She realised that the smell was coming from the man beside her.
Cathy Cremer wrinkled her nose and glanced at the man who was flipping through the racks of compact discs.
He was in his late twenties, as she was, dressed in faded jeans which hung lower on his hips than they should. Especially when the T-shirt he wore was so short. Cathy glanced down and saw that more than the requisite amount of bum cleavage was on view.
It was all she could do to stop herself laughing.
However, the smell helped.
She tried to concentrate on the CDs which she herself was flipping through, but the overpowering stench of body odour finally became too much for her and she stepped away from the man, shooting him one final disgusted glance.
She pulled a handkerchief from the pocket of her jacket and wiped her nose, the smell of freshly laundered linen helping to dispel the stink of the individual now standing opposite her. She read the slogan printed on his T-shirt. i'm too sexy for this shirt it proclaimed in bright red letters.
Cathy finally managed a snigger.
She tried to concentrate on choosing more of the discs but found that a tall, blonde girl with a mountainous back-pack was blocking her path to the discs labelled pop and rock.
Cathy moved further down the racks. She'd already selected four discs from the discount section of Tower Records in Piccadilly. That added up to about three hours of listening time, she mused. Scarcely enough to fill the time it would take to reach Singapore.
She shuddered even as she thought of the word, of the journey.
Singapore. Then on to Australia.
Her parents had moved there three years ago. This forthcoming trip would be the first time she'd seen them since they'd emigrated, intent on spending their retirement in sunnier climes.
They'd sent her half the fair. The rest she'd saved from her salary. It had been a struggle sometimes over the past three years but her present job paid well and the final instalment of cash for the trip had been easier to accumulate.
She'd worked on the switchboard of the Meridien Hotel in Piccadilly for just over ten months now. It was good pay and the work wasn't hard. She'd be sorry to leave but there was no way they were going to keep her job open for the two months she was away visiting her parents.
Her sister Joanne, who was to accompany her on the trip, didn't have the same problem with work. Two years older than Cathy, she worked in the A amp;R department of EMI Records. Personal assistant to the head of the department. The job was better paid and a damn sight more flexible. But Cathy had little doubt she'd find another job upon her return. At the moment that was the furthest thing from her mind. The trip was less than a week away. Everything it was possible to pack was already jammed into her two suitcases; she was now stocking up on items to kill time on the twenty-four-hour flight.
She picked up a couple more CDs, tapping her foot in time to the music that was playing inside the store.
She glanced at her purchases.
A pretty wide range. Something for all occasions, she thought, smiling to herself. Madonna. A compilation Country and Western album. Queen. Guns 'n Roses' first album and a Kate Bush compilation.
What else?
She moved as swiftly as she could between the racks. The shop was crowded as usual. Cathy remembered she needed a new set of headphones for her Discman so she headed towards the stairs leading down to the basement.
Her heels clicked loudly on the metal steps as she descended, almost dropping her purchases when she reached the bottom.
The music playing in the basement was different. Loud, abrasive. Jungle music.
It belonged in the jungle, thought Cathy as the simplistic racket filled her ears.
There was another section nearby boasting bargains, so she paused to flip through the array of discs, smiling as she found one marked 'Songs that Won the War'. She'd get it for her mum. A present.
Cathy glanced at her watch.
She should be getting back to work.
Just get the headphones, then head back.
She had no idea from which direction the blast came.
The ferocity of the explosion was so violent it seemed to fill the entire shop.
Cathy heard a loud bang then the world dissolved into a haze of red and yellow.
CDs, videos, racks and tapes were sent flying in all directions by the massive blast.
Cathy joined them, hurled across the shop like a rag doll, lifted as if on invisible strings. Suspended in the air for endless seconds before being slammed into a wall which was already ablaze.
It mattered little to her.
The initial blast had killed her instantly, ripping part of her clothing off as surely as it had torn away one of her arms and the lower part of her right leg.
The explosion funnelled up the stairs, a shrieking bolt of fire incinerating everything it touched. It melted flesh as easily as plastic.
Rolling clouds of smoke billowed out into Piccadilly Underground station, the shattering detonation reverberating off the walls and ceilings, deafening those nearby.
Screams began to fill the air, mingling with the cries of those dying or injured.
Many lay still, some hideously wounded.
The store was filled with the stench of smoke, the reeking odour of burning plastic and the more pungent smell of scorched flesh.
Music was still playing.
Death had a tune.