Darkness had now fallen across London. An enormous glowing moon drenched the city. Hundreds of crooked rooftops and church spires slumbered in the silvered night.
Harry put the key in the ignition, but seemed reluctant to leave.
‘Thank you for this afternoon,’ Joyce breathed, shivering as her breath hung like smoke in the car’s interior. ‘I needed it.’
‘Sometimes we just need a different perspective on life,’ Harry said, taking off his coat and draping it around her shoulders. Then he leaned over and kissed her again. Wrapped in the warmth of his coat, his lips brushing hers, she wondered if she’d ever felt such a perfect, complete happiness. He tasted sweet and smoky, and smelt like bonfires at autumn. She wanted to scrunch up this feeling in her palm, hold it close for ever.
And then the siren started. Harry tensed and drew back.
‘Jerry couldn’t allow me one bleedin’ night . . .’
They watched as, in the distance, the Luftwaffe began appearing, filling the skies like angry darting wasps.
‘I ought to . . .’
Joyce clutched his arm.
‘It’s your night off. Please, Harry. I know I’m being selfish, but why don’t you come back to the shelter with me? Allow someone else to do the heavy lifting for a change...’ Her words turned to dust when she saw his expression.
Horror crept up her spine as she followed his gaze.
Planes. Hundreds upon hundreds of them crowding the skies over St Paul’s.
‘They’ve come mob-handed tonight,’ he muttered.
Puffs of pinkish-white smoke soon rose up. Into the dark, shadowed spaces below them, whole batches of incendiary bombs fell, like apples from a shaken tree. They flashed terrifically, then quickly simmered down to pinpoints of dazzling white. Soon a yellow flame would leap up from the white centre.
‘The conditions are perfect,’ Harry growled. ‘Full moon. Strong westerly wind. Low ebb tide on the Thames; they’ll never fetch enough water to cope with the fires that lot’ll start.’
As he spoke, they watched a line of crimson bleed over the rooftops. All of the neighbourhood around St Paul’s was a conflagration of leaping flame. Smoke billowed upwards in anenormous mushrooming cloud, until all that was visible was the cathedral dome.
Joyce imagined Elfreda, Gerald and the rest of the Watch running for dear life along the narrow passageways, metal buckets clanking off stone walls, peering into every dark space to find the ticking time bombs that could reduce the cathedral to dust.
Joyce and Harry watched in horror as an enormous barrage balloon drifted overhead, engulfed in flames.
‘I’ve got to get you out of here,’ he rasped over the noise, gunning the engine.
He tore back across London in silence, his eyes fixed on the road. Joyce sensed a part of him had already left, his body bracing for whatever the long night ahead held.
Harry drove them back to Swiss Cottage, or rather tried to. So many roads were closed off, with fire crews battling leaping sheets of fire. The smoke was so impenetrable, it was hard to see where they were going. They were just passing the docks when a figure leapt in front of the car. Harry slammed on the brakes.
He wound down the window. ‘I nearly killed you, you fool.’
‘Sorry, guv’. But we need help! There’s a school-load of women and children who need urgent evacuation.’
‘Where are we?’
‘South Hallsville School in Agate Street, Canning Town. It’s now a rest centre.’ He glanced back nervously. ‘Well, more of an impromptu shelter, actually.’
‘Wait here, Joyce,’ Harry ordered, turning off the engine.
‘No chance. I’m coming with you,’ she rasped, unbuckling her seatbelt.
‘Anyone tell you you’re a very determined lady?’ he muttered, gripping her hand.
Together they followed the man through a deserted school playground and into the school hall. The second the door opened, noise and heat rushed over them. It was bedlam.
‘Just stay here, Joyce, please. I’m going to see if I can find out who’s in charge.’
