by Julia Kelly
“Granddad,” said Cara.
“We’d met in London at a NAAFI dance—that part of the story was true—and he spent most of the autumn of forty-four coming up whenever he could to see me. I think I knew Edwin was pulling away, and I liked the attention Steve gave me but I was never really invested until I needed him.”
“I thought your courtship was just four months?” Cara asked.
“It suited us later to make the timeline a little hazy,” said Gran.
“When did he propose?” Liam asked.
“Three days after VE Day. Three days after Edwin turned me away.”
“Did you tell Granddad that you were pregnant when you accepted his proposal?” Cara asked.
Gran hugged the pillow tighter. “No.”
“When did he find out?” she asked.
“We were married two weeks later, because he didn’t know where he was going to be sent after the Germans surrendered. He wanted to make sure I would have some rights as his wife,” said Gran.
“When did you tell him you were pregnant?” Cara asked.
“After I’d reached four months and couldn’t hide it any longer. We’d been married for a month,” said Gran.
“What did he say?” Cara asked.
“He walked out of our flat and I didn’t see him for three hours. When he came back, he asked me if the affair was over. I told him it was, and he promised me that he would love our son or daughter as though it was his own. He wanted me and a child more than anything else in the world.” Gran wiped away her tears. “He was a good man.”
“He was,” said Cara.
“I don’t think I fully believed him until your mother was born, but he fell in love with her the moment he saw her. I used to wake up at night and find he’d gone to her nursery just to watch her as she slept.”
Tears burned in the back of Cara’s throat. “I miss her, Gran.”
Gran opened her arms, and Cara went to her, kneeling on the floor next to her chair. “I do too, dear,” Gran said into her hair. “I do too.”
They held each other for a moment while Liam quietly retreated to the kitchen.
When at last Cara pulled back, she asked, “What did you tell Mum when she found out?”
“The truth. I married Steve knowing I didn’t love him, but that I came to love him in the end. I think she’s what saved our marriage and made us stronger.”
“But you and Mum still fought,” Cara said.
“It was too much to think she would take it anything but poorly. I just wish . . . I just wish I’d had time to try to fix it,” said Gran.
“She died knowing that you loved her and that Granddad did too. I have no doubt about that.” And as she said it, Cara found that she believed every word of her reassurances.
“I just can’t help but wonder—”
“Don’t,” said Cara. “I’ve spent too much time worrying about whether I made the right decisions or not. I’m learning it’s time to move forward.”
Gran nodded toward the kitchen with a smile. “Is that what you’re doing?”
Cara smiled. “Yes. In more ways than one.”
Gran laughed. “Was the hotel snowed in?”
“No snow needed.”
Gran covered Cara’s hand with hers, the gold of her wedding ring catching the light. “The one thing I wish for you more than anything else is that when you love again, you’ll love with your whole heart.”
“If you’d asked me to do that a few months ago, I don’t think I would’ve believed you that it was possible. But now . . .”
Gran smiled. “Then that’s a start.”
“I love you to the moon, Gran.”
“And back.”
Cara was quiet during the final car ride home, happy to let Liam drive. The roller coaster of a weekend had left her drained, and now the real world would close in around them.
He parked in her drive, and they climbed out and retrieved their bags. He handed her back her keys and hesitated before kissing her on the cheek.
“Get some rest,” he said.
Then he turned and retreated to his house, Rufus barking at the sound of his steps.
Inside her cottage, Cara dropped her overnight bag and purse in the hallway and went straight to the kitchen to put on the kettle. She prepared tea, glancing out the window as lights came on in Liam’s house. The kettle clicked off just as music began to pour from his windows. It was loud and guitar-filled, and thinking how Mrs. Wasserman down the road would hate it made her smile.
She poured the hot water over the leaves in her teapot and pulled down a mug. The music switched now. Jazz maybe, with a saxophone hitting a series of high notes. She listened closely, trying to catch the tune, but couldn’t.
There was so much to do before the workweek. She should get a load of laundry on—neglecting to do that before leaving had been a mistake. She’d all but ignored her email, and she still owed Nicole a call. But as she went to pull out her phone, she realized there was only one person she wanted to talk to that night.
Pulling down another mug, she poured out the tea with a dash of milk and carefully opened her front door. She picked her way down her front path and around to his. With the toe of her shoe, she rapped low on the front door, sending Rufus into a spurt of barking.
She stood there, knuckles turning red from the heat, for nearly thirty seconds before Liam ripped open the door.
“I brought you tea,” she said, holding the mugs up.
He rubbed a hand over his face, and she thought for a moment that she’d miscalculated things in her own excitement. But then he said, “Thank God. I was worried I’d screwed it all up.”
“How?” she asked.
He took the mugs and set them down on the ground. Then he pulled her to him, his hands framing her face. “By not doing this.”
He kissed her, her entire body going weak as he slid his lips along hers, drinking her in. All of the passion and comfort of the weekend was back. But this time they were standing on his front doorstep, not in a hotel far away, and somehow that made it matter more.
“I didn’t want this weekend to end because I didn’t want this to end,” he whispered against her mouth.
“Then let’s not let it. I’m tired of being cautious and waiting to start my life over again. I want it now, with you,” she said. What she’d told Gran was true. She was moving on, and she’d do it just as Louise had: without regrets.
“Me too, Cara. Me too. Do you want to come inside before we shock half of Elm Road?”
“Yes,” she said, glancing down. “And we might need more tea. It looks like Rufus got to ours.”
He laughed as the dog stared up at them, tea dripping down his chin. “Come on. I’ll make you another cup.”
It would be, she knew, the first of many.
Author’s Note
To live in London is to always have the memory of World War II with you, a whispered reminder of the unfathomable destruction and incredible bravery that was seen on the streets of this great city. And to be from a family that hails from England is to have some part of familial lore wrapped up in the war.
I learned more about both of these things when I moved to London in the spring of 2017 to join my parents, sister, and brother-in-law. Being physically closer to my family meant that I had the chance to spend countless afternoons listening to my British mother’s stories over strong cups of tea while curled into the corner of the sofa. And the more I listened, the more I learned.
Though the true spark for The Light Over London came from a book about the gunner girls, it wouldn’t have burned as bright as it did if I hadn’t discovered my own family’s World War II story. My grandfather worked as a printer before the war, which was designated a reserved occupation. This meant he was not conscripted into the military, but was required to go wherever the government deemed him necessary. My mother believes he signed the Official Secrets Act; however, like many of his generation, he rarely spoke about his war work, so we can’t be e
ntirely sure. What we do know is that he was sent down south to print highly sensitive maps and charts for the military. Family lore says that he printed some of the D-day landing maps, which were so sensitive that he and the other men from his print shop were locked inside for the few days before the landing and had to sleep under the machines to keep the invasion a secret. As for my grandmother, she stayed in Liverpool with their two youngest children, while the three eldest were evacuated to the safety of the countryside. Legend has it that my uncle Nick was famously born as the Germans dropped bombs in an air raid during the Liverpool Blitz.
While my grandfather’s covert work was the inspiration for Iris Warren’s own closely held secrets, the gunner girls captured my imagination in an entirely different way. As soon as I read about them, I was fascinated by these extraordinary women of the Ack-Ack Command who defended London’s skies on anti-aircraft guns.
Made up of recruits from the army’s women’s branch, the Auxiliary Territorial Service (ATS), the gunner girls were formed to help fill out the ranks of anti-aircraft batteries stationed in Britain and across Europe as the war raged on. In April 1941, the first women were recruited for their aptitude, among other skills, and sent to Oswestry to train for their new, vital roles before entering active duty later that year.
By parliamentary decree, women were unable to engage in combat roles back then, so they couldn’t actually load or fire the massive guns they were stationed at. Instead, they did everything else. Each battery had a spotter who would identify German aircraft, while the other women operated the complex set of sensitive instruments that aimed the gun and set the fuse. These teams moved fast, executing a complex set of adjustments with one goal: to damage or shoot down enemy aircraft.
The nature of their work meant that the gunner girls were constantly exposed to danger—more than 350 of them lost their lives. But that danger also bonded them together. They worked, ate, slept, and relaxed together. Women who might never have otherwise met became lifelong friends amid the chaos and devastation of war. But like them, I saw the positive side of their experiences. I’ve always found joy and satisfaction in writing about female friendships like the ones Louise, Vera, Charlie, Lizzie, Mary, and Nigella share. It’s a special bond, unbreakable by circumstance or distance. And it was easy to imagine the growing respect of the men who worked with these brave, disciplined women.
While the gunner girls were very real, I took artistic license with other parts of this book. If you go searching for the Star Inn, Bakeford’s, or the Woolwich Depot, you won’t find them. A few small moments in the book’s timeline have been nudged up or back for ease of narrative. Similarly, Paul’s betrayal is entirely fiction, although there are countless stories of people who took advantage of each other in unthinkable ways during a desperate time in London’s long history. (Joshua Levine’s The Secret History of the Blitz is a fascinating, sobering read for those interested.)
However, what is not a fabrication is the incredible bravery of ordinary people during this era. Conscription for women started in December 1941, right as The Light Over London wraps up. At first the National Service Act called up only single women and childless widows between the ages of twenty and thirty, but it soon expanded. The idea of British women “doing their bit” for crown and country was very real—from the air wardens who patrolled the streets to the volunteer ambulance drivers like Lenora Robinson who navigated cratered streets to ferry the injured to hospitals. During the war, women flew planes, drove motorcycles, and built bombs. But most importantly, they proved to themselves and everyone else that they could do all of these things.
If you visit Whitehall today, the Monument to the Women of World War II stands as a reminder of the sacrifice that women across Britain made when their country needed them most. I like to think that The Light Over London is my way of honoring the remarkable women of Ack-Ack Command and their incredible stories.
Acknowledgments
Writing my first book about World War II was a deeply satisfying, daunting task, and I’m grateful to several authors for their excellent work on the time period. In particular, The Girls Who Went to War by Duncan Barrett and Nuala Calvi, Girls in Khaki: A History of the ATS in the Second World War by Barbara Green, and The Secret History of the Blitz by Joshua Levine proved invaluable in my research. I am also thankful for the women who served and have since shared their stories.
I am eternally grateful for the generosity and enthusiasm of my support network. The HBICs in my life: Alexis Anne, Alexandra Haughton, Lindsay Emory, Mary Chris Escobar, and Laura von Holt (who danced through the Village with me when I told her this book was going to be a reality). Sonia, Jax, Ben, Tamsen, Nigel, Sarah, Aidan, Kather, Christy, Sean. My wonderful agent through thick and thin, Emily Sylvan Kim. My incredible editor, Marla Daniels. (We’re going back to that restaurant and ordering champagne next time.) Jennifer Bergstrom and the entire team at Gallery Books, including Polly Watson, Christine Masters, Kristin Roth, Meagan Harris, Abby Zidle, Diana Velasquez, and Mackenzie Hickey.
Mum, Dad, Justine, and Mark, thank you the most for putting up with a writer on deadline for months. You helped me figure out characters, didn’t say anything when I plastered my bedroom with Post-it notes to figure out plot, and have been asking, “When can I read it?” for ages now. I love you all and couldn’t be more grateful that you’re my family.
More from the Author
The Allure of Attraction
The Taste of Temptation
The Look of Love
The Governess Was Wild
The Governess Was Wanton
The Governess Was Wicked
About the Author
JULIA KELLY is the award-winning author of books about ordinary women and their extraordinary stories. In addition to writing, she’s been an Emmy-nominated producer, a journalist, a marketing professional, and (for one summer) a tea waitress. Julia called Los Angeles, Iowa, and New York City home before settling in London. Readers can visit JuliaKellyWrites.com to learn more about all of her books and sign up for her newsletter so they never miss a new release.
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Gallery Books
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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2019 by Julia Kelly
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Interior design by Bryden Spevak
Jacket design by Chin-Yee Lai and Laywan Kwan
Photograph of Parliament and two women © Lee Avison/Trevillion Images; woman’s head with purple hat © Ildiko Neer/Trevillion Images; airplane by David Wall/Alamy Stock Photo; blue sky and border © Shutterstock
Author photograph © Scott Bottles
The Library of Congress has cataloged the hardcover edition as follows:
Names: Kelly, Julia, 1986– author.
Title: The light over London / Julia Kelly.
Description: New York : Gallery Books, 2019.
Identifiers: LCCN 2018010178 (print) | LCCN 2018014273 (ebook) | ISBN 9781501196416 (hardcover : alk. paper) | ISBN 9781982107017 (trade paperback : alk. paper) | ISBN 9781501172922 (ebook)
Subjects: LCSH: Antique dealers—Fiction. | World War, 1939–1945—England London—Fiction. | GSAFD: War stories | Historical fiction
Classification: LCC PS3611.E449245 L55 2019 (print) | LCC PS3611.E449245 (ebook) | DDC 813/.6—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2018010178
ISBN 978-1-9821-1672-9
ISBN 978-1-5011-7292-2 (ebook)