‘Precisely, but she isn’t acknowledging what happened to Peter. Whenever I broach it, she shrugs it off and says that, in war, there’s always someone worse off than yourself.’
Which was true, of course. In that moment, Joyce could read her old friend’s thoughts.Dorotha. Neither of them dared to speak it, but the same awful, irretractable thought must have crept through them.Where was she?And the darker thought:Was she even alive?They may have been under strain of constant bombardment, but Dorotha – and poor Grace – were living under Nazi Occupation. Since her conversation with Adela about the ghetto, Joyce had secretly taken to scouring all the daily newspapers in the library for news on Hitler’s treatment of Jews in Europe, but there was no mention of ghettos or a place called Litzmannstadt, only vague and opaque references to the curtailment of civil liberties and restrictions.
‘So come on, then, Annie,’ Joyce said, shaking herself out of her spiralling thoughts. ‘Let’s see this mobile library.’
Outside in the yard, Annie led them to a garage and dramatically pulled the tarpaulin off a vehicle.
Joyce’s mouth fell open. ‘It-it’s a beast,’ she stammered.
‘Oh yes,’ Annie said proudly, patting the bonnet. ‘She’s quite the behemoth. She has to be, really; she’s a library on wheels.’
Annie led them round the black Ford van, proudly pointing out her six-wheel chassis and thirty-horsepower engine before flinging open the double doors at the back.
‘Open-access shelves made of mahogany no less – no cheap plywood here, thank you very much – with room for two thousand books.’
Joyce opened her mouth. Then closed it, unsure of what to make of the colossal vehicle.
‘She’s beautiful,’ Adela breathed. ‘May I?’ She gestured to the pull-down steps.
‘She’s all yours,’ Annie grinned.
Adela pulled down the steps and leapt inside. ‘Ooh, Joyce,’ she called back, her voice muffled, ‘this is going to transform the library service. It’s even got low-down shelves for the children’s section.’
After a hurried tutorial, most of which Joyce didn’t remotely take in, Annie put the dimmers on the headlamps and thrust the keys at her. ‘You’d better get going before it gets dark.’
Annie gave Joyce a brief hug before whispering in her ear. ‘I know this war is horrid, but it’s good to see you out from under your mother’s shadow.’
Then, with an ungainly shove, Annie heaved Joyce into the driver’s seat.
‘I feel very high up,’ Joyce called back, feeling like she was behind the wheel of a gunship, not a mobile library.
She turned the key, and the engine growled to life. After much gear-crunching, she shot out of the garage, ran over the kerb and stalled.
‘Would you like me to drive?’ Adela asked sweetly.
‘How old are you again?’
‘I’m seventeen. I have my licence.’
Joyce didn’t really feel in a position to argue. They swapped places. ‘Very well, but if you get scared I can always...’ Her voice trailed off as Adela eased the van into gear and slid effortlessly off the kerb and twice round the library car park.
‘I learnt to drive on my uncle’s farm in Zdunska Wola when I was fourteen,’ she said as they waved goodbye to Annie and pulled out onto the road. ‘Farm machinery mainly, for bringing the crops in at harvest time, then I moved to lorries.’
‘Oh right,’ Joyce replied, feeling foolish. And to think she had imagined the girl would be a hindrance.
‘I’m so cross with myself,’ she muttered as Adela confidently steered the van along narrow country roads. ‘I read a manual on this from the library and have been preparing for weeks.’
Adela burst into laughter. ‘Der mentsch trakht un Gott lakht.Man plans, God laughs.’
Joyce looked at her blue eyes sparkling with amusement and felt a ripple of happiness. There she is, the real Adela Berkowicz.
‘Come on, clever clogs. Let’s get back to London.’
Joyce must have dozed off because she woke with a start as they approached the outskirts of London. It was easy to navigate oneself. A slice of fiery crimson sky lit up the horizon. A floating army of anti-aircraft barrage balloons hovered silently, their silhouettes stark against the fires that raged.
She stretched and glanced at Adela. Both her knuckles gripped the steering wheel and her jaw was clenched as she put her foot down and the mobile library gunned over Hammersmith Bridge. The river Thames flowed beneath them, quick and silvery as a snake.
‘Are you ready for Jerry?’ Joyce asked, nervously scanning the skies. ‘He’s nothing if not punctual.’
