The phone stopped ringing. I was considering going back to sleep when a text popped up on my screen. I’m downstairs. Have boxes. Tell Nana yes to lunch. I also saw that, despite my sending Knoxie a text telling her to just call me if it was an emergency or, if it wasn’t, to text me her question and I’d respond when I could, there were three texts from her, all with the same message: CALL ME.
My foggy brain took a moment to realize the most recent phone call and text were from Colin. Before I could register what he meant, I noticed how he’d used punctuation but no shorthand in his text. Not that I would ever tell him, but I appreciated it. I’d thought I was the only person in my age group to do so.
The lift bell dinged in the outside foyer, jerking me out of my stupor. I stumbled to the front door and opened it to find Colin moving corrugated boxes from the lift to the hallway. “I think I’ve got all of the ones from the town house,” he said. “But there are still quite a few left in the storage room. I was afraid to bring up more—we won’t have room. I thought after Arabella and Precious have chosen what they don’t want, we can switch them up with a fresh box.”
“Sounds like a plan. Let me help,” I said, lifting one of the boxes and finding it surprisingly light. “Where should I put this?”
“Wherever there’s room. The dining room can be used for overflow. There are about a dozen hatboxes in the storage room, too, that I can bring up. They take up a lot of space, so I thought you’d want to go through these first.” He straightened as the door to the flat opened wider. Oscar and George bounded right past me into the hallway and attacked Colin with exuberant affection.
“I hope you had a good nap,” Laura said to me from the doorway. “I was afraid the dogs would wake you, but you were down for the count. Lunch is almost ready, and Precious is expecting you both.” She looked past my shoulder at Colin, who was being licked to death by the two dogs. “Glad you got my message—she really wanted to see you. I’m happy you could make it.”
Hoisting a larger box and carrying it toward the door, he said, “I can’t stay long—I’ve got a meeting at two.”
“I know she’ll understand. I’ve added more hangers to the racks in the bedroom so you have a place for some of the additional clothes. I have no idea how one person could have so many.”
I placed the box on the dining room table and returned to the hallway. Oscar was busy sniffing one of the boxes, and when I bent down to scratch him behind his ear, he snarled at me.
Laura picked up the little dog. “It takes him a while to warm up to strangers. Just give him some time, and I’m sure he’ll be flopping over for belly rubs in no time.” She gave me a reassuring smile. “I’ll make sure Precious is ready to see you. Lunch will be ready in about ten minutes.”
I watched Oscar’s sweet face over Laura’s shoulder as she walked down the hallway. I was unable to decipher his stare, but decided to like him anyway. I picked up another box and brought it into the bedroom, managing to find room for it on top of the dressing table. Then I moved toward the window to allow room for Colin, who dropped a box on the bed. I pushed aside the partially open drapes, tying them back with heavy cords attached to the frame.
Light streamed in. I could see into the windows at the backs of the flats in the next block, which explained the heavy curtains. But opening the curtains afforded a view of Regent’s Park if I pressed my forehead to the glass and looked over the roofs of the terrace buildings behind Harley House. Since it was still morning, most of the windows were dark, and I noticed that bay windows with patterned leaded glass were dotted along the facades of both buildings like a checkerboard, the design apparently having no rhyme or reason.
“Why are some of the leaded glass windows missing?” I asked.
Colin looked up from another box he’d just dropped on the floor. “The Blitz.” When I didn’t say anything, he added, “The Germans. During the war. They dropped a lot of bombs on London.”
I gave him the look I remembered using with my younger siblings when they were making excuses or trying to avoid punishment. It meant many things, but it was generally intended to imply that I wasn’t stupid and that to proceed further would mean repercussions.
“I know what the Blitz was. I remember learning about it in school. I just . . .” I shrugged. “I knew a lot of civilians were killed. But I guess I always assumed the bombs were dropped by the river or somewhere strategic like that. Not . . . here. Not where people were living. I probably forgot that part because it’s so horrible.”
Colin moved to stand next to me in the window, pointing toward the backs of the terraces I’d seen before. My gaze followed his finger, and I watched a woman on one of the back patios gently pushing a small child on a rocking horse. “One dropped right there on York Terrace East—demolished the whole building and damaged this one quite a bit. At least one bomb landed in front of Harley House on Marylebone Road. Shrapnel and debris would have flown a good distance and broken some of the windows. The damage to homes and civilians was intentional. Hitler assumed it would make Britain surrender within weeks. Instead, they endured nearly nine months of almost nightly attacks. The bombings stopped then only because the Germans needed their planes to fight the Russians.”
The child on the horse kicked her feet wildly, and I imagined I could hear her squeals of laughter. “Would the people have had any warning so they could go somewhere safe?”
“Yes—there were sirens and wardens to show people where the nearest shelter was.”
“What about Precious? Did she live here during the Blitz?”
“For part of it, I believe. Nana has never offered much information about the war.”
I turned my head to say something and found myself standing so close to him that our noses were almost touching. The armoire was behind me, so I couldn’t step away. Colin remained where he was, and I was forced to stare into his eyes and notice how they were a solid blue without a fleck of any other color. “Well, then, it’s a good thing I’m here, so I can ask her.”
My phone rang: Rick James’s “Super Freak.” “It’s my aunt Cassie . . . ,” I started to explain, but Colin was already leaving the room. I’d wanted to tell him how during my last visit home, my then-eleven-year-old brother, Harry, had innocently asked to borrow my phone to play games. Then he’d assigned all family members on my contact list a unique ringtone—without my knowledge or approval. I had a strong suspicion that he’d had help from my uncle Sam and that he was retaliating for me sending him off to school with baby food packed in his lunch bag. It had been almost three years, yet I still hadn’t changed them back.
I hit the “answer” button. “Hello?”
“Hey, sweet Maddie. It’s Aunt Cassie. Have you got a minute?”