A warning, perhaps, either to them or to him. Only one person who would call here for them. Only one person who knew they were here.
He ran, second to first floor, grabbed the receiver.
‘Hello?’ he said.
Cook waited for the person at the other end to speak, but no voice came. Then the pips came and then the line cut off, and the dial tone returned.
‘We’re missing something,’ Cook said, looking at the console table. Next to the phone was a torch – black rubber, weatherproof. Put there for emergencies. For power cuts, or times when you’d need to go into the dark.
Underneath the table, a shopping bag filled with blankets. A rudimentary emergency kit, ready for use at short notice.
The kind of bag you’d grab on your way out to the shelter.
73
The Anderson shelter was at the bottom of the garden. No logic to the location, just a thing that felt right when you had to decide where to put it. War was on the horizon, you couldn’t admit the idea of the worst happening, so you signed up for your free shelter but when it arrived you felt silly parking it right up by the house, so you put it in the far corner. Out of sight, out of mind. A bad idea, in practice. When the bombs came, you’d want to get to the shelter as quickly as possible.
A path had been trodden down across the grass. Little more than a discolouration in the dew.
Cook and Reynolds exchanged glances. No words needed. Cook took the lead, walking quietly, listening for any sign someone was in the shelter.
Rifle shots cracked in the otherwise quiet evening. Cook spun around, looking for the source. Two more shots, then a roar.
Reynolds shook his head.
‘Said in the paper they’re shooting the animals in the zoo,’ he said. ‘Poor bleeders.’
Cook pictured a zoo-keeper checking his list. Reloading his rifle. Off to the next enclosure.
At the end of the garden, the door to the shelter was locked.
‘Ruby?’ Reynolds shouted. They listened, but there was no reply.
‘Let’s have a look,’ Reynolds said, and Cook stood back as Reynolds set to with the lock-picks.
There was a rustle. Was it from inside the shelter?
‘Quiet,’ Cook hissed to Reynolds. They listened.
‘Hello?’ Cook called out.
‘Ruby?’ Reynolds shouted.
Nothing.
Reynolds fumbled the picks and Cook heard a jangle as they fell to the ground. Reynolds bellowed in frustration and kicked the door, his boot hitting the sheet-metal with everything he had, but the lock held.
‘Ruby? We’re going to get you out,’ Reynolds shouted, as he scrabbled in the long grass for the picks.
‘Don’t rush,’ Cook said. ‘Do it once, do it right.’
Reynolds found the picks and returned to his task.
There was a click.
‘There you go,’ Cook said.
‘Not there yet,’ Reynolds said.
