Prologue
Elsie
Summer 1941
I woke with a start, my heart thumping, and it was a minute before I remembered where I was. I’d had the nightmare again – the same one that had plagued me since I left London. In my dream, the book had been uncovered and passed around. Everyone knew everything that had happened. Everything I’d done.
‘How could you?’ they said to me, their faces twisted in hatred, fingers pointing in accusation. ‘How could you do such a terrible thing?’
Knowing I’d not be able to go back to sleep after such a sudden wake-up, I wiped my clammy brow and swung my legs out of bed. Uncomfortable now that the baby was getting so big, I smoothed my nightdress over my rounded midriff and went to the window, looking out over the quiet city. It was peaceful. Everyone was still sleeping, though the sun was beginning to rise over the horizon.
Feeling my heart rate begin to slow, I took a deep breath,thanking my lucky stars that I was here, safe and sound, away from the bombs and the sirens, and …
It was over, I told myself firmly. The book was gone. It was buried beneath the rubble, never to be found. No one would ever know what I’d done.
Chapter 1
Elsie
1940
It was astonishing, I thought, as I clambered up the few steps from our neighbour’s Anderson shelter, how quickly we’d all got used to something that would have seemed unimaginable a year ago. I couldn’t believe that I’d slept through what Mrs Gold, our neighbour, told me had been another bad raid.
‘I barely slept a wink,’ she’d said when I’d woken. ‘Didn’t drop off until I heard the all-clear.’
I straightened up, hearing my spine click in a very satisfying fashion, and looked round. Things weren’t as bad here as in the East End, but the bombers seemed to follow the railway line that ran along the backs of the houses and we’d had some hits. I could see smoke in the distance and the air felt gritty with brick dust. But the houses in our street were still standing.
‘Thank you,’ I said to Mrs Gold who had followed me out of the shelter and was blinking in the dim early morning light. ‘I’m working tonight so I won’t be here.’
‘What about Nelly?’ she asked, brushing a bit of something from the arm of my coat – I’d learned very quickly that it was better to wrap up warm when I was spending the night in the shelter.
‘She’s worked an extra night shift,’ I said. ‘Someone on her ward was bombed out so she had to cover while the other nurse got herself sorted. But she’ll probably be home now actually.’ I checked my wristwatch. ‘Gosh it’s much later than I thought. I can’t believe I slept so well.’
Mrs Gold, who was barely ten years older than me but who treated Nelly and me like her daughters, clucked fondly. ‘You work so hard, you girls,’ she said. ‘I’m not surprised you’re tired.’
She grinned at me, adjusting one of her curlers under her hairnet. ‘Right, must get on. Don’t want those chaps in the office to be forced to type their own awfully boring documents, do I?’
I smiled back, taking in her innocent gaze. I was fairly sure Mrs Gold wasn’t actually “just a typist” like she claimed, because I’d seen her with some very important-looking papers, and she was often away for long periods of time. But I didn’t argue. Instead I waved as she hurried off up the garden path towards the kitchen where I could see Mr Gold making tea. I’d not even heard him get up and leave the shelter, I’d been sleeping so deeply.
Still feeling slightly snoozy, I went up the side passageway round the side of the Golds’ house and out on to the front street. We had a side door out to the back garden, but I liked to go in at the front after a night in the shelter. I liked to see what had happened while we were safely tucked away at the bottom of the garden.
Now I marvelled again – as I seemed to every morning – at the resilience of London and its people. It was just like a normal day, if you pretended you couldn’t smell the smoke in the air, and see the rubble at the corner where last night’s raid had taken out three whole houses and half of the Evans family’s home, in the street next to ours, leaving their living room sliced clean in two.
A bus rumbled past – more normality, even though it was covered in dust – and I stepped back to avoid being splashed as it drove through a puddle, and then I headed up our path, feeling in the pocket of my coat for my key so I could let myself into our maisonette.
‘Nell?’ I shouted, bending down to pick up the post from the doormat.
‘In the kitchen,’ she called.
I took off my coat and hung it from the bottom of the bannister, then went to find Nelly. She was sitting in a chair in the kitchen, still wearing her outdoor clothes, with her face streaked with dirt and her eyes red with tiredness.
‘Letter for you,’ I said, handing it over. She took it and glanced at the front then dropped it on to the table. ‘Bad night?’
‘Just never-ending.’ She sighed. ‘I need to go to bed, but I’m running on adrenaline.’
‘I’ll make you tea,’ I said. I filled up the kettle and lit the hob with a match. ‘Why don’t you have a bath – see if that relaxes you?’
Nelly shook her head. ‘Too much effort,’ she said. ‘I’ll have my tea, then I’ll have a wash and go to bed.’ She frowned at me. ‘You should get your head down later if you’re on nights now.’
