‘That’s wartime censorship for you,’ Harry remarked. ‘Half the direct hits I’ve turned out to never made the papers and, if they do, it’s only some vague reference to “incidents” somewhere in the south of England.’
‘Was the school bombing never reported? Surely it must’ve been?’
Joyce knew she was treading on ice raising this. She could tell by the squaring of Harry’s jaw that the wound was still fresh three months on.
‘There was an article in theDaily Mirrorlast week. Four kids from the same family all dug out and then separated in the chaos. Apparently, they’ve been reunited in hospital.’
‘Well, that’s something,’ Joyce murmured.
‘What’ll happen to the poor mites, though?’ he muttered, his fingers gripping the steering wheel. ‘Their mum and nan are dead. Father’s serving somewhere in Burma. They’ll likely be fostered out to different families. Another family destroyed.’
‘But surely—’
‘Please, Joyce,’ he said quietly. ‘I really can’t talk about it.’
‘Of course. Sorry.’
Joyce glanced at Adela. ‘Are you feeling all right, sweetheart? You’re awfully quiet.’
‘I feel a bit queer,’ she replied.
‘Want me to pull over, Adela?’ Harry offered.
She shook her head. ‘No, let’s just get there and get this over and done with.’
‘I think the sooner a midwife can check you over, the better,’ Joyce said. ‘Annie wrote to tell me her mother’s friend is an experienced midwife and is discreet. Apparently, she’s getting used to this kind of thing. Since war began, there’s been quite the increase in... in...’ she trailed off awkwardly.
‘Illegitimate babies?’ Adela finished.
They drove the rest of the way to Barnstaple in silence, every so often getting stopped at a roadblock manned by soldiers, batteries and gun emplacements.
It was with a huge sense of relief that they finally pulled up into the library car park. Harry turned off the van, and there was silence, save for the sound of the ticking engine cooling.
‘Adela...’ Joyce said, pressing the back of her hand to her forehead. ‘I think you’re running a fever. You’re ever so clammy.’
‘I don’t feel good,’ she admitted.
Harry quickly unlocked the back of the van and pulled down the steps to the mobile library. Joyce helped Adela out and led her to the back of the library instead.
‘Sit down, my love,’ she soothed. ‘I’ll go inside and see if I can’t rustle up a hot, sweet tea. It’s been a long day.’
As she turned, she saw a group advancing out of the shadows of the car park and, as they drew closer, her throat closed up with emotion.
‘Girls...’ she barely managed to croak out. It was, of course, the Secret Society of Librarians.
‘You’re here. You made it,’ she finally managed.
And then they were all hugging one another in a tangle of limbs. There was Jo from Exeter Library, Beth from Coventry Central Library, Evelyn from Plymouth, Clara from Bethnal Green and Annie from Barnstaple.
‘I can’t believe we’re back together again,’ said Beth, her eyes glowing.
‘Well, nearly all of us,’ said Clara.
‘I think our absentees can be excused,’ Evelyn said dryly.
‘We should raise a toast of something stiff and restorative to Grace and Dorotha,’ said Jo. ‘But first, aren’t you going to introduce us, Joyce?’ She was looking over, admiringly, at Harry.
‘Of course,’ she replied, feeling overwhelmed to be back in the bosom of her dear friends. ‘This is Harry... My Harry,’ she added, blushing as she spied the girls’ knowing looks. ‘And this is our dear Dorotha’s sister, Adela. She’s a bit wrung out from the trip.’
