TWO DAYS WITH Olivia passed far too quickly for Emma’s liking. All too soon, she was on the slow journey back to Nottingham on trains lit with that odd blue light and past stations with names hidden away. With each kilometer put between them, the ache in Emma’s heart grew more palpable.
Seeing her daughter had been bliss and pain all at once. Not because of Aunt Bess, though the woman’s interactions with Emma had been truly unkind. But having to leave so soon after being reunited tore open the wound in Emma’s chest anew. What had passed for a tolerable life while Emma waited for Olivia’s return promised to once more be excruciating.
Dread followed her onto the first train, then to the second, and on through the walk home to the tenement house on Mooregate Street. The hour was late due to the delays and she had only her hooded torch to guide the lonely trek home. The dark flat awaited her like a lurking monster, its vast emptiness ready to swallow her whole.
Her feet echoed off the wooden floors as she entered and went about in near darkness, flicking the blackout curtains closed with a precision created by months of the repeated gesture. She clicked on the lights and her mouth fell open.
There, on the dining room table, was a centerpiece made of pine boughs and gold ribbon along with three wrapped parcels. A note propped in front of the cheerful display had her name written in Mrs. Pickering’s careful script.
Mrs. Taylor,
I hope your trip was a delight and cannot wait to hear every detail. We missed you at Christmas, and Margaret and I wanted you to know we were thinking of you. Welcome home.
Tea tomorrow?
With great affection,
Mrs. Pickering
P.S. Mr. Sanderson questioned our going into your flat and insisted on adding something.
Mr. Sanderson brought her something as well? Emma smiled to herself, moved by the thoughtfulness of her friends.
She took each wrapped parcel in her hands, turning it this way and that before finally pulling off the paper, savoring every moment.
There was a new book from Margaret—a brand-new copy of Lady Chatterley’s Lover with a cheeky note stating that if it was good enough for the likes of Mr. Fisk, it was jolly well good enough for Emma.
Mr. Sanderson’s parcel was large and heavy. Emma didn’t lift the item from the table for fear of it slipping from her hands through the paper. She pulled back the wrap and sucked in a breath of surprise.
A wireless set.
It was an older model, the face somewhat scuffed, but when she clicked it on and slowly adjusted the worn knob, the static crackling from the speaker cleared into the sound of a piano being played in a studio somewhere, the audio crisp and clear.
The music filled the silence of the flat as Emma drew Mrs. Pickering’s gift toward her. Another book, by the heft and shape.
The note on the top indicated she would have purchased Emma a kettle, but she enjoyed their tea together far too much. Additionally, it explained that the gift had been suggested by Olivia.
When had they conspired this idea together?
Emma pulled off the paper and stifled a sob.
The first edition of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, pristine save for a dent at the bottom of the cover.
This was her copy, the one she’d bought with her father before his death, one of the few books that remained of his legacy. The exact one she had pawned.
She hugged the book to her chest and embraced all the memories of her father—not only from when he’d found the book, but all the ones before that for as far back as she could remember.
She regarded the wireless set once more. Such a gift was truly a treasure. Far too much for her to accept from someone she didn’t know particularly well. And while Mr. Sanderson claimed he already had a wireless set, she hadn’t seen one in his sparse apartment.
The next day, she climbed the stairs and rapped on Mr. Sanderson’s door. It opened to reveal his wizened face, his gaze narrowing with suspicion. “What do you want?”
“I wanted to thank you for your present, Mr. Sanderson. It was so immensely generous of you, but I really cannot accept such an expensive gift.”
He grunted. “It was rubbish. Someone had it on the pavement to toss out. I only fixed it up for you. Not a halfpenny spent.”
He had done that, for her?
“That was so kind of you. And you already have a wireless?” She peered around him to confirm he did have a set in his home. She could not take one and leave him without.
He shifted to block her view. “Hearing the radio downstairs will be better than listening to you cry all night.”
His words were like a slap and she blinked at the sting of them.
“I’m terribly sorry, I didn’t realize...” She searched the air as if the proper thing to say might leap out and present itself.
It did not, and she was left momentarily dumbfounded.
“Well. I’m glad you like the wireless. Keep it. Good day.” Mr. Sanderson paused. “Mind your conversations. The government uses those confounded things to record everything you say.” Then he tapped his temple and pushed the door closed. Not aggressively, but firmly enough to let Emma know she was not welcome.
But even as he did so, Emma couldn’t help but notice that the draft of the door closing so swiftly carried the distinct aroma of fresh tea being brewed.
Emma was not put out that Mr. Sanderson had not invited her in for tea, not when she had a longstanding appointment each morning and then again after work with Mrs. Pickering. And while his words had been harsh, there was little truth to them. Yes, she had cried terribly that first month after Olivia was evacuated, but as life pressed on and she’d known Olivia was happy, her maudlin sorrow abated.
He’d simply said that...why?
To be unkind? To keep his prickly heart safely guarded?
Likely the latter considering the generosity of the gift.
Determined to keep the wireless, she would need to register the device with the government by law, as all wireless owners were required to do.
She was still puzzling over Mr. Sanderson’s words when she swept down the stairs to Mrs. Pickering’s flat. “Thank you for the generous gift. It’s truly precious to me.” She embraced her friend at the open doorway. “Your surprise made coming home alone so much less bleak.” Her words caught and Mrs. Pickering squeezed her even more tightly, embracing her in the familiar rose perfume.
Tubby raced by Emma’s feet into the hall as Mrs. Pickering turned toward the kitchen.
As she’d always done in the past, Emma pushed open the door to the tenement house for the little dog to run about in the gated garden while they had tea.
When Emma returned, Mrs. Pickering sank into her chair with a steaming cup in front of her, and propped her elbows on the table, chin in her palms. “Now tell me everything.”
Emma did exactly as instructed, sharing about how much Olivia loved the jumper, and, of course, all about Aunt Bess.
“What a wretch of a woman.” Mrs. Pickering set her empty teacup down with a hard clink. “It’s a good thing she cares well for Olivia, or I’d be there myself with a thing or two to say.”
The bell to the tenement house rang out in shrill notes.
Mrs. Pickering frowned. “Who could that be?”
Together they rose from the table and hurried to the main door.
Mrs. Mott from next door stood in the doorway with Tubby in her arms and a glower on her face. “Your dog has escaped again.”
She shoved Tubby into Mrs. Pickering’s arms. Oblivious to his offense, his whip of a tail swept back and forth as he excitedly bestowed flicking licks at his owner’s face. She tried to pull away from the affectionate assault. “I don’t know how he managed his way out of the flat.”
“I let him out, I didn’t realize the gate was open...” Emma trailed off as she looked behind the woman to where the gate was not left open, but missing entirely. “What happened to the gate?”
“Spitfires and ammo.” Mrs. Pickering sighed. “They showed up while you were visiting Olivia and ran right off with the gate.”
“And your dog has been roaming the neighborhood ever since,” Mrs. Mott said in a churlish tone. “I don’t know why you didn’t put him down when pet owners were ordered to do so.”
Mrs. Pickering blanched. The order had been appalling when issued several months back, citing the need for food for humans to be more important than what animals might consume. Mrs. Pickering had tossed the missive in the rubbish bin, her eyes blazing as she declared she herself would go hungry before she’d let any harm come to Tubby.
Emma stepped in. “Thank you for bringing him back, Mrs. Mott. The fault is entirely mine. I’ll ensure not to repeat the mistake.”
“See that you don’t.” Mrs. Mott sniffed and spun away on her heel.
Emma stared after the woman. Of all the children Olivia mentioned being cruel to her at school, Mrs. Mott’s Edmund was the child Olivia spoke of most. Frustration and rage flickered to life in Emma’s chest.
But she turned from the woman and put a hand to Mrs. Pickering’s shoulder, leading her friend back into the flat, and apologizing again.
On the way to Boots’ the following morning, Emma passed a woman pushing a pram who held the hand of a little girl. On the next street, two boys were being rushed out the door by their mother with instructions for what to buy from the baker’s. An older woman sat on a nearby stoop with several children gathered around. They were all bundled up against the icy, late-December morning air as they listened to her with rapt attention.
Not everyone had sent their children away for the evacuation, but enough had that seeing so many mites about the city was rather uncommon. Christmas had already passed and the new year was upon them. Perhaps parents were waiting to send their children back after the holidays.
Or perhaps the children were not going to be sent back.
Perhaps Olivia didn’t need to be with Aunt Bess any longer. After all, the war had amounted to nothing so far. The fighting was relegated to Poland, those poor people. England had been left unscathed. Already they were almost four months into their declaration of war and still not a whisper of retaliation from Hitler.
Another woman strode past, holding the gloved hand of a girl who looked the spitting image of her and chattered on animatedly in the way that little girls do.
Emma’s longing for her daughter hit with with a visceral pang, for the rapid-fire way she spoke, going so fast she almost stumbled over her own words like they were ready to run away without her.
Emma smiled to herself.
Maybe the time had come for Olivia to return home.