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system.’
    Gwen looked unsure. ‘Need any help?’
    ‘Can you tell the difference between UTP wire and 75 ohm coaxial cables?’
    ‘Obviously not.’
    ‘In that case, I’ll struggle on without you. Go.’ Toshiko gave her a little wave. ‘Nice boots, by the way. Belstaff?’
    Back outside in the trampled marketplace, ambulances were drawing up to collect the last victims. ‘Skinheads, out of control,’ one of the paramedics was saying.
    And beyond him, shoppers continued their calm progress towards retail outlets in the streets, unperturbed by recent events as the prosaic reality of life went on.

FOUR
    Idelle Gethin stumbled down the bus, apologising as her bags clunked into people’s knees. The driver wasn’t waiting for her to get seated, the rotten bastard. Like another few seconds would delay him that much. The bus was gathering speed. With both hands full, Idelle had to balance as best she could without treading on the other passengers’ feet. She could see a double seat towards the back section. That would have to do. Her bad knees and bulky frame meant that standing all the way to the terminus wasn’t an option.
    She wished now she’d got on the earlier bus. But the familiar face of a middle-aged woman through the side window had put Idelle off boarding. She didn’t know that woman’s name, though Idelle sometimes saw her on this route. The woman couldn’t help it; she had the unsettling, bulging-eyes stare of hyperthyroidism. Idelle knew that nasty kids on the bus would tease the poor woman – mean calls of ‘pretty Polly’ – and Idelle wanted to avoid the embarrassment she herself felt when that happened, too nervous to intervene and stop them. Too worried that they’d turn their attention to mocking her for her weight.
    Cefn Welch listened to the growl of the Scania’s nine-litre engine as it jumped to second and into traffic. There was a clear stretch now before the next stop and, so long as he negotiated the road works carefully, he could make up for earlier delays and get back on schedule. In the rear-view mirror, he caught a glimpse of someone bouncing down the aisle. It was that fat woman who’d struggled to find the right change. Hurry up and find something, love, he thought. Sixty seats and room for twice that many standing, what are you waiting for?
    Unlike his mates at the depot, Cefn loved these new articulated buses. He imagined them rippling through the urban jungle of Cardiff like predators, sleek and purposeful. He loved the positions of the controls in the instrument cluster, his commanding view through the huge single-piece windscreen, the throaty roar of the nine-litre engine. And the smell of new upholstery was a definite improvement on the piss-and-dust stink of those old coaches. Gotta move with the times, he’d told Ronald when the old guy was grumbling about all the changes in the DragonLine bus fleet. And with this thought in mind, Cefn smoothly steered the sinuous creature through the traffic lights as the engine kicked into third.
    Daniel Pugh lifted his briefcase onto his lap, so that the fat woman could move down the aisle. The rear section of the bendy bus, beyond the concertina joint, was already standing-room only. Daniel pondered whether to offer up his place. Or would that imply he thought she was pregnant? She might take offence. That had happened before. He’d told Sheila about it that time, but his wife had laughed scornfully at him. ‘If you’re old enough to take early retirement, Dan, then you’re probably entitled to a seat on the bus. It’s the young kids who should be surrendering their seats. Give them a nudge.’ Like those teenagers – no, probably older than that – playing cards across the aisle. Daniel could see that it wasn’t a regular pack of diamonds and spades and whatnot, but a much larger format, more like portrait photographs. Each was garishly illustrated with ugly creatures and had complicated annotations. The backs of the