He sits on the end of the bed and closes his eyes. Weariness drags at his body. Pressing his fingers against his eyes, he yawns. I wish you were here, Winny. This would never have happened if you’d been here.
Another face floats into his mind. Sophie. She’s nothing like Winny. Nothing like Winny at all. But, she makes him laugh with her odd, uptight ways. That only irritates her more. Which amuses him even more. It’s like being on a carousel. She keeps him on his toes.
He rubs his head. Why’d you have to go, Winny? And now there’s Sophie, and I just don’t know. I just don’t know. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
He looks down at his sleeping daughter. I’m sorry Winny. I’m so sorry.
Chapter 28
Norwich, England – 27 April 1942
The sound took her by surprise. It’d been so quiet since August, almost like the war had decided to pass them by. Now, the roar of the plane, like a zipper through the sky, coming on suddenly, then, in an instant, so loud it’s shaking the bed. Her mirror falls off the wall over her dresser and crashes onto the Persian rug, imbedding slivers of glass into the faded tufts.
The siren screams awake, and another plane thunders over the house. Heading west. They’re ours. Something’s coming.
She drops her new Daphne du Maurier novel onto the bedcovers and jumps out of the bed. Throwing back the blackout curtain, she sees the sky ablaze with searchlights. The ack-ack guns come to life, throwing black flak into the moonlit sky. Then she sees them, the silhouettes like insects in the angry sky. Growing larger, louder. Then the whistling and the explosions as the bombs fall over the unsuspecting city.
‘Dottie!’ Stumbling over her discarded pumps, she pulls open her door. ‘Dottie!’
Dottie stands, pale and shaking in the doorway of the old nursery that she’d reclaimed as her bedroom the previous year. She hugs the struggling cat against her flannel nightgown. ‘Where’s Poppy?’
‘He has his Red Cross meeting tonight. He was meant to be back by ten. He’ll find a shelter, don’t worry.’
A bomb screams through the air nearby then goes silent. The sisters freeze. Then, an enormous explosion as the bomb ploughs into the back garden, shaking the house and blowing out the fanlight over the staircase. Glass showers the carpeted steps like silver confetti. A second bomb whistles through the air. A dull thud as it lands in the garden. Silence.
‘It didn’t explode, Ellie.’
Ellie grabs her sister’s arm. ‘Hurry, Dottie. We’ve got to get to the cellar.’
***
The sisters huddle together on one of the cots in the cellar. The cat is curled up beside them, seemingly oblivious to the devastation raining down on the city. The room is narrow, with a brick ceiling only just high enough for them to stand under. A faint mustiness sits in the cool, damp air, tinged with the tang of drying onions. Ellie draws the grey blanket around them, tugging the folds around their heads to muffle the cacophony of the aerial battles being waged overhead.
‘It’s dark, Ellie.’
Ellie squeezes her sister’s quivering body. ‘I know. But we can’t put on the light till this is over.’
‘I wish Poppy were here.’
‘He’ll be fine. He got through the last war in one piece, didn’t he? He’s indestructible.’
‘Do you suppose George is on one of the ack-ack guns tonight?’
‘I expect so. Helping at least. They won’t let him be a gunner because of his eye.’
‘How did he hurt his eye, Ellie? It doesn’t look any different from his good one.’
‘Conkers.’
‘What?’
‘He was playing conkers with Joey Fisher at school recess when he was nine. George’s conker was a six-er so he was pretty confident. But when it hit Joey’s conker it smashed apart and a long splinter flew into George’s eye. Nurse got the splinter out and wrapped a bandage around his head. The next day half his eye jelly had leaked out. They patched him up at the hospital but his eye was blind after that.’
‘Poor George.’
‘They found out Joey had baked his conker. It was hard as a rock.’
‘That’s cheating.’
‘People cheat sometimes, Dottie. They do it to get ahead, I suppose. Life isn’t always fair.’
‘You mean sometimes cheaters win?’
Ellie shrugs. ‘Sometimes they do.’
Dottie’s dark eyebrows draw together. ‘But isn’t winning what we’re meant to do?’
‘Yes, but … you shouldn’t be selfish about it. It’s not nice.’
‘Ellie? Do you think Mr Churchill cheats sometimes? To help us win?’
‘Oh, Dottie. I don’t know. Maybe. Winning the war is important. You don’t want that nasty awful Hitler over here, do you?’
‘No. Of course not.’
‘So, there. Needs must.’
‘Like Milly’s mum and the beet juice lipstick.’
‘Milly’s mum didn’t steal the beet juice, did she, Dottie?’
‘I didn’t steal your lipstick that time! I don’t know how it got in my drawer. Honestly, Ellie. Maybe you put it there by accident. You’ve gotten all dreamy lately.’
‘I haven’t.’
‘You have.’
They fall silent as the bombs whistle and crash and the anti-aircraft guns shoot their flak into the sky. Dottie thrusts her hands over her ears. ‘I hate the whistling. I hate it.’
Ellie clutches the blanket under her chin. ‘Me too.’
‘I wish George were here.’
‘Why?’
Dottie leans her head on Ellie’s shoulder. ‘I’d feel safer. Like nothing could happen to us.’ She squints at Ellie through the cellar’s gloom. ‘Why didn’t he come here for Easter supper? He’s always come before. He didn’t even come to the Easter concert, and I really wanted him to hear ‘Clair de Lune’ I’ve been practising for months.’
Ellie chews her bottom lip. ‘Dottie, George and I aren’t seeing each other anymore.’
Dottie pulls away from her sister, the blanket dropping around their knees. ‘What? Why?’
‘It just wasn’t working out.’
‘But why?’
‘Dottie, sometimes people just … sometimes people just fall out of love.’
‘You don’t love George anymore?’
‘Of course I do, but just not that way. I met someone else, and I’ve
