‘It’s gone dark,’ the woman said. ‘Think something knocked me on the head. And I can’t move me legs.’
‘Annie? It’s Gracie Reynolds. We’ll get you out, don’t you worry.’
‘Is that you, Gracie? Bless you. I’ve got to get Father’s tea on. He won’t understand.’
Cook looked up to the bed, threatening to fall out of the upstairs room.
‘Mother?’ the voice called again.
‘Think me leg’s stuck,’ Annie said.
Cook felt among the remaining bricks. There was a beam, two-by-fours nailed together to make a cheap lintel, carpenter’s marks still visible now it had been exposed. It lay across the old woman’s ankle. Cook couldn’t see the foot on the other side. Worry about that in a minute. Job one was to get the beam off her. Get her free.
He felt the beam, gave it a tug, a test to see if there was any give. It was heavy, but he thought he could move it.
‘I’ll pull this up, you drag her out,’ he said.
Gracie grabbed the woman under the arms, prompting a scream.
‘Sorry!’ Gracie said.
‘Ça ne fait rien,’ the old woman said. A saying the Tommies had brought back from the last war.
‘San Fairy Ann indeed,’ Gracie responded.
Cook tensed his arms.
‘Ready?’
‘Ready,’ Gracie said.
‘Ready,’ Annie said.
Cook pulled. The slight give he’d initially felt turned out to be about a quarter of an inch, then he felt something more solid.
‘Mother!’ the old man called from out of the ether.
‘Don’t you move, Father! I’ll be there in a jif!’ Annie called out. Then, to Cook – ‘Come on, lad, get it done.’
Cook had, he felt, been trying to get it done. He tried again. Harder. A fierce burst, grunting with the effort.
A shower of glass and dust fell onto Cook’s head. A dagger of intact glass, a foot long, landed at his feet.
‘Bit more,’ Gracie said.
Cook didn’t like giving up, but there was only so much a man could do. He let his arms relax, shook his head.
‘Gracie,’ he said, ‘get over here.’
Gracie shuffled over and took her place next to Cook.
‘Watch out for the glass,’ Cook said, with a quick look up. There was a potential waterfall of jagged shards above them. Like one of those machines on the pier that held a teetering overhang of ha’pennies.
Gracie grabbed the beam and gave a grunt, her shoulder muscles stretching her coat with the effort.
‘That’s not going anywhere,’ she said.
‘We can do it,’ Cook said. ‘On three.’
