‘So make one.’
It took me a little while but eventually I managed to type Harry’s name into the search and bingo! It brought up a death certificate from 1985.
‘Here he is,’ I said in delight. ‘He died in Ireland.’
‘Does it say who registered the death?’ Joyce leaned over, trying to see. ‘When my Tony died I registered the death, so my name’s on his certificate.’
I turned my phone sideways and enlarged the picture. My heart began to pound. ‘It does,’ I said. ‘It says informant: Helen Byrne.’
‘Helen Byrne?’ Joyce looked bewildered. ‘But that’s our Helen’s name. Grumpy Helen. Does it say what connection she has with Harry?’
My head reeling, I nodded, slowly. ‘It says she’s his daughter.’
Chapter 39
Elsie
1941
When I woke up, I had no idea where I was. My head was aching and there was a strange glow coming from up above me.
Am I dead?I thought for a second. And then I blinked my eyes open and saw the glow was torchlight shining through a hole in the ceiling.
‘Stay still!’ someone shouted. ‘We’re coming to get you. Are you hurt?’
I tried to speak but my face was covered in dust and my mouth was too dry. I was in the hospital, I remembered with a rush. In the basement. With Jackson. Oh Lord, Jackson. I tried to turn my head to see where he was but I was surrounded by rubble and could barely see two inches past my face. I had no idea where the table I’d been sheltering under had gone but it wasn’t above me any longer.
Up above, an ARP warden with HR written on his helmet was being lowered down beside me on a rope ladder.
‘All right, love?’ he said cheerily as he came to a halt next to where I lay. ‘I’m just going to check everything’s safe before the rest of the crew come down, then we’ll get you out of here. Boiler room is it?’
Whistling a jaunty tune, he quickly but thoroughly checked over the boiler and turned the large wheel on the front. The boiler, which had been making a very loud, very alarming clattering sound, fell silent.
‘That’s better,’ the man said. He shouted up to the people above. ‘All clear!’
Then he turned to me. ‘Anyone else down here with you.’
I tried to swallow but my throat was dry as a bone. ‘Jackson,’ I whispered. ‘Jackson.’
‘Another nurse?’
‘No,’ I croaked. ‘Porter.’
The small room was full of people now, moving rubble from around me and talking in low voices. One of the men helped me to my feet. ‘You’ve barely got a scratch,’ he said in wonder.
‘I was under a table,’ I told him. I looked round. ‘But I don’t know where it’s gone.’ The book had vanished too. Covered in rubble and bricks. Gone forever, I hoped.
‘Can you climb the ladder? There’s someone up top who’ll check you over.’
‘I think so.’
He helped me on to the ladder and with trembling arms I managed to haul myself up very slowly. As I reached halfway, there was a shout from below.
‘Over here!’ one of the men called. ‘We’ve got him.’
‘Is he alive?’ another asked.
I stopped on the ladder, not sure whether I was hoping Jackson would have survived the blast or not.
