105
Cook pulled Ruby’s hand. The earth didn’t want to give her up, so he pulled harder, and got movement. Then more. Then all of a sudden she was moving, and the earth parted, and he pulled her up, out of the grave, like pulling a drowning man onto a boat.
She retched, soil and mucus and blood. Again and again, gasping for air. She wasn’t out of the woods, but she was alive.
‘Ruby!’
It was Frankie – out of the car and running across the grass.
Cook saw the boy coming, and he saw the woman, but it was too late. She had a stick in her hands, something she’d picked up from beside the shelter. But it wasn’t a stick, and she raised it to her shoulder, aiming at Frankie.
‘Frankie!’ Reynolds yelled, as he hurled himself between the woman and the boy.
The shotgun boomed, and shredded leaves fell from the apple trees. Reynolds ran to his son, enveloping him in a bear hug.
A second shot rang out, and Reynolds and Frankie went to the ground.
Cook ran to them. Reynolds had Frankie completely covered. Reynolds was still, his back a torn mass of blood and flesh. Frankie pushed his way out, flecks of blood on his face.
There was a click from the gun. The woman trying to fire again. But she was out of options. Two barrels. Two shots.
Cook launched himself at her. She was surprisingly strong, and she fought with everything she had. She ripped at his eyes with her hands, dragging deep gouges across his face. He craned his neck, head-butted her. Her nose exploded, but she didn’t stop fighting. She rolled, getting on top. She raised the gun like a club and jabbed it at his throat – a killing blow.
The spade hit her head with a thud, and she fell sideways.
Ruby stood over her, the spade in her hand. The blow to the head had stunned the old woman, but she was opening her eyes.
‘Ruby,’ Cook said. She looked at him, trying to work something out, held the spade over the woman’s neck, her arms trembling.
The crows returned to their roost on the distant line of trees with a succession of angry squawks.
‘Don’t,’ Cook said. Didn’t want her to live with it.
Ruby brought the spade down, through the woman’s throat. It was a fine tool, kept sharp by its owner. Good enough to get the job done.
*
Ruby knelt by her father, his eyes flickering open.
‘We got you back,’ he said, his voice a whisper.
She held his hand, hugged Frankie, keeping him safe. Her boy.
106
The funeral procession started at the World’s End, at the east end of the high street, and made its way west, towards the church, past the bombed-out shells of warehouses and tenements.London can take it!was the message from Churchill and the press, but from what Cook had seen, it was places like the island that were taking it. And there wasn’t much of it left.
The American had her notebook out. Cook had told her to come. See what was really happening. Tell the people back home how close to defeat the great city was.
Ruby walked ahead, holding Frankie’s hand like she’d never let go.
*
They held the wake at Gracie’s pub. One of the few buildings still standing.
‘It’s not too late,’ Cook said, to Beaumont.
‘For what?’ the ARP man replied.
