Sophie coils the payphone’s rusty cord around her finger. ‘I’m … I’m sorry. I know this is unexpected. I was flying over to New York from London and my plane was diverted to Gander. In fact, a lot of planes were diverted there for some reason. I still don’t know why. Something was going on in New York and they shut down the airspace. That’s all I know.’
‘You’re in Gander? With the plane people?’
‘Well, no. I was. I’m at the Irving petrol station on the way to Tippy’s Tickle. I got a lift with someone called Sam Byrne on his motorcycle. I … I had your address from an old Christmas card, but I only just got your number from Sam. I couldn’t get to a phone earlier anyway. The payphones were out of order at the airport and our mobile phones weren’t working. They’re bussing everyone to schools and gyms. There are thousands of us.’
Another silence. ‘My goodness, Sophie. You’re really here? In Newfoundland?’
Sophie glances at the scrubby spruce trees behind the garage. ‘Yes, I’m really here.’
‘You haven’t heard what happened?’
‘Well, I heard something about an incident at the World Trade Center, but I don’t know anything else.’ Sophie swallows down the lump that is forming in her throat. She licks her dry lips. ‘I’m so sorry, Aunt Ellie. Perhaps I should’ve stayed with the others. You don’t know me from Adam. I’m sorry I bothered you.’
‘Good heavens! Don’t be silly, Sophie. Get back on that bike, and tell that Sam to drive carefully. We’ll talk as soon as you get here. Florie’s got a stew on, and there’s plenty of room here. You’re family, my dear. You can stay as long as you like.’
‘It’s only for a few days. I don’t want to impose.’
‘You’re not imposing. You’re welcome for as long as you want.’
‘Thanks so much, Aunt Ellie.’
She hangs the receiver back on its hook, blowing her fringe out of her eyes as she fishes her address book out of her Longchamp bag. Taking a deep breath, she dials the New York number.
***
Sophie presses the receiver to her ear. ‘Oh, my God. I had no idea. Is everyone okay?’
‘We’re fine here.’ The receptionist’s voice wavers. ‘But we had clients in the North Tower. We just, we just—’
Sophie holds her hand to her mouth. ‘Oh, no. I’m so sorry … Excuse me, what’s your name?’
‘Jackie.’
‘I’m so sorry, Jackie. They didn’t tell us anything.’
‘It’s like a war zone down where the Towers were. There’s smoke and dust everywhere. The whole financial district is under a black cloud.’
‘Good Lord.’
‘Look, don’t worry about the meeting, Ms Parry. It’s the last thing we’re thinking about right now. We’ll sort something out whenever you get here. Just call me.’
Sophie expels a puff of air as relief floods over her. ‘Oh, thank goodness. Thanks very much.’
The receptionist sucks in a breath. ‘My brother-in-law’s a fireman. He had the day off. It was my nephew’s birthday. Frank was called in. We haven’t heard from him since yesterday. His boy’s only four.’
Sophie leans her forehead against the payphone. The world’s fallen apart and all I’ve been worried about is getting to a bloody job interview. She runs her tongue over her lips. ‘I’m sure he’ll be all right, Jackie. Don’t worry. Just let Mr Niven know my plane was diverted to a place called Gander in Newfoundland. They’ll fly us out as soon as they can. They’re saying two or three days. I’ll call you as soon as I know more.’
‘I’ll let him know.’
‘I’m sure everything will work out for your family.’
Jackie’s voice catches in a swallowed sob. ‘Thanks, Ms Parry. I hope so.’
***
Sophie stares up at the television in Wince Moss’s garage. A silver plane, the sun glinting off its wings as it banks, spears into the tower. A cloud of grey smoke, growing like a cancer, obliterates the blue summer sky. Orange flames devour the metal structure. She raises her hand to her mouth in the only possible response.
Silence.
Chapter 10
Norwich, England – 30 July 1940
The bombs woke her. She didn’t know they were bombs at the time, of course. But what she remembers is that she was so solidly asleep, she was in that place of blackness between dreams and wakefulness. Then her eyes opened, and, for a moment, the blackness of unconsciousness and the blackness of the lightless room melded together so that she wasn’t sure whether she was dreaming.
A thrumming. Outside the window. Growing louder.
Ellie kneels up in her bed, glancing over to Dottie who is still asleep under her covers. She peeks behind the blackout curtain. The sky is clear blue, with a few puffs of clouds hovering around the early morning sun. Then she sees it. A flash of sunlight on a metal wing as it banks and heads back towards the city centre. Growing larger as it approaches. The bomb falling through the blueness, past the oak trees on Victoria Terrace. An enormous crash. A cloud blowing up skywards, pink with brick dust. The black cross on the bottom of the wing as the Heinkel powers over the house.
Dottie bolts upright in her bed. ‘What’s that?’
‘Get out of bed, Dottie. Hurry. They’re bombing. We’ve got to get to the cellar.’
Throwing back the covers, Dottie jumps out of bed. Ellie tosses her the dressing gown her sister had left in a heap on the old Persian rug and shrugs into her own. She grabs Dottie’s hand and pulls her sister towards the bedroom door.
‘Ellie, wait! I can’t find one of my slippers.’
Another crash, near the city centre.
‘It doesn’t matter. Come on.’
Ellie flings open the bedroom door. Their father is on the landing, his thin brown hair dishevelled, his round glasses sitting crookedly on his face. He has pulled on his white cricket jumper over his striped pyjamas and stuffed his feet into green wellies.
‘Hurry up, girls, hup hup.’
Dottie runs over and clings to her father. ‘Poppy. We didn’t hear a siren.’
‘No, dove. There wasn’t one.’
Ellie hurries down
