She finished her gin and went slowly upstairs. She was not afraid of bombs and sirens, or of being alone in the house. She was afraid of nothing, except perhaps that awful water-dream, that still came back to her at irregular intervals.
Next door, at Number Forty-Five, Margy Hartnell sighed when she heard the long, wailing note, and felt the child kick inside her. What a hell of a time to have a baby! And Ted's papers had arrived that day, which meant that he would be leaving on Monday. He called up from below: “I've made the tea, Margy. Shall I bring it up, or will you come down?”
“I'll come down,” she called back, rolling out of bed, and prodding about for her quilted slippers.
At Number One Hundred-and Two, Grandpa Barnmeade emerged in his full regalia—tin-hat, armband, and mace-like torch.
He stood looking up into the clear sky for a moment, muttering to himself, and then he saw a pinpoint of light, over on the odd side, where the crescent's curve was sharpest. He began to run towards it, very nimbly considering his age. “Put that light out,” he roared, while still fifty yards away, “put that flaming light out, you bloody fool.”
There were a few people of the Avenue who were too far away to hear the siren that night, but they had read about the early raids in the papers, and their thoughts went back to the Avenue as soon as the moon rose.
Up in Llandudno, Edgar Frith lay staring at the ceiling. Frances and Pippa were already asleep, for they all went to bed much earlier these days, and he was wondering whether Esther's frigid, religious faith would help her through a bad air-raid. He hoped it would, but whether it did or did not he had made up his mind to write to Sydney in the morning, and instruct him to find his mother a place in the country. He should have done that before, long before. If he didn't drop off soon he would slip out of bed and write the letter straight away.
Sydney's thoughts did not take him back to the Avenue that night. He was playing snooker in the officers' mess, with an Australian Wireless-Operator Air-Gunner, a real Flight-lieutenant. It was good to be here, in a nice, cosy mess, among gentlemen who treated one as an equal. He wished now that he had joined the Service before the war and taken a short-service commission. If he had done he would have been well on the road to becoming a Squadron-Leader.
The Australian watched him shoot. “You haven't played much snooker, cobber?”
“No,” said Sydney apologetically, “I'm ... er ... I'm a golf man really ... that, and squash, of course!”
The Australian said “Huh!”, and neatly pocketed the red.
Judy Carver was thinking about the Avenue, as she undressed, and climbed into her bunk, after an exhausting eight-hour plotting spell at headquarters. She was wondering about Louise, and whether any of them would be able to persuade Louise and her bovine Jack to leave the Avenue if things became too bad. She doubted it, knowing Louise for a creature of habit. As long as Jim stayed Louise would stay.
Then she said a little prayer. “Please God,” she said, “look after Louise; she's earned so much more luck than any of us!”
AC2 Esme Fraser, detailed for decontamination squad that night, was sitting on a gas-cap in the drying room of what had once been a Corporation Swimming Baths, and thus had all the leisure he needed to think about the Avenue.
He had been thinking about it all day, ever since he had opened Elaine's last letter, the one that had begun “Dear Esme”, and ended “Love, Elaine”. It reminded him, a little painfully, of that other letter she had sent him, the one arranging the meeting in the Tate Gallery, but this time the corner was not turned back to conceal a small cross, in fact, today's letter might have been written by a maiden aunt, in a hurry to catch a train.
Was there anything more he could do or say to put new life into their relationship? Would a prolonged separation do it, supposing he volunteered for overseas service? That was something he must consider the moment he was posted. It might work, it sometimes worked in books. But he had very little faith in books nowadays. It was strange that Elaine looked so much like a book heroine but so rarely and fleetingly acted like one.
Back in the Avenue Grandpa Barnmeade was swallowing a slight disappointment. The light he had spotted had gone out, before he could reach it, and now he was not even sure which house had hid the culprit—was it Number Fifty-Seven, Number Fifty-Nine, or Number Sixty-One? He flicked off his torch and stumped off muttering, towards the A.R.P. Centre in Shirley Rise, finding no gleam of light on the way. Just as he reached the corner the siren wailed the “All Clear”, and the people of the Avenue began to reverse their routine, and drift off to bed.
The night breeze came singing in from the woods, and the moon sailed over the odd numbers, until it seemed to float midway between the rows, flooding the whole crescent with silver light.
The houses looked very small, and very still from above, absurdly still for an Avenue at War.
Table of Contents
INTRODUCTION:
CHAPTER I: THE AVENUE
CHAPTER II: HOME-COMING
CHAPTER III: PRINCE WAKES BEAUTY
CHAPTER IV: MISS CLEGG TAKES A LODGER
CHAPTER V: CARVERS, AT WORK AND PLAY
CHAPTER VI: MUTINY AT HAVELOCK PARK
CHAPTER VII: ARCHIE TAKES A HOLIDAY
CHAPTER VIII: NEW WORLDS FOR EDITH
CHAPTER IX: ELAINE FRITH AND THE FACTS OF LIFE
CHAPTER X: ALIBI FOR ARCHIE
CHAPTER XI: HAROLD AS GIANT-KILLER
CHAPTER XII: JIM BURNS A ’BUS
CHAPTER XIII: EDITH IN MOURNING
CHAPTER XIV: SCHOOLDAYS FOR THREE
CHAPTER XV: THE ICE CRACKS AT NUMBER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER XVI: LADY IN A TOWER
CHAPTER XVII: CARVER ROUNDABOUT. I
CHAPTER XVIII: CHANGES AT NUMBER FOUR
CHAPTER XIX: ESME
CHAPTER XX: JIM HEARS RUMBLINGS
CHAPTER XXI: ABDICATION AND USURPATION
CHAPTER XXII: PROGRESS FOR TWO
CHAPTER XXIII: CARVER ROUNDABOUT. II
CHAPTER XXIV: EDITH AND THE HOUSE OF WINDSOR
CHAPTER XXV: ESME'S ODYSSEY
CHAPTER XXVI: JIM CLOSES THE DOOR
CHAPTER XXVII: ARCHIE UNDER AN UMBRELLA
CHAPTER XXVIII: ELAINE COMES IN OUT OF THE RAIN
CHAPTER XXIX: ESME AND THE PROMISED LAND
CHAPTER XXX: CARVER ROUNDABOUT, III
CHAPTER XXXI: HEROICS STRICTLY RATIONED
CHAPTER XXXII: A LAST LOOK AT THE AVENUE
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