Professeur Simon Reblochon stared at his laptop in shock. The news of the bomb blast at the university in Belfast and the picture of his friend Dermot among the walking wounded and emergency services had made it to the Reuters pages on twitter.
Simon had worked at Bordeaux university for 32 years and had never seen anything like it. Protests, sit-ins, marches, flour bombs yes; but not actual incendiary explosions. It made no sense. No one had claimed responsibility and the police had ruled out paramilitary involvement. That just left the lone, fanatical extremist working to his or her own agenda.
Simon texted Dermot “Thinking of you, your students and your colleagues at this awful time. Stay strong my friend.”
Damien and Simon had met at a conference in Vienna ten years ago and immediately hit it off. Dermot’s French was pretty good and Simon always felt a bit awkward trying to make conversation in English. The conference had been tedious, so they explored the Viennese coffee houses and pigged out on Austrian pastries. They had stayed in touch ever since via Skype and Whatsapp.
When Dermot put forward the idea of a field trip to Bordeaux it was taken for granted that Dermot would be staying with Simon and his wife, Beatrice, in their grand house near the Quai de Sainte Croix. Their 5 children had all left some years back and the house seemed empty without them.
The security services were on high alert in France ever since the Charlie Hebdo attack. It was a common sight to see armed police and soldiers on patrol in central Bordeaux.
On the banks of the Garonne, a group of History students were staring at their smart phones. The pictures streamed live were horrific. But these sickos were lapping it up.
odespinner 