Every night this week I’ve tried everything to put it out of my mind, but every time I look at the clock, I think, three more hours, two more hours, and I’ve got to go out there… Tonight was no different. I tried to get dressed, picking things up and putting them down again, putting on stockings—that was as far as I got, because my hands were shaking so much I could hardly fasten the suspenders. I had a cigarette to calm my nerves, then another, and I thought, I won’t have any left at this rate; I’ll have to go out for those, at least, try to get some more.
I’ve been thinking, suppose something does happen to me, I ought to write a letter for Tommy to read when he’s older. Not to say…not that I’m—not that I do what I do—but just to tell him I love him, really. No one’d want to discover that their mother was a prostitute, would they?
I wasn’t doing this when he was born, of course, only later, but I don’t want him to think it was his fault, you know, that I did it for the money because he came along, although I suppose that’s true, in a way. Mind you, there’s plenty of women in my situation that don’t go on the streets, but it came easy to me, and it was good money, so I did it.
My first idea was, if I’m going to write this letter, I ought to put something about his father. But then I realised, I can hardly write that Vic was a bastard who lied to me and left me in the lurch, and the more I thought about it, the more I thought that, sometimes, it’s better not to tell the truth. Then I thought, well, if I’d known the truth about Vic being married, I wouldn’t have gone with him. But that was a lie, really, because I was head over heels in love with him, and when you’re like that you’ll do anything they ask, won’t you? And if I hadn’t, Tommy wouldn’t have been born; and then…well, it’s no use trying to change history. Heavens, if we could do that, we’d never have a war, would we? If I were to tell Tommy that I’m his mother, not Dora, I’d be doing it for myself, not for him. And I want him to have a good life. Respectable. I don’t want him to think badly of himself. Suppose when he’s older he finds a nice girl and wants to marry her, and if he feels he’s got to tell her about me, she might not want any more to do with him. No one could blame her for that. Mind you, it’s not my name on the certificate—we agreed it before: Joe would go and register the birth and put Dora down as the mother. That’s against the law, of course, but she is his aunt, so it wasn’t like putting down just anyone.
We made a promise, the three of us, and it wouldn’t be right to break it. Mind you, when we said that, I didn’t reckon on Joe turning into a miser, and I don’t suppose Dora did, either. The more I think about that, the more I see I will have to have it out with him—interference between a man and wife is one thing, but when it’s affecting my boy…and I’ve always kept my side of the bargain, so Tommy’s never wanted for anything. But it’s set me wondering—I always give the money to Dora, but if Joe’s been taking it off her and putting it in that chest of his, under the bed… She told me he wouldn’t go down the shelter with them during the raids, so I thought, I suppose he must sit at home counting out his money.
In the end, I just wrote a few words to Tommy—Dear Tommy, You mean a great deal to me. I wish you a long and happy life. Your loving Auntie Rene xxx—then I put it in an envelope with a photo of me and Vic on the pier at Brighton. Nothing special, just strolling along together, arm in arm, all done up in our best. There was nothing written on the back, and I didn’t put anything.
Perhaps I should have written a longer letter, but I decided I’d never be able to explain, not properly. And I’d never be able to tell him that, however he came about, the first time I held him I felt so much love for him that I could have just about burst— more than anything I’ve ever felt in my entire life…
I wrote on the envelope:
Dear Dora. If I’m no longer around, I hope you will give this to Tommy on his twenty-first birthday. I have broken no confidences, but if he should ask any questions, tell him as you think fit. Thank you for all your kindness to him and to me, from Rene. One more thing I will say, I couldn’t have wished for a better sister.
I’d say Dora’d recognise Vic all right, and Tommy’s got a look of him, so perhaps he’ll guess…but she could always tell him it was a relative, a cousin or something. Then I thought, right: now I’ve done that, I’ll go and see Joe. I wasn’t going to let on that I know about the chest with the money in it, only to say how I’m frightened because of the murders and I can’t go out and earn for a while. I’d got it planned for him to tell Dora that I was still feeling poorly, but nothing serious, so she wouldn’t start worrying about me.
I was just crossing Drury Lane when the siren went, but I thought, no time like the present, I’m damned if I’ll stop now, and I knew Joe’d be at home with his precious money, while Dora’s always in the shelter by half past six, warning or no warning. They’ve got one they share with some of the other blocks, not in their yard, but further down. It’s a good one, too—iron bunk beds they’ve got, and two Elsan toilets—a lot more comfortable than Soho Square. But you can’t just go and park yourself in there because it’s only meant for the residents.
I thought I’d better get a move on, so I went pelting across the junction and down to Dora’s building, and just as I got there, I heard this great load of planes, hundreds of them by the sound of it, all droning, and then the guns started up and the noise was enough to deafen you. Fortunately, Dora and Joe’s flat’s on the nearest staircase—it’s one of these arrangements where the stairs are outside, but they’re covered, if you see what I mean, and you’ve got three floors with one flat on each, and then there’s the courtyard outside with the washhouses and a place to hang the washing and all the rest of it.
Dora and Joe are up on the top floor, but I never got there. The whole building’s shaking and I’m huddled under the stairs, eyes tight shut, fingers in my ears—fat lot of good that did—when suddenly there was this tapping on my shoulder, so I look round and it’s Mrs Everley, their neighbour from downstairs, and she’s making signs at me, come in, come in…so I follow her, and we run through her front room and into the bedroom and we both crawl in under the bed, which is one of those old-fashioned affairs, big high iron bedstead, and she’s got the eiderdown underneath, so we’re both lying on that, fairly screaming at each other over this racket. ‘It’s Mrs Nicholls’s sister, isn’t it?’
I said, ‘That’s right. Rene Tate. Kind of you to take me in like this.’
‘I’m Mrs Everley. Honestly, this is the worst yet. I hope we’re giving them a taste of their own medicine, I really do, because this is murder, no other word for it. I’d be in the shelter now only I was looking for my cat, because he’s expecting— Oh, I’ve done it again, said “he”—it’s a “she” really, but that’s what I thought at the beginning you see, that it was a boy, so I called it George. He’s out there somewhere and I’m worried sick.’
I said, ‘They can take care of themselves, can’t they, cats?’
‘I suppose so, but with all this… Oh, I do hope he’s all right—’
At that moment everything went black and there was this sound of smashing and crashing, tearing paper, crackling and ripping, not a bomb but more like a building being knocked down, and it was right over our heads. I suddenly thought, it’s true what they say, you don’t hear the one that gets you, and then all my nose and throat were filled with dust, thick white stuff, choking me so I thought I’d suffocate. I could hear this sort of croaking noise coming from my left, and I thought, it’s Mrs Everley, I’ve got to get to her, and then that was drowned in this great rumbling—more collapsing brickwork—like an avalanche, the whole building crashing down on our heads. After that, there was a bit of quiet. I couldn’t hear anything from Mrs Everley because my ears were still ringing like anything, and I didn’t know if I ought to move, but I started feeling towards her with my fingers, inching along this eiderdown, and then suddenly I couldn’t get any further so I felt around a bit and it was the bottom of the bed, the springs—and I realised that her side of it must have collapsed from the weight of the ceiling and everything coming down, and she was trapped underneath it.
My first thought was to find my torch, which was in my pocket, not my bag, or I’d never have got it out, so I slid my hand down, very carefully, and got hold of it. It was all gritty with dust, but it still worked, thank God. When I shone it about, it was like looking into a thick fog, but I could see bricks and bits of cornicing and what have you on the floor in front of me, and I started inching out, little by little, because I didn’t want anything coming down on me. When I looked over to my right I could see Mrs Everley’s head, twisted to one side, just one eye and the corner of her mouth, and this bedstead right across her neck, squashing it. I think I must have called out her name, because I saw the eye move to look at me, and then she made a little noise like she was trying to clear her throat. I said, ‘It’s all right, the rescue men’ll be here soon.’
She said, ‘I’m only sorry I couldn’t offer you a cup of tea.’
I said, ‘Oh, never mind about that, I’m sure we’ll be out of here in a minute.’ She didn’t answer, and after a few minutes I realised that she was dead, poor woman.
I thought I ought to try and move the other way, but when I looked towards the door, it was all blocked with bricks and mortar and heaven knows what, but I thought there might be a way through and anyway, I wasn’t going to get very far stuck under the blasted bed, which might have collapsed on me at any moment, so I started wriggling out, very slowly, on my stomach, so as not to disturb anything, until I found myself on my hands and knees in the middle of a lot of rubble. I started inching forwards, but then more stuff came raining down, great lumps of debris, and I hunched right over to make myself as small as I could and put my arms over my head to protect myself.
There was complete silence—at least, I think it was silence, or perhaps I was still a bit deaf from all the din—and I stayed like that for a while because I was a bit frightened to move in case I dislodged anything. When I looked through my fingers I could make out laths and bricks through the dust, and what looked like bits of smashed furniture, and I was just wondering if I could manage to get over to the door before anything else came down when I realised there was something lying across my shoulders. I put out one of my hands to feel it, and it was fingers: a hand. You know my first thought? That’s nice, someone’s got their arm round me. I wondered for a moment if it was Mrs Everley, that she wasn’t dead like I’d thought, and she had managed to crawl out from under the bed somehow and get to me, but when I clasped the fingers I knew it couldn’t be a woman’s hand because they were hairy, and thick, and I thought, it can’t be the rescue, not yet…and then it fell down on the floor in front of me. It was still attached to an arm, but where it should have been joined to the shoulder, it was just a bloody, sticky mess. I was too shocked to scream, just stared at it, and I saw this mark on the forearm, dark blue, and even through the dust I could see it was a tattoo, an anchor, and letters underneath.
It was Joe’s. He’d got the tattoo when he was in the navy. Dora always said it looked common. She never liked him to roll up his shirt sleeves in case someone saw. Even when I came round, if he’d been doing something in the house, because he was good that way, she’d say to him, ‘Put yourself straight, we’ve got company.’ I could see him in my mind’s eye, whole, with a hammer in his hand and a mouthful of nails, and I thought: where’s the rest of him? Could he still be alive with his arm ripped away like that? There wasn’t no material on it, no shirt or anything. I suppose it must have been blasted off him when the bomb came down. It sounds stupid now, but I thought, Dora wouldn’t like people to see that. I ought to cover it with something, but of course there wasn’t anything, and the next minute the noise started again, and I curled tight into a ball on the floor with this stuff—bricks and plaster and wood—raining down on me. I can tell you, I’ve never prayed harder in my life than I did then.
When it stopped it was all pitch black again, and I couldn’t find the torch, so I felt about a bit with my hands, very gently, and it seemed to me I was underneath this sort of criss-cross arrangement of floorboards and beams like a tent, but flatter, with not even enough space to sit up. I couldn’t see Mrs Everley any more, or Joe’s arm, which was a blessing, but then it dawned on me that the whole block was directly above my head, two storeys’ worth perched on top of my little wooden tent, and it could all come down on me at any moment. And of course I was in the bedroom, so if the rescue wanted to come through where the door had been, there was the front room to get through first, and from what I’d seen in the doorway, that wasn’t going to happen for a while. I started thinking, supposing it all falls in before they come? I’ll be crushed.
I thought, it’s like a grave I’m in, a tomb, because it was, just like it, so I said to myself, pull yourself together you silly cow, they’ve got to have the rescue men out there, looking. But I’d got all these thoughts running through my head: what if it’s just my legs or my chest that get crushed? What if I don’t die quick? What if there’s gas? I had a sniff, but I couldn’t smell anything, and then I suddenly thought: what if the whole street’s been hit? The shelter? Tommy and Dora? I said, ‘Dear God, I’ll give my life willingly if you’ll only save my Tommy. Let him live, let him not be hurt, and you can do what you like with me.’ And in the back of my mind, all the time, I’m waiting for it to happen, but then I’m calling out, ‘Help!’ and ‘Down here!’ just in case, you know…but at the same time I’m imagining these bricks falling down on me, smashing my arms and legs, and praying, ‘Let it be quick, please God, let it be quick,’ and all these pictures were going through my mind: Mrs Everley, and Joe’s arm, and poor Mrs Mitten clutching Mr Mitten’s metal nose, and the rescue man telling me how he was all in pieces like a jigsaw, and imagining this whole heap of stuff on top of me, toppling over, just ready to come crashing down…
Well, after a while—I couldn’t tell you how long, because I think I was in a daze—an old hymn suddenly came into my mind, one of those we used to sing at school. So I thought, let’s see if I can remember it, and I’m warbling away to myself, very quiet, just to try and raise my spirits a bit: The Lord’s my shepherd, I’ll not want, He maketh me down to lie, In pa-a-stures green, He leaea-deth me, The qui-i-et waters by…but then I got to the bit about death’s dark vale and I thought, blimey, this is no good, I’ve got to think of something a bit more cheerful than this. So then I tried ‘Onward Christian Soldiers’, and that was a bit jollier, except I could only remember one verse and the chorus. ‘Lead, kindly light, amidst the encircling gloom’ didn’t do me a lot of good, and then ‘Rock of Ages’—well, the only words I could remember for that was the bit about While I draw this fleeting breath, When my eyelids close in death, When I soar through tracts unknown, See Thee on Thy judgement throne… So that wasn’t much comfort, either, and as for the bit about judgement, well!
I suppose I’d never thought about it much before. I mean, you don’t when you’re a child, you just sing the words, la, la, la, and never stop to think about what they mean, do you? So I lay there racking my brains in the pitch dark, and every so often, I called out ‘Help!’ but the only hymns I could think of had words about death and darkness and judgement and all the rest of it, and in the end I said to myself, this is no bloody good, so I started off: Joe brought his concertina, and Nobby brought the beer; And all the little nippers swung upon the chandelier; A blackout warden passing yelled, ‘Ma, pull down that blind; Just look at what you’re showing’ and we shouted ‘Never mind’; Ooh! Knees up Mother Brown, knees up Mother Brown; Come along dearie, let it go, ee-i, ee-i, ee-i-o…
You hear about these shelters in the east end where they do all that, singing, and I don’t think I’d take to that at all, but it was a bit of comfort, and certainly better than nothing, so I carried on a bit—not loud, because I couldn’t, but sort of half-singing, half-muttering to myself, It’s your blooming birthday, let’s wake up all the town.
That’s when I heard tapping. Very soft, but different from any noise I’d heard before, so I’m shouting out, ‘Help! Down here! Help!’ at the top of my voice. Well, nobody answered, so I shouted again, and I’m thinking, please, let there be somebody there, because I’d got my hopes right up, you know, as soon as I’d heard the tapping, and I thought, what if I’ve imagined it, and there’s nobody there, or they can’t hear me and they just leave me to die? So I’m yelling my head off, and every so often I stop and listen, and then I hear a man’s voice, very faint, ‘Hello?’
‘I’m here! Down here! Come and get me, for God’s sake!’
More tapping. I thought, right, Rene, don’t panic. You’ll be out of here, girl, you’ll be all right, just keep calm…and I’m telling myself this, but then I’m thinking, what if they’re going the wrong way, because it didn’t seem to come any nearer, or what if they do the wrong thing and it all falls down? Then I hear, still very faint, ‘Who are you? What’s your name?’
‘Tate! Rene Tate!’
‘Are you hurt?’
‘No, I’m all right! Just hurry up!’
‘Do you live here?’
‘No, that’s Mrs Everley!’
‘What’s that?’
‘Mrs Everley!’
‘Is she with you?’
‘She’s here, but she’s dead.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Dead!’
‘Anyone else?’
‘No!’
‘We’re coming for you… Can you still hear me?’
‘Yes!’
‘Don’t move!’
‘I can’t move, I’m trapped!’
‘Right—just stay there!’
I thought, I can hardly go anywhere, can I, you silly bugger? But I felt a lot better after that, or at least I did until I started hearing the planes again, and the guns, and then I just—oh, I can’t explain. It about finished me, I can tell you, hearing that and thinking, that’s it, the house’ll come down and the shelter and Tommy and Dora…it’s no good, I can’t begin to tell you what that felt like, but I’ll never forget it, never, lying down there in that tomb and thinking, that’s it, I’m finished. And I’m screaming, I can hear myself, this noise coming out of me, screaming and wailing, and it was like…well, you’re just so alone… I was in such a panic I could hardly breathe, and then there was more dust, a great choking fall of it, coming down between the planks, and I thought, next it’ll be the bricks and that’ll be it, and I couldn’t think any more, not about songs or Tommy or Mrs Everley or anything, just that I was going to die, shut up in this tiny little place, all alone in the dark. If there is such a thing as hell, that’s what it must be like, how I felt then.
Then there was silence for a bit, and more tapping, and eventually I could see a little bit of light through the wood, and after a while, I started to hear voices—not the words, just men talking to each other, and then I started to make out the odd word and I realised they weren’t coming in from the top, as I’d thought, but from the side. And then I realised that they were sawing wood and taking out the bits and pieces to make a sort of tunnel, but from what I could see it was getting darker, not lighter, and there was more and more plaster dust trickling down on top of me—they couldn’t help that, I suppose, but it felt like I was breathing it in, and it was choking me. So I turned my face as much to the ground as I could, but it was hard because the space was so little I was terrified I’d dislodge something, and that would be that.
I heard this odd sort of flapping noise, like heavy material, and I couldn’t think what it was. I was getting these terrible cramps in my legs from being all screwed up in such a tiny space and more than anything else I wanted to straighten them out, but I knew I couldn’t, so I was trying to get the singing going again, only this time in my head: Knees up, Mother Brown, knees up, Mother Brown, over and over, like that, but to be honest, this time it was all more like a dream—well, a nightmare, really— than anything else, and I thought, I’m going mad, they’ve left me here to go off my head…then suddenly I could see this little light coming from the planks beside my head, and there was a face there—a girl’s face. She must have had a torch because I could just see her out of the corner of my eye, and it was the girl from the shelter, the one that gave me the look—the one with the airman, the handsome one—and I thought, this is it, I’m dead and she’s dead too, and it’s the judgement, like the hymns. This is what it’s like, she’s come to tell me I have to stay here for ever, and I’ve closed my eyes tight, and I’m waiting, but then I heard her say, ‘Hello, I’m Lucy. What’s your name?’
I must have said something back, because then she says, ‘It’s all right. The doctor wants you to have this tablet.’
‘Why aren’t you in the shelter?’
‘I’ve been working in the canteen. The mobile one. If I can put my arm through this gap here, can you take the tablet in your hand?’
‘I’ll try…’
‘Wait a minute… I’ll shine the torch on my hand, so you can see. Can you put your hand out?’ Then the light was dazzling me, and the next moment, I could feel the warmth of her hand on mine, through the grit, and I knew she must be real and not dead like I’d thought she was.
I said, ‘I don’t know if I can swallow it,’ because my throat was that dry.
She said, ‘They didn’t give me any water. Do you want me to ask for some?’
‘No, don’t go… I’ll try.’
‘See if you can do it. It’s ever so little.’
I did manage after a few tries, but it wasn’t easy.
‘What was it?’
‘Morphia, I think. Just a little. It shouldn’t be long, now. It’s just…well, it’s hard for them to make the hole any bigger without…you know…and none of the men could get through, so I said I’d come.’
‘You’re very kind. I’d like it if…I mean, if you don’t mind, but please, would you hold my hand?’
‘Of course I will. It’s Miss Tate, isn’t it? That’s what they said.’
‘Yes, but don’t call me Miss Tate; my name’s Rene.’
‘Well, Rene, pleased to meet you.’
‘You too, dear. Shame it had to be like this.’
‘Yes, it is, rather.’
Then we had another great fall of plaster dust, and neither of us said anything for a couple of minutes because we had our heads down.
After a while, she said, ‘Are you all right?’
‘Yes.’
‘I must say, I’m jolly glad I didn’t wash my hair last night.’
It was funny, really, her stretched out on the ground, and me all curled up, just with our hands touching through this little space, but so reassuring, it made me feel quite peaceful, really. I said to her, ‘Oh, it is nice, having someone to talk to. I’ve been down here ever such a long time.’
She said, ‘Yes, but it’ll soon be over.’
‘People keep saying that, but no one’s come.’
‘I’m here.’
‘Yes, dear. And I’m ever so grateful.’
All the time, I could feel her hand in mine, and she never let go, she just kept saying, ‘You’ll be all right. They’ll have you out.’
Then the tablet must have taken hold, because I started to feel a bit better, and I said, ‘Oh, thank you, thank you for staying with me.’
She said, ‘Now listen, Rene, if I can come in, you can come out. I can see you, with my torch, and you’re slim, like me.’
I said, ‘Well, I don’t know how you can make that out, with me all hunched up like this.’
She said, ‘I remember you, I’ve seen you before…’ and I thought, oh, dear…but then she said, ‘I’m sorry if I…well, in the shelter, it was a bit of a night, you know.’
I said, ‘Don’t you worry about that, dear, we’re all human. You know there’s a body down here, don’t you? It’s the woman who rents this flat. Behind me.’
‘Gosh…’ She took a deep breath and said, ‘I’m rather glad they didn’t tell me that.’
‘Well, it was very brave of you to come.’
‘Oh, nonsense.’
I must have drifted a bit then, I think, but after a while, we heard the man’s voice, louder than before. ‘All right, miss?’
We both shouted, ‘Yes!’
‘Soon have you out, now. You better come back now, miss.’
I said, ‘Oh, you’re not going?’
‘Well, I’ve got to. But they must have made the hole wide enough to fetch you out, so it can’t be long. Tell you what, I’ll be waiting with a cup of tea. How does that sound?’
‘It sounds like heaven. And you’re an angel.’ I gave her hand a squeeze before I let go, and I said, ‘Thank you.’
‘I’ll see you in a minute. Now I’ve got to crawl out backwards…’ She gave a little laugh. ‘Thank goodness for slacks, that’s all I can say.’
There was more talk after that, and then it was a man on the other side of the planks, sawing, then hands reaching for me, and the man got his hands under my armpits and dragged me out through this sort of tunnel, and at the top I saw they’d covered up a great section with a tarpaulin, so that must have been the flapping noise I heard.
It was pretty dark, apart from the torches, but half the block was gone. There was just a heap of rubble with odd shapes sticking up here and there. The centre staircase was still in place, and as I looked, a searchlight beam went across and I saw the wall of what had been the top flat in the middle of the block, green patterned wallpaper and little table with barley-sugar legs standing up there all by itself. There looked to be something on top, as well, an ornament of some sort, but it was too far away and the beam passed before I could take in any more.
There were people everywhere, passing out baskets of debris, ambulances backed up, ARP, but I was too tired and dazed to take much of it in, really. A bossy woman—a nurse, judging by her uniform—came and was all for getting me to the first aid post, but I told her, ‘There’s nothing wrong with me, and I’m not going anywhere until I know about my family.’ She said the Wild Street shelter hadn’t been hit, but I told her that wasn’t good enough, and I wasn’t going nowhere until I’d seen them because I’d got to tell Dora about Joe. Then of course she’s asked me who Joe is, and I’ve explained, and I suppose she must have reckoned I was all right after that, because she didn’t press it, just said she’d go and have a word with the warden about the records, whatever they are.
I could hardly stand, so the rescue man carried me over to sit on the kerb by the mobile canteen because there wasn’t any glass back there. When he put me down on the ground I could suddenly feel my legs again, very cold, and I looked down and saw my skirt and slip were ripped right down the side and you could see the tops of my stockings. That was pretty much all that was left of them. The rest was torn to shreds.
I was shivering all over, so somebody fetched a couple of blankets, and next time I looked up, there was the girl with a cup of tea.
I said, ‘Oh, you kept your promise.’
‘Of course I did. It’s hot, and there’s plenty of sugar.’
‘I’m sorry, dear, what did you say your name was?’
‘Lucy. Lucy Armitage.’
‘Thank you, Lucy.’
She tried to put the mug into my hands but I couldn’t hold it, so she said she’d sit down beside me on the kerb and hold the cup so I could have a sip whenever I liked. That was too much, her kindness, and I’m afraid I made a fool of myself then, and started to cry a bit, and she said, ‘Here,’ and took her handkerchief out of her pocket and held it out to me. ‘I’m afraid it’s a bit crumpled, but it’s quite clean.’
So I had a bit of a mop-up, and the hankie, after, was stiff with plaster and grime. I said, ‘I’m ever so sorry, I’ve ruined it.’
Lucy said, ‘Oh, it’ll wash off. Now then. I’ll just put this tea down, and I’ll go and fetch my handbag. I’ve got another hankie, so you can tidy up a bit—more before you see your little boy.’
‘What did you say?’
‘Tommy. Your little boy. You were talking about him. You know, down there.’
‘Oh. Well, I… He’s not mine, of course, he’s my sister’s, but…but…I…’
‘But I thought…’ She frowned for a moment and said, ‘Oh, dear, I’m sorry. You were saying you love him as if he was your own, weren’t you? That’s what you said, and I misunderstood you.’
‘Yes…yes, that’s right…as if he was…I do…yes…’
‘Of course. How silly of me. Now, I’ll just be a minute.’
What a nice girl! When she’d gone, I thought, where’s my handbag? And then I remembered it was still down under the bed with poor Mrs Everley. I tried to remember what was in there—keys, purse…not that there was much in that…identity card, lighter, a photograph of Tommy, compact, lipstick…
Not much chance of getting any of it back. At least I always leave my ration book at home unless I’m shopping, so that was one thing I didn’t have to worry about.
‘Here we are.’ Lucy came back with her handbag. ‘I expect you’d like a cigarette, wouldn’t you? It always helps.’
‘I can’t take that, it’s your last.’
‘I insist.’ She lit it and handed it over. ‘Now you’ll have to have it.’ She watched me for a moment, then said, ‘That’s better, isn’t it?’
‘Lovely. Just what I needed. You are a dear.’
Lucy gave me another hankie, all neatly folded, and said, ‘Take this.’
‘It’s no good, dear, without soap and water.’
‘Well, you keep it anyway. You might need it later.’
An ARP warden came up then, with a lot of papers in his hand. ‘Are you Miss Tate?’
‘That’s right.’
‘This Joe you mentioned… We’ve got a Mr J. Nicholls listed for Flat Three; would that be the person?’
‘Joe Nicholls, yes. Do you know…?’
‘We’ve dug him out, yes, but—’
‘He’s dead, isn’t he?’
‘I’m afraid so, miss. Are you a relative?’
‘He’s married to my sister. Have you told her?’
‘No one’s been notified, as far as I know, but—’
I said, ‘Right. I want to see them—her and the boy. I’d like to be the one to tell them, if you don’t mind. They’re in the shelter down the street.’
‘Well, miss, they can’t come up here. You shouldn’t be here yourself, now.’
‘I tell you, I’m going nowhere until I’ve seen Dora and Tommy.’
Lucy said, ‘I can take you down to the shelter, if you think you can manage it.’
The warden said, ‘She ought to go to the first aid post.’
I said, ‘Who’s “she”? The cat’s mother? I’m fine. I’ll do all that later. Give us a hand up, Lucy, and we’ll go down there now.’
She said, ‘Are you sure you can manage?’
I said, ‘Well, we won’t be beating any greyhounds, but we’ll get there,’ because I was determined I was going to tell Dora and Tommy myself. I was a bit shaky when I got up—it didn’t help that I’d lost a heel off one of my shoes, but I couldn’t take them off because of all the glass. I said to Lucy, ‘I can’t bear that type. Bloody little Hitler.’
‘He’s only doing his job, Rene.’
‘So were those up there that bombed us. Everyone’s only doing their bloody job…’
By the time we got to the shelter my knees were buckling, so Lucy found me a place to sit, and said, ‘Right, I’ll go and speak to the warden about your sister, then I’d better be off.’
‘Thank you, dear. For all you’ve done. I’m very grateful. And if there’s anything I can do for you…’
Lucy gave me a lovely smile. ‘It’s nothing, really. Goodbye, Rene.’
When Dora and Tommy came over with the warden, they just stood and stared at me. I wanted to get up and give Tommy a hug, but I didn’t think I’d manage it, so I said, ‘Don’t you recognise your Auntie?’
Dora said. ‘Blimey, Rene, I wouldn’t have recognised you! What happened?’
I said, ‘I was in the block.’
‘Oh.’
I didn’t know how to tell her, but before I could start, she said, very quietly, ‘It’s Joe, isn’t it?’
‘Oh, Dora, I’m so sorry…’
‘Are you sure? I mean, there’s not…there’s no…?’
I shook my head. ‘The warden up there, he told me.’
‘But what… I mean, why are you… I don’t understand. Oh, I knew, I knew this would happen. I said to him, “Joe, you’ve got to come to the shelter.” I kept telling him, but he wouldn’t listen. Why didn’t he listen, Rene? I told him…’
‘I’m sorry, Dora.’
‘Did you see him, Rene? That’s why you were there, wasn’t it, to see him?’
‘I didn’t see him. I was there just when it started—never even got up the stairs.’
‘Oh, I’m glad. I’m glad you didn’t fight. I wouldn’t have wanted him to die angry. It was bad enough us having words before, but if…if…’
She stood there with tears streaming down her face, and I felt so helpless, I couldn’t even get up. All I had was this handkerchief Lucy’d given me, so I held it out and said, ‘Come on, Dora, sit down.’
I don’t remember much after that, just Tommy in Dora’s lap with his arms round her neck saying, ‘Mum, where’s Daddy? Where’s Daddy?’ and Dora like a block of wood staring straight ahead, muttering, ‘I told him, I told him…’ over and over, and Tommy shouting louder and louder, drowning her out, and then it all seemed to fall away from me like a wave and that was the last I knew.