—21—
One dark, dry day, I swept the front walk, the steps, and porch of the dust that seemed to collect everywhere.
In the air hung a taste of soot, and the cloudy sky held an orangish tinge.
The climbing roses that wound round the balustrade drooped from dust. I tapped the leaves and late blooms to allow them some air, taking pleasure in the glow of pink, the sweet scent released.
Peter had pulled himself together once more and took himself to work most days.
Like Jonathan, he worked in the foreign office.
He was not allowed to speak of the work, of course, but it made him less fragile, and although I knew he was often desperately hungover when he went in, he managed well enough.
It was unlikely he was the only one—it was a hard-drinking lot, and the only crime was letting anyone else know you could barely stand for the headache.
Snipping a few of the roses to take up to Mother, I was about to return to make tea when a voice said, “That’s a fool’s errand if I ever saw one.”
I whirled, and there stood Betty in her blue work dress, her hair wrapped in a chintz turban, as ever. “Betty!” I cried, and hurried down the steps, just barely halting before I flung my arms around her. Instead, I grabbed her hands. “Oh, my goodness. Are you all right? I’ve been so worried.”
“Well, it was a palaver, that’s sure,” she said. “Let’s get inside and have a cuppa, and I’ll fill you in.”
We made the tea, and then carried it upstairs so mother could hear the story, too.
Taking center stage in a chair in the sunlight, she settled in.
“So, there I was, heading home on the bus when the second siren rang out. The bus driver wasn’t about to stop, even though we were all shouting at him, until a bomb fell right on the street in front of us! ”
The passengers had poured out of the bus, scattering to whatever place they felt safe, but Betty didn’t know where she was. The building that had been hit was set afire, expelling a pair of young lads who ran, yelling at her, “C’mon, lady. Shelter down the way.”
She took refuge in the shelter with hundreds of others. “The bombing lasted all night. I never slept a wink.” She reached out and touched Mother’s arm. “How d’you fare, sweet? Can you manage them stairs?”
“No,” I said, just as Mother said, “If I must.”
Mother waved a hand. “Tell us the rest, Betty. I’m enthralled, and so happy you’re here with us!”
Betty unwound the rest of the tale. The next morning, she’d emerged to find a different world, one of tumbled walls and shattered glass.
It was hard to even understand where she was, but she made her way to an Underground station and rode a train to her family’s neighborhood.
“But I couldn’t find my sister, and the building was gone, nothing but a tumble of dirt.
” She patted her chest. “I hardly knew what to do with myself, and I was hungry as a wolf, and just stood there for an age, until one of the neighbors saw me, Mrs. Foster, and took me in for a cuppa and some toast.”
“How terrible,” Mother said.
“’Twas,” she agreed. “Took me two days to find Sarah in a shelter, and then we had to get her resettled before I could come back. I’m sorry I didn’t ring you, but I never found a working line.”
“I’m just glad you’re safe,” I said. “Can you stay?”
“What else would I do? This is my place!”
I reached for her hand. “I’ve missed you terribly.”
“There, there.” She stood. “I reckon I should get our supper on. What have you collected this week?” When I would have hopped up, she waved me back. “I’ll work it out myself. You sit here with your mother.”