Mary fell against the woman in front and Beth caught her elbow in time to keep her from falling. Under her feet Beth could feel the ridge that signaled the change from the track to the bridge, and while the sirens still whirled their seizing alarm, shouts and yells could be heard all around. People on either side of them were falling off into the canal. Beth held onto Mary's hand as they flowed with the crowd onto the road outside the park.
Glancing back, Beth saw people pulling themselves up and out of the water and helping children who'd been pushed in. On the park side of the canal, men and women began jumping in voluntarily. For them, it was a quicker way out.
Once they were free of the crowd, Mary tugged Beth's arm, and they ran down St. James's Avenue. The sirens wound down for the last time, leaving the air filled with the noise of panic. “Keep your eye out for Ollie,” yelled Beth.
“The runt's probably already home.”
“I hope so.”
As they ran, Beth gazed back up to the plain blue sky. Her step slowed as she looked back over to where the explosion had left a spiral of black smoke.
“Beth!” Mary called. “Come on!”
“Where are the planes?”
“What? I dunno, who cares. Let's go.” Mary turned and picked up the pace, leading the way down the street, but something else kept Beth from following.
Somewhere behind her she heard a scream.
Beth started back up the road, going against the flow of people running past her as she picked up on a quieter, pained whimper. She stepped to the side, up onto the pavement, and a short way ahead saw a dusty black Austin 10 that had mounted the curb. Susan Pullen was lying on the pavement in front of it, crying. Her right foot was wedged beneath the car's left front wheel. The car was at an angle; it looked as if the curb had prevented if from rolling any further.
It had stopped short of running Susan over.
Beth ran up and saw the driver's door was open with no-one behind the wheel. “Hold on!” She stepped over Susan's uncomfortably angled legs and crouched down. It appeared only the tip of her plimsoll was caught under the tire. “Can't you just pull your foot out?”
“I think it's twisted,” Susan sobbed. “It hurts if I pull on it.”
“Even if you leave your shoe behind? Can't you slip your foot out?” Susan shook her head. “What if I pull on it?” asked Beth.
After a brief pause, Susan nodded. “Try it.”
Beth wrapped her hands around Susan's threadbare shoe, but as soon as she applied any pressure Susan gasped and yelped. Beth quickly let go. She got to her feet once more and stepped back to assess the situation.
Something caught her eye.
The bully leaned back on her hands. Her elbow glistened. A few tiny drops of blood were welling from a graze. While Beth watched, one drop grew big enough to begin rolling. It slowly made its way down her arm, navigating the tiny, invisible hairs that made it zigzag slightly. The trail it left was faint and dried up instantly, but the tiny globule of blood that moved downward was bright, pure, and sparkled in the light. It was fresh.
It was beautiful.
“Oi! Are you gonna help me or what?”
Beth was torn from her own private interlude. She met Susan's shining eyes and cleared her throat. “Sorry.” She shook off this feeling she didn't quite understand. The answer to their problem suddenly became clear. “We've got to move the car!” She ran around to the driver's door and looked in, but the key was gone. “Okay, we'll have to roll it back.”
“Who's we?” called Susan.
Beth walked into the street where people hurried past. Their numbers were dwindling. She looked for Mary, but she was nowhere to be seen. Turning back into the flow of men and women, she tried to stop someone. “Sir? Excuse me? Ma'am, if I could just …” No one heard her; no one even seemed to see her.
Beth looked back at the car. How hard can it be?
Returning to the front of the car, she put her hands on the bonnet above the dirty grill and took a deep breath. She pushed, heaving and straining, but the car didn't budge an inch. She stopped to catch her breath, rubbing her neck while Susan laughed between sobs.
“Okay,” said Beth. “I know it hurts, but you've got to pull as hard as you can, okay?”
“You're never gonna move that thing.”
“I'll just leave you then, shall I?” Beth challenged.
Susan paused before shuffling slightly, ready then to do as she was asked. Beth leaned her back against the car. With nothing to push against, her feet slipped on the pavement. She gritted her teeth and heaved, but the car still didn't move. She began to shove it, bouncing backward on the bonnet in a regular rhythm. Finally the car started to rock very slightly, back and forth. As the movement got more pronounced, so did Susan's sobs and whimpers.
“Stop!”
“Keep pulling,” shouted Beth between breaths.
Susan heaved and with a pained cry her leg jolted back. Her foot was free and she rocked on the pavement cradling it.
Beth leant forward, hands on knees, and breathed heavily for a few seconds before holding her hand out. “We've got to go,” she said.
The street was almost deserted. Susan took her hand and Beth pulled her up, but as soon as she put her weight down she hopped back and leant against the wall of a house. At that very moment, Mary came running up.
“Where were you a minute ago?” asked Beth.
“What do you mean? I thought you were with me until I got to the bottom of the road. I turned around and you were gone.”
Beth rolled her eyes. “Take her other arm.”
“Really?” With a tut, Mary walked around them and took Susan's weight, and the three of them started on their way down the street.
“We'll try the church shelter,” said Beth glancing up. She still saw no evidence of an airborne threat.
“It looked full a minute ago,” said Mary.
“They'll have to make room.”
When they reached St. James Church, the shelter was overflowing. People were still trying to force their way in.
“Where are we gonna go now?” asked Mary urgently.
But all urgency had drained from Beth. Everything was far too quiet.
“Beth?” prompted Mary.
Suddenly the sirens came to life once more. This time though, the tone was constant. There was no undulation, no dipping in the pitch—just one, long note. It was the all clear. “I knew it,” uttered Beth as they all stood motionless. From the corner of her eye, she saw Mary shift her weight under that of Susan.
Susan dipped her head down to speak into Beth's ear. “If this was the other way around, I would've let you rot.”
Beth fought the urge to simply let go of her. She wanted to, but she couldn't. Worse still, she wasn't done helping her foe yet, despite all the hatred Susan poured down. “Come on,” she yelled.
“Where?” shouted Mary.
“The infirmary.”
NINE
A NEW WEEK BEGAN, and Susan was back in school with nothing more than a bandage around her ankle. The thuggish girl did leave Beth alone, however, for all of that first day of the week. She guessed her good deed must have counted for something.
By the afternoon everyone had consolidated their stories in the playground, and a rough picture had emerged as to what had happened on Saturday: the alarms had been sounded on unfounded grounds—which was hardly uncommon—and an unexploded device was then triggered just south of the park, panicking people into thinking bombs were dropping. This was all second-hand knowledge, coming from parents and friends of parents who were in the ARP or other civilian forces. But information of this kind was usually pretty accurate. So, too, was the news of several injuries occurring in the St. James Church shelter. One person died, an elderly lady who was crushed to death at the back while frantic people selfishly crammed in.
What might have remained of their sports day was lost, but Beth had found her pride nonetheless. Even though no one else cared, it mattered to her. And it truly
was pride she felt, and not revenge. That's what she told herself, and that's what she believed. Now she felt entitled to feel happy. Her bizarre condition had disappeared, she was feeling the healthiest she'd ever felt, and the raids on the East End—and London in general—had become few and light.
There was just the nightgown left to get rid of.
Beth had been waiting for the perfect time in what remained of the weekend, but she never managed to find even a minute to herself. The blood-covered nightgown stuffed under her bed was the only thing that kept her from forgetting that night completely. It was such an annoyance when everything else seemed fine.
By the time she got to the front doors of the school to leave that afternoon, Mary was talking with Gibson at the gates. She looked up the road and saw her brother with Dave and Charlie, walking, but not homeward. With her mother doing a shift at the hospital, Beth walked out, wondering if she could slip past Mary and get home before them.
“Beth!”
She stopped and closed her eyes briefly before looking round with a smile. “Mary, I didn't see you.”
Mary looked back at Gibson. “See you tomorrow.”
“Uh, no. It's okay,” said Beth. “I've got a couple of things to do anyway.” Without waiting for a response Beth started walking again up the road. She heard Mary hum as though slightly confused, and had to rely on hope that Gibson would save the moment. She took several anxious steps, waiting for the silence behind her to be broken.
“Do you … you wanna go to the park?” Gibson asked Mary, unknowingly rising to the occasion.
Beth smiled and walked more purposefully out of earshot.
Once home, she rushed up the stairs and opened her bedroom door. In the heat of her room the smell had gotten a little worse, and she climbed onto her bed and opened the window, just in case. She'd figured out that a lot of the odors she was intermittently picking up on were those that others couldn't. She hadn't yet figured out why. Fumbling under her bed, she felt the stiff fabric of the gown and pulled it out. No amount of soap would get it clean, and it was too risky to put it in the bin.
Holding the gown at arm's length, looking more dark brown than red, she hurried downstairs and out into the backyard, throwing it onto the soil. The shelter door creaked as she opened it and clambered down to retrieve the oil lamp. Once back under the afternoon sun, she tipped a little of the precious fuel over the bundle of dirty-white and dark-brown fabric. She lit a match and, with such little breeze, kept the flame alive behind her cupped hand as she bent down. She felt her gut twist in anxiety, knowing this would mark the end of an unpleasant episode, and flicked the match onto the gown. Flames quickly grew and the fabric blackened and singed, shriveling into nothingness and sending small bits of black ash up into the air. Within a minute or two it was all gone, and Beth sighed in relief, disturbing the soil with her shoe to cover up any evidence of fire. Walking back into the house, she noticed a new discomfort in her mouth brought on by her smile of satisfaction. Prodding with her finger, she gently pushed against the skin above her lip, locating a spot of soreness in her gum.
And now that she'd noticed it, it wasn't going away.
* * *
It felt like the return to normalcy lasted only for a moment. The very next day Beth felt the tightening around her pelvic region return and a mild ache in her lower back. By the end of the week, with the cramps almost as painful as last time, she knew her period could only be a couple of days away, at most. It was a full week later than her mother's estimation. She could only be thankful it hadn't affected her appetite.
On a warm Friday evening, and with a rumbling tummy, she and Mary joined her mother and brother in the kitchen for dinner. Beth watched her brother do a half-arsed attempt at a cross after their mother said grace. He took a swig of water from his chipped glass and prodded the corner of his pie with his fork. She sympathized slightly. But food was food, and she began sawing away at the crust.
“What's wrong, Oliver?” asked their mother.
“It's veg pie again. Isn't it?”
“Beggars can't be choosers. Now stop whining and be thankful for what you've got.”
“But—”
“Oliver Wade.” Whenever their mother said names in full, both Beth and Oliver knew it was time to shut up. She didn't even need to raise her voice. With a sour face, Oliver began cutting into his dry slice.
Beth looked at Mary. “So,” she said while chewing, “been spending a lot of time with Gibson, haven't you?”
Mary looked up, and Beth could see the hint of a knowing smile. “He's cute isn't he? I mean in a rough kind of way.”
“Urgh! Shut up,” said Oliver, unwittingly spitting bits of pastry.
Their mother gave him an admonishing frown, then turned it into a smile when she looked over at Mary. “Seeing a boy now, are you, Mary?”
“Oh no. I wouldn't say that. We've held hands a couple of times, though. Anyway, I think he might be a bit young for me.”
Beth picked up on the sarcasm that her mother missed.
“Ahem, isn't he your age?”
“Exactly, Mrs. Wade. Too young.” Mary grinned. Beth's mother caught on, while Oliver sat and sighed unhappily at the topic of conversation. Eagerly shoving another bit of pie in her mouth, Beth bit down and yelped. A pea flew back onto her plate as she brought up a hand.
“Shot!” said Oliver.
Lynne tutted.
“Bit your tongue?” asked Mary.
Beth winced and left her mouth open while she tongued the food to the other side. She chewed as little as needed, and swallowed. She brought her hand away tentatively. “That really hurt.”
“What have you done?” asked her mother.
She shook her head slightly. “I dunno. I think it's my teeth.” Beth pushed a finger under her lip and felt the tender gum line.
“Elizabeth, not at the table.”
Her finger was still in her mouth when Beth said, “My tooth's wobbling.”
“What?” asked her mother.
“That one there.” She snarled with one side of her mouth and pointed to her left canine on the upper row. She was well aware all four of them looked a bit out of place, being smaller in comparison to the other teeth. “They're finally coming out,” she confirmed.
“It's about time,” said Lynne. “Only a couple of years late, then.”
With her finger pressed lightly on the tip, Beth moved it back and forth in the tender gum.
“Beth, come on now and finish your food.”
“Sorry, Mum.”
Carefully, Beth finished what was left on her plate, using only one side of her mouth. It was only one of the four remaining baby teeth that had loosened, but she was sure the others would soon follow.
Swallowing the last forkful of food, she sat back in her chair with a small sigh. Due to rationing, meals were never large unless Mr. Morris, the butcher, had been round with one of his generous gifts. Stomachs had grown used to the smaller quantity, and Beth's had stopped its gurgling from earlier. But while her stomach may have been fine, something else was still amiss. She puckered her lips and furrowed her brow, putting her hand back on her stomach. She didn't need long to realize it was that feeling of not being satisfied, of the food not hitting some other spot. It was dull, but it was there. Her heart sank.
The craving was back.
TEN
LYNNE SAT IN HER FAVORITE of the two larger armchairs in the sitting room, the one which showed its threads the least, and bit down on a length of cotton thread she was sewing with to sever it. With the thick patch sewn into place, Oliver's second pair of school shorts had life left in them yet. She folded them and put them to one side, and from the less orderly pile of clothes she pulled the next patient for needle and thread. It was a Saturday away from the hospital, and with the children at school for the morning it was a chance to catch up with motherly duties. The June air outside was warm. Both the front and back door were ajar, and a nice breeze wafted through the house wh
ile the wireless played the latest hits to poke fun at Adolf.
Lynne pushed the needle through the hem of a dress, catching the side of her callused finger but hardly feeling it. With an almost inaudible squeak, the front door swung slightly. Thinking it must've been nothing more than the wind, she froze at seeing movement out of the corner of her eye. Her head snapped around, and her hand dropped the dress and went to her chest. She gasped, then sighed in relief. “Beth! You almost gave me a heart attack.”
“Sorry.”
“Where's your brother and Mary?”
Beth shrugged as she moped past her mother and collapsed in the other chair. Leaning to one side, she pulled out the worn copy of Harper's Bazaar she'd sat on and looked at it like it was in a foreign language. Lynne knew she'd already read it cover to cover.
“Is something the matter?” Lynne put down her sewing, laying everything on her lap to focus her attention on her daughter.
“I'm just tired.”
“You've been saying that for a few days now. In fact, you've been yawning and stretching for most of the week.”
“Aren't I allowed to yawn or stretch?”
“It's come back, hasn't it?”
“No.” Beth's surprised expression wasn't in the least bit convincing. “I just need a good night's sleep,” she claimed.
“Beth, you must be honest with me … and yourself. If the fatigue's come back, pretending it doesn't exist won't help, and I can't help unless you tell me what's going on. Now, are the symptoms the same as last time?”
Beth dipped her head and nodded.
It was only then, when Lynne tried to remember what the blood-test results had yielded, that she realized they'd never come back. Or, if they had, she hadn't been informed of them. “I'm in work tomorrow,” she said with an authoritative voice. “I'll pay a visit to Dr. Hawkins and we'll see what's to be done.”
“I'm not gonna have to come to the hospital, am I?”
“No. Not tomorrow, anyway.” Lynne studied her daughter. It seemed as if in the past couple of minutes alone she'd grown worse, as if accepting the possibility that her condition hadn't gone away after all had taken an unexpected toll. Lynne felt in part responsible. “How's that tooth of yours?” She tried to sound jovial. “It's been a week now. They're certainly stubborn little things, aren't they?”
No Shelter from Darkness Page 8