Extra-ordinary journey of Edgware Road Tube bomb survivor

Last week, heavily pregnant Angela Gardner watched from the window of her West Hampstead home as her husband David kicked a ball around the garden with their four-year-old son. That morning he had caught the bus to work and a few days earlier, spurred on by Wimbledon, he had played tennis at the local courts. These everyday activities, along with the imminent arrival of her second child, were once unimaginable to Angela because three years ago today, David was caught up in the Edgware Road terrorist bombing that killed six and maimed 163 others.

The morning of 7 July began like any other for Angela, 38, an associate director of a professional advisory firm. "I left home at my usual time of 7.30am after kissing my husband and one-year-old son goodbye at the door," she recalls.

David, 53, always left a little later, dropping their son at school before continuing his journey to work as a management accountant at Associated Newspapers, owner of the Evening Standard. Life couldn't have been better.

"We met and fell in love in 2000 through our shared love of drama and a passion for long-distance running," she explains. Two years later they married where they had met, at Hampstead Parish Church, and a year later, in November 2003, their son Matthew was born.

At work, Angela suspected nothing. "I'd sent a couple of emails and thought it odd that David hadn't responded - he would usually reply immediately. On calling his office to check that he had arrived safely, my call was redirected to David's boss and personal friend, who confirmed that he had not turned up," she remembers. "I began to feel anxious."

A subsequent email from a colleague spoke of "problems" on the Tube and this was followed by a security announcement. By now it was 10.30am and Angela was becoming increasingly concerned after seeing the news on the BBC.

"As the morning unfolded the seriousness of the situation became apparent. The news eventually filtered through that three bombs had gone off almost simultaneously on three separate Underground trains at around 8.50am. By midmorning I realised that there was a possibility that David could have been involved in the carnage. We were given clear instructions not to leave our building, which is just off Fleet Street, until further notice, but otherwise, work carried on as normal."

Even so, Angela never really imagined that her husband would be caught up in the atrocity. "I simply had no idea that David had spent almost an hour fighting for his life on the floor of a mangled Tube train. But I was getting increasingly anxious. David still hadn't turned up for work. I tried to remain calm, hoping he was simply caught up in the disruption and would be going to work on foot. At the same time, I was praying that I would find the strength to cope with the news, whatever the outcome."

At 3pm, the mobile network came back on and Angela received a text. "It was from Dr Nicole Richards at St Mary's Hospital, Paddington, and said that David was OK but had a broken leg," she recalls. "I was relieved - at least he was alive. I quickly made arrangements for Matthew to be collected from nursery in the afternoon by his godmother - and I knew he would be absolutely fine." She then excused herself from work and raced to the hospital. With a heavy work bag and despite wearing heels, she broke into a jog and ran all the way across London. "The marathon training helped but I felt desperately anxious, so as I ran, I tried to focus on the positive by reflecting on our happy marriage," she says.

"We had met rehearsing a play by the Hampstead Players and David had since become director for some of their productions. I imagined him sitting up in bed with his leg in plaster and knew he would feel very frustrated if this meant that he couldn't play Brutus in the following week's production of Julius Caesar.

"At around 6pm that evening, after making my way through the heavy security and press presence at the hospital, I was given the all clear to search for my husband," she remembers. "The hospital was over-run with injured people and their families, together with those still searching for loved ones or waiting for news. It was like a war zone, but the staff and the chaplains were doing a great job."

It took over 45 minutes to find out where her husband was and even then, she wasn't allowed to enter until being briefed on what to expect. "I had to wait for family liaison officers before I couldsee him."

Angela was eventually assigned two Met police officers who broke the news.

"It was much more serious than I had ever imagined. David was in intensive care, and in a critical condition. He was sedated, heavily bandaged and connected to a multitude of tubes, monitors and drainage bags. What little of him was still visible had been badly burned or singed in the explosion," she says.

"I was left speechless and shaken as I listened to the long list of injuries he had sustained: left leg in tatters, seriously damaged spleen, fractured left hand, extensive burns. But no amount of information can prepare you for seeing someone you love in such an awful state. When I finally set eyes on him, I was in shock.

"Although I was relieved to see him he was in a poor state and it was distressing. Sitting by his side, I held his hand and spoke to him, not knowing if he could hear my voice or sense my anguish as he fought for his life," she recalls.

It was a short visit, interrupted by David's need for treatment. Angela was taken to a nearby room where she called and broke the news to David's parents.

"Later, I collected our son from our dear friends. It was late and Matthew was sleepy. He was only 20 months old - too young to comprehend what was happening," Angela explains. "I tucked him up in bed and spent the evening emailing friends and colleagues, telling them that David had been involved in the attacks and asking for their prayers.

"I never once thought about the worst possible scenario or what life would be like having to take time off work to care for David. I wouldn't and couldn't allow myself to think like that. Of course, there were many unknowns relating to the future, but I had to remain as positive as possible, for everyone."

Over the following six weeks, Angela got to know St Mary's Hospital well. Despite his condition, David still found time for humour. "He was shouting out before his operation, 'B-positive' and trying to make clear that this was his blood type rather than his state of mind!" she laughs.

"A long and dangerous operation followed in which David's leg was amputated and his spleen was removed. The next day, in another operation, pieces of shrapnel in his remaining leg were removed."

Doctors fought successfully to save his left kidney and he remained in intensive care for four days, where only Angela was allowed to see him, before he was moved to a general ward. "It seemed the worst was over, but there were other shocks along the way," she says.

FIVE days after the operation David began to suffer from post-traumatic stress-induced paranoia. He became convinced the nurses were out to poison him," she explains.

"It was all very weird but he was fortunate to have been able to speak to one of the pain relief team, who explained to us that paranoia is quite common after a traumatic event.

"David was able to recount what happened almost as soon as he was conscious," says Angela. "He was interviewed by the police twice, since his memory of the events was so vivid.

"The first time they came, it was the Tuesday after the bombing. I was still by his bedside and he was very tired, but he knew how important it was to get the facts down as soon as possible. I found out that David had, as usual, pushed Matthew in his buggy up Christchurch Hill to his nursery for 8am. He then walked from Hampstead down to Finchley Road Tube station, took the Metropolitan line one stop to Baker Street, crossed over to get the Circle line to High Street Kensington, got to the next stop, Edgware Road, and then no further.

"He had been travelling to work as normal, rehearsing his lines for his role in Julius Caesar, when the bomb went off just feet from him, detonated by Mohammed Sidique Khan, the man at the centre of the plot. A huge rush of wind and fire immediately followed, mingled with the sound of screams, groaning and an atmosphere of intense panic.

"David remembered the feeling of being lifted, floating through the air, hitting his head and then lying sprawled on the floor in murky darkness, surrounded by bodies and limbs, some of which were unattached to bodies. One was his own. He had to wait in agony for an hour in the mangled train before paramedics arrived, struggling to stay conscious by focusing on his lines and praying he would live to see his family again."

She pauses, clearly finding the recollection painful. "His left leg was in tatters and his body was scorched and bloodied to such an extent he was hardly recognisable. Meanwhile, a South African expatriate, Jason Rennie, who had been an officer in the South African army, saved his life using a tourniquet made of torn shirts to stem the bleeding from his leg and arm. A Canadian journalist, Peter Zimonjic, had kept him talking about Shakespeare until help arrived."

Angela remembers: "David had wanted to thank them, but he was in so much pain, and he was drifting in and out of consciousness. Incredibly, both Peter and Jason were trained in first aid and so knew what had to be done in order to give David and other nearby passengers the best possible chance of survival." The couple were able personally to thank David's rescuers later when both men came to visit him in hospital. The following year, they came to see his delayed production of Julius Caesar.

MEANWHILE, marathon runs together were exchanged for days at home as Angela began the task of looking after her now disabled husband. "Aside from a prosthetic leg, David's hearing was impaired in the blast," Angela explains, "yet his resilience was incredible from the moment he woke up in intensive care. He remains optimistic about the future and determined to live as normal a life as possible. He plays gently with Matthew - football and tennis - and Matthew understands why David sometimes falls over," she says with a smile.

Within just three months of leaving hospital, David was back at work, preferring to take the Tube rather than the taxi that his employers had offered him. "We vowed not to let the terrorists' hate lead to bitterness and regret," says Angela.

"I travelled by taxi a lot to the hospital, but because it was a more practical way of getting there - not through any fear of the Tube," Angela explains. "In fact, we travel on the Tube together as a family and individually, as a matter of course. You can't spend your life being afraid," she says, but adds, "I'm probably more aware of what's happening around me now, and if I see a suspicious package, I will always report it to a member of staff."

David's recovery has been steady. He was given physio and taught to walk again with two sticks. After adjustments were made to his socket, he eventually got down to one stick. He swapped his car for an automatic. Running is out of the question now, but he has come to terms with that. Astonishingly, David remains convinced the impact on the family has been positive. They are clearly all very proud of each other.

One lingering consequence for David is phantom pain in his missing limb. It can cause intense discomfort and he has had to take medication for almost the entire three years since the explosion as well as attending pain clinics at St Mary's. Now David still has the sensation of the leg still being intact, but the pain has lessened.

Incredibly, he has not had to have any other form of counselling or therapy, choosing instead simply to think positive. "With so much love shown by my wife, family and all around us, I couldn't possibly be negative," he says now.

Friends showered the family with support and love too. "People offered us help and we took some of it," explains Angela. "Early on, friends visited and would push the wheelchair. Camden council made modifications to our first-floor flat in Hampstead so that we had ramps, and they put up handrails in the bathroom. "They have done the same to our new home in West Hampstead. We moved because we wanted a home on the ground floor with a garden at the back. We needed to consider the possibility that David might need to resort to the wheelchair again should there be any technical difficulties with the leg," she explains.

"Throughout the ordeal, we were overwhelmed with the love and support shown to us, from those who rescued David from the wreckage, to the hospital staff who cared for him; from the friends and relatives who offered practical support, to the well-wishers who sent cards and flowers.

"7/7 has helped me to put things in perspective. I now realise what is most important in life, and I know that every day could be the last," she says.

"Recalling the events of the day can be painful, and probably always will be, but we will never lose sight of how lucky we are that David survived and we are so grateful to all those who contributed, directly an indirectly, to his recovery."

The couple clearly adore each other. "Angela means the world to me, and our son Matthew understands. We explained to him early on what had happened - without going into great detail - and he's been fine. In fact, when I'm not using it, he often hides toys in my prosthetic leg and has great fun doing that.

"If there's something that sums up how full our life is now, and how relatively normal, it has to be the fact that we have a wonderful son whom we adore, and we're awaiting a new addition to the family later this summer," David says. "And, of course, we feel blessed to be able to see our son Matthew growing up," he adds.

In August, Angela is due to give birth to this "miracle", as she calls it. "We've deliberately avoided finding out the child's gender because we want a surprise," she says, before adding: "Hopefully, this time, the surprise will be a pleasant one."