Violet touched her arm. ‘Do you want me to come with you?’
‘What?’
‘We’ll catch the first train out tomorrow,’ Violet clarified. ‘We can be there by lunchtime.’
‘What about London, though?’
Violet laughed. ‘I know it’s taking a ruddy good pounding, but London should still be standing when we’re next issued a pass. Come on,’ she said, moving Elsie towards the bed, ‘get some sleep and try not to think about it.’
Elsie felt queasy when the house came into view. She stopped. ‘That’s the one,’ she told Violet.
‘Outlandish-looking place,’ Violet remarked, craning her neck to get a better view over the hedge.
So one of her theories, that the place had been bombed, had been dispelled. She placed a hand on her tummy and gently rubbed it.
‘Are you feeling okay?’ Violet asked. ‘You’ve been touching your stomach all the way here.’
‘Have I?’
‘It’s just nerves—you’ll be fine as soon as you find out what the urgency is—nothing, I’ll wager, if the old woman is anything like you’ve described her.’
Violet being the type of devilish person that she was, Elsie began to regret spending much of their journey here telling her what an awful person Agnes was. Elsie touched her tummy again, then her chest. She was certain that she could feel her heart rising far beyond its normal size, like a ball of heavy dough swelling inside of her. Like Violet had said, she just needed to hear whatever the damned urgent news was and then maybe she could relax. The answer was there, just a short walk up the drive. But her leg muscles were leaden, refusing to move.
‘Right, come on, Elsie Finch,’ Violet directed. ‘I’ll go, if you want to wait here.’
Elsie grabbed her wrist and walked beside her, all the way along the drive. They reached the front door and Elsie stifled all of her thoughts and placed her key into the lock.
The door swung open and a split second of laughter from inside the house ended abruptly.
Agnes entered the hallway, looking hot and cross. ‘What on earth?’
Elsie held out the telegram. ‘I got this and came straight away.’
The knotted features on Agnes’s face softened, slightly. ‘We weren’t expecting you—you might have called ahead first.’ Agnes looked over her shoulder into the house and lowered her voice. ‘Kath hasn’t been well at all. She’s been in bed most days.’ Another look into the house. ‘It was the baby—a still.’
So that was the news. Kath had lost her baby. ‘Oh, I am sorry,’ Elsie said. ‘I wish I’d brought flowers or something.’ She smiled, kindly. ‘I just had no idea what the urgent news could be, you see.’
‘She wondered if you’d been bombed out,’ Violet added.
Agnes turned to face Violet with narrowed eyes. ‘And you are?’
‘Violet Christmas,’ she answered, without bothering to offer her hand or further explanation.
Agnes studied Violet for a moment, then turned back to Elsie. ‘You’d better come in, then.’
They found Kath in the sitting-room, her head peering above a thick knitted blanket. She looked a little grey around the eyes, but other than that, looked exactly the same as she had the last time that Elsie had seen her. Elsie rushed over to give her a hug, then changed her mind at the last minute, uncertain of how it would be received. Instead, she crouched beside her and took her soft hand in hers, gently caressing her fingers. ‘I’m so sorry, Kath.’
Kath smiled weakly. ‘Thank you.’
‘It must have been truly dreadful.’
‘It was,’ she stammered, lowering her face, as though she were about to cry. After a moment, she looked up and sniffed. ‘Tell me what’s been happening with you. Who’s your friend?’
Elsie introduced Violet and, whilst Agnes went to make tea, told Kath what she could about her job.
There was a pause in the conversation whilst Agnes set down a tray and began to pour tea from a pot into four cups. Elsie noticed with curiosity that Agnes had brought out the best china, as if she were trying to impress.
‘Is Gwen out for the day?’ Elsie asked.
Agnes tittered. ‘Heavens, she’s back in her own home now.’
‘Oh, has she had the baby, then?’ Elsie asked, instantly wondering at the sensitivity of her question.
Agnes beamed, took a sip of tea, then answered. ‘Yes, a healthy boy.’
Elsie smiled. She wanted to know more—ask what Gwen had named him—how they were getting on, but she didn’t like to be indelicate. ‘I’ll call in on her before we go, just to wish her well.’
‘Oh, there’s no need for that,’ Agnes said firmly. ‘You barely know her. I’ll pass on your regards when I see her next. Now, Elsie, we do have some news for you—the reason for the telegram.’
Elsie shot a look at Kath and set down her tea cup. ‘You mean, the news wasn’t about the baby?’
Agnes shook her head. ‘It’s about Laurie.’
Elsie felt the breath rushing from her and her doughy heart beginning to rise once more. ‘What?’ was all she managed to say.
Agnes walked over to the mantelpiece, took down a piece of paper and handed it to Elsie. ‘He’s alive.’
Elsie gasped and her insides quivered, as if every thought and every worry encapsulated in her mind had suddenly turned to liquid and was running down into her stomach, thickening and congealing. The thoughts turned to nausea and she rushed from the room. She just made it to the toilet in time, before being horribly sick. She stood up and tried to breathe, her eyes wet with tears. He couldn’t be alive, could he? Not after all this time? Surely someone would have
