“Okay, Daddy,” said Eudora, wriggling into the tiny space. “It’s very cozy.” She giggled.
Albert took his place on the other side and smiled at her. “See? I told you. Snug as bugs,” he said, reaching out across the divide. She placed her small hand in his and wished, as she always did with her father, that they could stay like this forever.
Life hadn’t changed that much since the start of the war. She had to carry her gas mask with her at all times and listen out for the air-raid sirens but apart from that, they carried on as before. Her father would listen to the news on the wireless every evening. Eudora would sit by his feet and try to do the same. She didn’t understand much of what was being said, but she heard her father reassuring her mother that they were safe in London. This was enough for Eudora. Her father would never lie to them. As long as he declared them to be safe, all would be well.
“What on earth are you two still doing out here?” Beatrice Honeysett’s sharp words brought a swift end to Eudora’s reverie as her mother frowned down into the shelter.
Albert let go of his daughter’s hand and jumped up. “Come and see what Dora and I have made,” he said with a gallant bow.
“How on earth am I going to get down there?” demanded Beatrice, running a hand over her burgeoning belly.
“I’ll help you, Mummy,” said Eudora, her heart leaping as Albert shot her a wink.
Beatrice huffed and puffed her way into the shelter and sat heavily on one of the homemade beds. “It’s a bit dark and cramped,” she said.
Albert took a seat beside her and put an arm around her shoulders. “I think madam will find it rather cozy in time,” he said, planting a kiss on her cheek.
“Oh, get away with you, Albert Honeysett,” scolded Beatrice, but she was smiling. She took another look around. “You’ve worked very hard.”
“I helped Daddy make the beds,” said Eudora. “And we planted his marrow on top of the shelter.”
Beatrice looked from her husband to her daughter and back again. “You two. What a pair you are.”
Albert held out his arms to Eudora, pulling them both into a tight embrace. “My precious girls,” he said.
“Well, let’s just hope this baby doesn’t decide to make an appearance during an air raid,” said Beatrice.
Albert had been gone a month and London was barely a week into the Blitz when Beatrice went into labor. Eudora was relieved that Mrs. Crabb had decided to take up the offer to share their shelter during the now nightly air raids. She found her mother’s keening to be altogether more terrifying than Hitler’s bombs and was grateful for their neighbor’s presence.
Eudora held her breath and squeezed her mother’s hand as their next-door neighbor took charge of the situation. Mrs. Crabb was rake-thin and smelled of peppermints. She was a trained librarian but still seemed to know exactly what to do as Beatrice brought new life into the world in the same moment that many other lives were being snuffed out by the enemy.
Eudora fixed her eyes on the wavering candle flame and prayed. The clamor of the bombs seemed to intensify, and then there was silence. Eudora exhaled before being knocked sideways by a huge explosion, which shook the shelter with a violence that was truly terrifying. Her heart drummed ten-to-the-dozen as lumps of metal clattered against the sides and she glimpsed what looked like a sky on fire through the tiny gap in the shelter. Eudora longed to cry but knew she mustn’t. Her father would want her to be brave. Her mother’s eyes were wide with pain and fear, seemingly oblivious to the horror outside. Eudora screwed her eyes tightly shut and prayed for a miracle, for her father to save them. And then, through the damp darkness, she heard a small voice.
“Pack up your troubles in your old kit bag and smile, smile, smile.”
Eudora blinked in astonishment at the sound of Mrs. Crabb singing before realizing that her mother had gone quiet, her face set and determined, eyes tightly shut as she pushed with all her might. The siren screamed out the all clear, and Stella joined in, emerging bloody and furious into a chaotic, fractured world. Mrs. Crabb wrapped her in a blanket before handing her to Beatrice.
“Promise me you’ll get these girls out of London,” she said, her voice heavy with a mother’s loss. “Promise me.”
Pale and exhausted, Beatrice stared up at her and nodded. “I promise.”
They emerged hours later to find that Mrs. Crabb’s house had suffered a direct hit; the front wall was all that remained, like the opening to a doll’s house. They found Mr. Crabb at the end of the garden, still in his bed, blown clean from the house. Mrs. Crabb went to live with her sister in Devon, and although Eudora was sad about Mr. Crabb, she got the feeling he would be satisfied that Hitler hadn’t succeeded in expelling him from his bed.
Chapter 3
A sense of restless anticipation descends over Eudora during the following week. Her heart soars whenever she hears the post drop onto the mat and dives as she discovers nothing but junk mail. Her one consolation is hope; hope for a smooth process bringing an ending to life on her terms.
My death. My way.
The mere thought of this makes day-to-day life more endurable.
One morning, she is following her customary routine of dressing, eating breakfast while tuned in to the Today program, and leaving the house by ten o’clock. The day is breezy but warm. Eudora pauses on the doorstep, permitting herself a moment to feel the sun on her face before setting off along the road. She spots Stanley Marcham farther along the street, walking his infernally yapping dogs and is glad for once that the ravages of old age prevent her from catching up with him.
Eudora is lost in thought as she reaches the leisure center and perturbed to find that her usual locker and changing cubicle are both occupied. Irritated, she casts around for another before hearing someone call her name. She is so unused to hearing it spoken out loud these days that if it weren’t for the unusual nature of her moniker, she would have assumed the person to be addressing someone else.
“Eudora!” call two voices in unison.
Eudora turns to see Maggie, grinning like a lunatic, with Rose standing beside her.
“Hello,” says Eudora, her heart sinking at the inevitable exchange.
“I thought it was you,” says Maggie brightly.
Eudora wonders at the obviousness of this statement. “And so it is.” She notices that Rose is wearing large green goggles, giving her the appearance of a boggle-eyed frog.
“Do you swim here regularly?” asks Maggie.
“Every day if possible,” replies Eudora.
“Wow. That’s amazing. I wish I could get my mum to go swimming.”
“Granny likes to sit and watch the world go by,” says Rose.
“Mmm. I’ve told her she needs to move more. You’ve got to use it or lose it, right?” says Maggie to Eudora.
Eudora has no idea what she’s talking about so opts for a peremptory nod. “If you’ll excuse me . . .”
“Can I come ’round to see your cat again, please?” asks Rose.
“Rose, you can’t just invite yourself ’round to people’s houses,” says Maggie, embarrassed.
“Why not? How else do you get to see them?”