong desire to abandon my car, jump on its bonnet, then leap from roof to roof of all the other surrounding cars until I was back in the shopping mall and able to grab my 24-year-old six-foot-tall son away from the threat of death.  Which would have embarrassed him no end, I hasten to add.
          Needless to say, the ‘terror incident’ was a fire in one of the kitchens at the Food Hall. Eleanor and Robbie did some quick Googling from their phones, and found an announcement warning the public not to panic. Not that a great proportion of them were listening.
          As soon as we’d crawled to a roundabout, I turned the car around and headed back to Bluewater.  I guess the moral of this tale is, ‘In a crisis, keep calm.’  Oh, and if you haven’t got to drive home for a few hours, have a glass of wine. Which reminds me.
          Girl:  ‘I love you so much, I could never live without you.’
          Boy: ‘Is that you talking, or the wine?’
          Girl: ‘It’s me talking to the wine.’