The last few days had been like a whirlwind. First came the news of Beth's father returning home, injured but very much alive. It had been fantastic news, and at first she shared in the joy of the family. But then horrid thoughts began to whirl around her mind. Why does Beth's family get to live and stay together while mine dies around me?
Then, on Monday morning, she awoke to the sound of smashing crockery. When she stepped out onto the landing, the bowl that Lynne usually used to give Beth a morning sponge bath was in pieces and water was escaping through the gaps between floorboards. On Beth's bed, her mother hugged her tight. Beth was awake and looking amazingly well, aside from the remnant of a ring around her right eye where her head had hit the desk. She complained about aching limbs and was still too tired to go to school the following day, though she looked as healthy as she'd ever been.
Mary appreciated and enjoyed having her rejuvenated friend back, even if Beth seemed distant and continuously distracted. But when Mary was alone her worries returned, and they always seemed intensified by the claustrophobic qualities of Oliver's room.
Never had she considered this to be her own room. In some respects, the past two months had flown by and yet she had allowed herself to feel integrated. In this short time, she had grown to think of the Wades as family. But while the house had come to feel like a home and the people in it like relatives, neither could ever replace what she'd had. This was second best and she had settled for it, but now even that was about to be taken from her.
Any time now, Mr. Wade would be returning home. The temporary arrangement that had begun to feel permanent was over. Oliver would need his room back, and that left Mary with nowhere to sleep. Already she'd begun to feel like she was in the way. A nuisance. She was an unwanted guest, or at least one that had outstayed her welcome. There was no room for her in the house, and she feared there would be no room left in the family. And no one had spoken a word about it. Through all the good news, a thought hadn't been spared for Mary's situation. She didn't know what was going to happen. She felt like she was floating aimlessly with no anchor, at the mercy of the changing whims of the tide.
* * *
Later that day, Mary walked home with Oliver at her side. It was still just the two of them, with Beth choosing to stay home yet again. Mary had almost choked on her toast that morning when Beth, sitting opposite and looking perky, had said she still wasn't feeling well enough to go to school. There was no denying something was on her mind, but for Beth that was usually another reason to attend lessons, not stay home and dwell.
In contrast, school had never been riveting enough for Mary for it to be a suitable distraction. She'd spent much of the day in a bit of a daze, as if she was just waiting for something bad to happen. So when she saw the ambulance parked outside the house, surprise was the last thing she felt.
“Dad!”
As soon as Oliver saw it he knew what it meant and he ran to the front door, barging in. Mary followed at a slower pace, and by the time she got to the front step Oliver was already hugging his father, who balanced himself using a single crutch. His other arm was wrapped around his son's shoulders. He looked up and smiled at her.
“Hello, Mary.” The smile turned down. “I'm so sorry about your mother.”
“Thanks, Mr. Wade.” As if the reminder was needed.
“I hear you've been a great help to my wife and the kids.”
Mary shrugged. “Just earning my keep,” she said.
“Well, I do appreciate it.” Mr. Wade's smile had returned and Oliver ordered for a war story to be told. His father sat down, struggling with his crutches, while Oliver sat on the floor in front of him. Lynne went into the kitchen where she had vegetables out on the table. Mary looked around. Beth was nowhere to be seen, and so she was left standing in the middle of the room, unable to remember feeling so out of place. It felt like when she used to come around years ago and was left waiting for her friend to come down to play.
She walked after Mrs. Wade, going around the kitchen table so she could speak quietly. “Where's Beth?”
“In her room.”
“Why?” asked Mary with surprise.
Lynne shrugged. “I really don't know.” She sounded a little surprised herself. “She seemed so eager to see her father, but then snuck back upstairs shortly after he arrived. Perhaps it was a little too much for her.”
Mary got herself a glass of water from the scullery and went up the stairs, passing through the deserts of Syria on the way. Oliver looked enthralled. It was impossible not to feel a little more cheerful from his infectious enthusiasm.
Mary knocked on Beth's door and waited, but when there was no reply she opened it anyway and walked in. “You okay?”
Beth nodded as best she could with her head sunk into the pillow, staring up at the ceiling.
“That bruise has nearly gone.”
Beth shrugged.
“Why aren't you downstairs, then? Anyone would think you didn't want your dad back.”
Finally, Beth looked at her with remorseful realization. “Oh, Mary, I'm so sorry. I never thought. Of course I'm glad he's back.”
Mary hadn't meant for it to prompt sympathy. “So why are you up here?”
“Um. Nothing, really. I'm sure I'm just being silly.” She sank her head back into the pillow.
“What's going on with you, Beth? You look fit as a fiddle, but you've been so miserable.”
“I'm just a bit … confused. I'm not quite sure what's real. When I was asleep my dreams were so weird, but so vivid.” She looked at Mary again. “I don't know exactly when the dreams stopped and real life resumed.”
SIXTEEN
BETH REMAINED SILENT, lying on the bed. She wasn't going to say anything more to Mary. It wasn't due to a lack of want, nor because of the secrecy her father had told her to practice. She simply didn't want to be ridiculed. There was an awkward kind of silence for a few seconds before Mary seemed to get the hint. Beth felt guilty and ashamed as her friend got off the bed and went to Oliver's room, but she couldn't—wouldn't—do anything about it. She was alone once more. They both were.
This was the third day that Beth had been completely absorbed in her own mysterious and surreal drama. It was supposed to end today, with her father returning home from the hospital sooner than expected. At first, she thought it might be because of the urgency for him getting back to her. But when he came through the door, it was as if the night he secretly visited had never happened. He'd smiled and hugged her like he hadn't seen her for a year. It was how he should have been that night, instead of the cold, heartless man that he was.
She'd lingered for a short while, trying to catch her father's attention if only for a second. Just to wink or nod the head—anything to confirm that what had happened three nights ago was real and not some lucid extension of her dreams. Instead, it was as if he did his best to avoid her. With a sunken heart and unfavorable thoughts she'd retreated to her room, to a different kind of sadness.
She had spent those three days trying to come up with answers, feeling healthy but taking her father's instruction to feign weakness. And the time she should have been in school learning was instead spent trying to explain the events of that night. Now she couldn't even be sure that her father had told her to stay home in the first place. In the silence of her room, the most prominent of her recent explanations flashed like a bulb in her head. Beth let out an involuntary laugh at the ridiculousness of it. She knew of the horror movie about the count who lived off the blood of people. It was almost ten years old and still played occasionally in picture houses. But while it seemed previously to be an improbable yet considerable idea, it now seemed foolish and silly. She smiled at her own naivety, subconsciously tonguing the loose, stubborn canine in her top gum.
The call from her mother for her to come down to dinner was a welcome intrusion, and every step down the stairs toward her normal family rooted her more firmly in reality. Laughing about her credulity seemed to help fix those event
s in a world other than this one. She felt better for attributing everything to hallucinatory waking dreams.
It was the most likely answer.
At dinner, it seemed to be all about Oliver. It was he who asked their father so many questions that by the time Beth, her mother and Mary had all but finished their food, father and son were only halfway through theirs. Her mother didn't seem to mind. She was so happy she appeared to be glowing. Beth didn't mind either, for the focus was off her and her mystery illness. It gave her a chance to take in the happiness of the household. It had been a long time since she could appreciate joy. It was only when she saw Mary staring at her plate and not much else that she realized it wasn't just she who'd been out of sorts. Mary stuck her fork in the last slice of potato and ate it without looking up. With her eyes permanently dipped, she returned the cutlery to the plate and sat back quietly.
Beth could only assume that Bill being here reminded Mary more than ever of the family she'd lost. She wanted to say something, but even if she didn't have a head full of her own problems, this was hardly the time to have that chat; her father was holding Oliver's excited interest with another tale.
Regardless, her mother spoke quietly to her from across the table. “You seem a lot perkier today.”
Beth looked at her and smiled. “I feel a lot better.”
“Back to school tomorrow, then?”
“Hmm, yeah,” said Beth slowly. The air had changed. Her father had almost stopped in the middle of his story; he continued slowly, but the words had lost their impact. Oliver stirred at the change of pace and Beth felt her father look at her, for while his words were meant for Oliver his burning glare was solely for Beth.
Have I said the wrong thing? Beth wondered. Why else would he scowl at me? He doesn't want me to go to school tomorrow.
Beth broke eye contact and stared down through the table. “I mean … maybe. I'm still feeling a little tired.”
“What, fatigued?”
“I'm sure it's not that, but I should perhaps stay home just in case.”
Beth was all too aware that Mary's focus was now on her. Her glare was almost as uncomfortable as Bill's. She could feel the judgment amplify the shame of abusing her mother's trust. Yet her mother seemed the least affected by her statement.
* * *
It wasn't long after all the dishes had been washed and put away that Oliver, tired from his unexpectedly busy day, went to bed. He made no fuss aside from a denied request for one more war story, and even then seemed eager to finally return to his own room and his own bed. He had Mary to thank, for the only words she'd spoken all evening were to accept Beth's bedroom floor as her new bed. She went up with Beth's mother to help lay blankets on her floor. But while Lynne soon came back down, Mary didn't. It was just Beth with her parents.
Her foster parents.
Her father sat on one armchair listening to the wireless while her mother sat in the other, deep in concentration over her needlework. Beth slumped at the kitchen table, staring into what was such a familiar scene. But it felt false—a copy. A living photograph of how things used to be. The small window of joy she'd felt at the beginning of the meal had long since gone. She sat now with a light yet permanent anxiety.
Her father leaned to one side and pulled out a crumpled packet of cigarettes. Beth's eyes widened as he put the packet to his mouth and then pulled it away, leaving a white stick between his lips. From the other pocket he pulled a box of matches and struck one. Her mother cleared her throat. “Yes, yes,” said her father, blowing the match out before struggling up onto his wooden crutches. He hobbled past Beth and went out through the back door.
It took Beth all of two seconds to decide to follow.
Outside, the air was warm. There was still blue left in the sky, but not enough to light a house. The blackout blinds inside were down and the lights turned on. It was odd coming outside assuming it was the thick of night, only to find the sun still lighting the tips of chimneys.
Beth's attention was soon caught by a cloud of cigarette smoke coming from behind the corner of the house. She walked around and leant against the wall next to her father, but soon moved to the other side to avoid the revolting and overpowering stench. “I didn't know you smoked.”
“Used to. Before Oliver was born. You were probably too young to remember.”
“Why have you started again?”
“Impossible not to in the army.” Her father put the stick between his lips and the end glowed.
“The other night,” Beth began.
Her father shushed her.
“So it did happen then?”
“We'll talk about this tomorrow,” her father whispered. “Your mother's at work, so make sure you stay home.”
Even when speaking under his breath, her father owned every word he spoke. It was an order, though this time it brought with it a heavy significance. It was all she needed as confirmation that she hadn't been dreaming.
Everything was real.
Beth shuddered at the confirmation.
“I-I need to go … to bed,” she said, walking slightly unsteadily around her father and through another cloud. She winced at the smell. Before she got to the back door a siren in the distance started to whir into life, and within seconds another joined in from a few streets away.
Behind her, Beth's father threw his cigarette to the ground and hobbled around the corner. “Get yourself into the shelter,” he said, struggling past.
“But Ollie. And Mum and Mary.”
Her father glared back. “Elizabeth.”
Another order had been given. As he went inside the house, Beth went down the steps into the shelter and lit the lamp, making sure everything was out of the way to receive the rest of the family.
Within a minute or two they were all huddled together on the two lower bunks, hoping the raid would be just as quick as the night before. With Beth's father in the shelter it immediately made the place seem smaller than usual, and Beth didn't fancy the thought of five of them sleeping in such a cramped space. I take it back, she immediately thought. We have more room than most.
After what felt like forever, the sirens stopped and the shelter was quiet. They all waited for the first bomb to drop.
“How are you feeling, Beth?” asked her mother.
Beth glanced at her father, sitting next to his wife on the opposite bunk. His glare told her everything. She winced slightly and stretched her neck for good effect. “I've been better. I'm just really tired. This raid won't help.”
“You really do need to get yourself to school,” her mother said. “I'm sure once you're there it'll do you the world of good.”
“Yeah, I know. I want to go, but the way I'm feeling now I'm not sure I'd take anything in. Another day in bed, and then I'll try going on Friday.”
Beth could see the concern in her mother's eyes. “Maybe I should stay home tomorrow,” Lynne said. “I can ask Dr. Hawkins to make another visit.”
“No!” said Beth, a little too forcefully. “It's really nothing. I am feeling better every day, just not quite good enough to go to school.”
Her mother looked at her with suspicion. “Well, hopefully the results will be back tomorrow. Then we can see what's what.”
Her father was clearly listening intently and Beth saw the unwanted surprise in his eyes. “Results?” he asked.
“Yes. Of Beth's latest blood sample.”
“What blood sample?”
“The one he took on Monday. The day she woke up.”
Bill's surprise changed to anger and worry. He looked straight back at Beth. “You didn't tell me this before.”
Beth was about to answer, but when her mother spoke she realized the discussion was still between her parents. “I must've forgotten what with everything that's happened.”
Bill sat back and looked up at the metal roof for a second or two. He smiled with a complete lack of emotion. “Yes. It would be interesting to see what this is all about.”
“The doctor thinks it might be a new form of anemia,” mused Beth's mother.
“Really? And you say these results will come through tomorrow?” her father asked.
“Possibly. It depends how busy Dr. Hawkins has been. Now that Beth's no longer in critical condition her case won't be at the top of the pile.”
Beth's father crossed his arms and nodded.
A bang echoed in the distance.
* * *
Beth opened her eyes to a bright room. It took a few seconds for her brain to work and recap, as if a recording were being played back to her in order to bring her up to speed. She propped herself up on an elbow and found the mattress of blankets beside her bed vacant. Mary had evidently gotten up, opened the blind, readied herself and left the room. Beth had slept through it all. She wasn't surprised; the last thing she remembered was lying in bed staring up into the void of her ceiling. The raid had been short, but while Mary had drifted off to sleep not long after they all went to bed, Beth remained wide awake for what felt like hours. In the relative silence, with Mary's rhythmic breathing her only assurance time hadn't stood still, Beth's thoughts had been loud and frantic. She felt like she was going mad from all the absurd theories racing around her mind.
With the brightness of a new day and a few hours of rest, she felt at least a little calmed. A look at her bedside clock implied her mother had left for work and the house was empty except for her. A piece of a memory—possibly a dream—flashed through her mind.
Outside, beneath her window, someone coughed. It was her father, and no sooner had she heard him when the smell of cigarette smoke made her scrunch her nose. She had to go down at some point, to speak with him and face whatever news he had for her. But while curiosity pushed her to go, caution pulled her to stay. She heard him come back into the house, his steps uneven.
No Shelter from Darkness Page 12