embarkation came-' Unaccountably her vision blurred.
The girl took her arms. 'Here, don't take on so. Come with me. Here, sit down.' She led Mary to a bench; some of its slats had been removed, maybe for firewood, but it was possible to perch on it. Sitting there, in the sharp sunlight, Mary felt the last of her energy drain out of her.
Hilda was as pretty as her photographs had suggested, but with a long, rather serious face, a strong nose, and a determined set to her chin. She didn't seem to be wearing any make-up; that bright red hair, struggling to escape from her cap, was the most colourful thing about her. 'What are you doing here, Mrs Wooler?'
'Mary. Call me Mary, for God's sake.'
'It's Gary, isn't it?' Her voice rose. 'Has something happened to him? I've had no news since-'
'There's nothing bad, that I know of.' She told her what she had learned from the War Office.
'And so you came.'
'Yeah. The trouble is I don't know what to do now I'm here.'
'Then it's lucky you found me,' Hilda said firmly. 'We'll ask my dad.'
'Your dad?'
'You'll see.' Hilda took Mary's hand, stood, and led Mary away from the sea front and into the town. But as they walked she glanced across at the work unit still labouring at the balloon.
Mary asked, 'Are you sure you can get away?'
'Oh, they can manage without me. Tricky job, mind. If the wind changes you get a bag of hydrogen coming down in the middle of town, and one fag-end and it's blammo. Of course we WAAFs could manage it alone, but the men would never admit to that.' She turned her palm to show what looked like rope bums. 'They call us 'amazons, you know. In the papers.' She laughed, quite gaily.
'I'm partly responsible for that, I suppose. I'm a journalist of sorts, a stringer for the Boston Traveller.'
Her eyes widened. 'You are? Gary says you're a historian.'
'A historian by profession. I, we, happened to be here when the war broke out. I looked for something more useful to do.'
'Just as Gary did.'
'To tell you the truth, I tried to stop him joining up. I mean, America isn't in this war.'
'Do you wish you'd tried harder now?'
'No,' Mary said, thinking that over. 'No, I'm proud of him. He did what he thought was right.'
Hilda nodded. 'Look, here's my dad.'
Her father turned out to be a policeman, a constable in uniform. Today, complete with his gas-mask slung over his shoulder, he was on duty outside the town hall. With various uniforms hurrying to and fro, the building was evidently serving as some kind of information station for the evacuation operation.
'Dad!' Hilda broke into a run for the last couple of steps, and, suddenly girlish, let him give her a quick uniformed hug.
'Hello, love.' The father took off his heavy bobby's helmet, to reveal a square, deeply lined face, greying hair cut short and smoothed flat with pomade. He must have been in his late forties. Mary thought she could see something of his daughter in him; he must have been a looker once. 'What's up? Lost your toy balloon?'
'It's Gary. Dad, he's back-'
'He might be,' Mary put in.
The father eyed her, surprised by her accent. 'And you are?'
Hilda introduced her quickly.
The father shook her hand; his grip was warm, firm and sure. 'Call me George.'
'Mary.'
'I saw little enough of your son before he was shipped away. But he went off to fight for a good cause. And now you say he's back?'
'It's possible. All I really know is that elements of his division should have been brought back here. What I don't know is where I might find him.'
George Tanner rubbed his chin. 'The evacuation's being going on for about six days already. There are shot- up soldiers all over town – I don't mean to alarm you, Mary – not enough of them by half, things have gone badly over there. Look, I have contacts of my own. Wait while I nip inside.' He tucked his helmet under his arm and went into the town hall.
With her father gone Hilda asked solicitously, 'How are you bearing up? Would you like a cup of tea?'
'Maybe later,' Mary said. 'I'm glad I found you, Hilda. Without you I don't know what I would have done.'
'Somebody would have helped you. People are like that. Besides, we haven't done anything yet.' She was staring at the town hall door. 'Come on, Dad.'
George came hurrying out of the hall, fixing his helmet hastily on his head. He carried a slip of paper in his hand. 'Look, we need to go to the hospital. It's that way.' He pointed. 'It's only half a mile. I could get a car but it's going to be quicker to walk it.' He eyed Mary, uncertain. 'Are you up to that?'
'I'm tougher than I look.'
Hilda led the way, hurrying.
Mary said carefully, 'So you found him.'
'There's a record in the log, yes,' George said, with what sounded like a policeman's caution. 'They've got everything buttoned down in there, those ATS ladies, it's quite remarkable. Every last soldier logged in, cross- checked, filed and indexed. If only the generals had done as well in France.'
Her relief that Gary was here, that he had come through the funnel of the evacuation, was tinged with fear. 'But he's in the hospital, you say.'
'When the evacuation started, they cleared out all the hospitals ready to receive the wounded. They set up a few field stations in the schools too. As it turned out there were far fewer coming back than had been planned for.' He said carefully, 'You mustn't read anything into the fact that he's in hospital. It's a case of first come first served, not medical need.'
'We'll know soon enough,' Hilda said, hurrying forward.
'Afterwards we'll sort you out,' George said. 'Find you somewhere to stay. You can be with us if you like. There's just the two of us, Hilda and me. My wife passed away a dozen years ago.'
'I'm sorry.'
'Long time ago. Look, is there anybody you'll need to call? We don't have a private phone, and the public lines are blocked – well, you know that – but if you want to make a call I'll take you to the police station. You have a husband – Gary's father?'
'I'm afraid we're divorced, George. But, yes, I'll need to speak to him at some point. Depending on – you know.'
'We'll sort you out, don't you worry.'
'You're being very kind.'
III
At the hospital entrance ambulances pulled up and drove off, and there was a steady stream of stretcher parties. Nurses fussed around, and a doctor seemed to be on hand to greet every arrival. Green Army blankets were spread over the stretchers. The staff looked strained, the doctors' white coats ominously stained with old blood.
At a desk inside the entrance an ATS volunteer, a woman of about sixty with a helmet of steel-grey hair, was doing her best to block the way to all non-essential visitors. But George the copper, big and bluff and authoritative, easily talked his way past her. Further in they found an information desk manned by a Wren, who was able to give them the number of the ward they needed. The hospital was busy, and there were soldiers everywhere, in grimy uniforms and bandages. But even so there were a lot of staff and arm-banded volunteers standing around, looking fretful, with nothing to do.
There was a dreadful smell, a heavy iron stink. George saw Mary react, and he touched her arm, and Hilda's. 'That's dried blood. I remember it from the last lot, the first war. The men are turning up here with old wounds,
