Each plate had the usual rationed portion of home grown vegetables and a small slice of beef with a dollop of gravy. Mary puzzled at Beth's prediction being spot on, before taking her place next to Oliver. After Bill led the family through a quick prayer, they all dug in.
“So children,” said Lynne, initiating the table banter. “One more week left.” Mary just assumed the question was naturally intended for Beth and Oliver and kept on eating. “It'll be nice to have some help around the house”, she continued. “You can do all the shopping! Ooh, and the cleaning.” She grinned at both her children.
Oliver looked up like a scared rabbit. “Um, Dave and Charlie are, they need me to, um, I …”
Mary smiled at Oliver's fumbling.
“Well thought-out, Ollie,” said Beth. “Mary's got a good excuse though. His name is—ow!”
Mary kicked Beth lightly under the table. She didn't want this level of attention. Despite what Beth had said, she was still a little wary about her place in the household.
“Mary doesn't need an excuse,” said Beth's mother. Mary's eyes widened at the ominous sounding statement. “She did plenty of housework when you were sick, Beth. And she sat with me by your bedside every night.” She looked at Mary and smiled. “You can do whatever you want for the holidays.”
To Mary's amazement, Mr. Wade chipped in. “I agree. From what I've heard you deserve to have some fun.”
Mary glanced at Beth who was looking back at her with a smiling “told-you-so” expression. Immediately the room seemed warmer, the atmosphere more comfortable and jovial, and Mary had a flutter of butterflies at the implication that she wasn't only welcome, but appreciated.
Suddenly, she wanted to stay.
NINETEEN
OUR LADY OF THE ASSUMPTION was the closest Catholic church to Moravian Street that was still standing—and still open. Lynne knew that the children pretended they went to Sunday Service in her absence, and while she pretended to believe them, it was more like a running joke. But today there was no excuse. It was the first Sunday that her whole family would be able to attend church together in a very long time, and Lynne felt she owed Him her thanks. Both her husband and daughter had been delivered to her—one from war, the other from Death's doorstep.
What she hadn't expected was Mary's attendance. Lynne was well aware of the Connell's stance on religion, and she wasn't the kind of person to force her beliefs upon others. So when Mary was ready to leave the house with the rest of them, Lynne concealed her surprise, smiled and welcomed her along.
They filed in through the large stone arch and began to walk down the middle of the nave between pews, but Lynne got the feeling that one of their party was missing. She turned and saw Beth standing at the entrance, looking up to the heavens. She was a silhouette against the bright day behind her. Then, with deliberation, she stepped over the threshold into God's house, her eyes firmly shut. She opened them warily, one at a time, as if she was expecting to find herself in Hell. She looked down at her feet, sighed in relief and then caught up.
“What on earth was that all about?” Lynne asked.
“Nothing,” said Beth.
Lynne looked shrewdly at her. “What have you done?”
“Nothing!”
“Beth?”
She shrugged. “I told a lie.”
“About?”
“About …” she hesitated, thinking. “About cleaning my room. I didn't dust. Sorry.”
It sounded like a lie, but with the congregation taking their pews, Lynne overlooked it. With the three children sitting between her and her husband, she felt humbled that, in the midst of war, she could enjoy a Sunday with all of them.
She cherished the moment, for it was impossible to know how long it would last.
* * *
With Bill's assurance that he could take care of the ration shopping, Lynne worked her first Monday in over a year. It would be a while yet before her husband was fit to start earning money again. The extra work was a welcome chore. It was all the more surprising when, on a day that she wasn't known to be in, Dr. Hawkins tracked her down.
“Ah, there you are Nurse Wade.”
“Doctor?” Something was wrong. He looked more agitated and fidgety than normal.
“I finally got around to doing your daughter's blood work.”
“And?”
“Not here,” he said.
Lynne frowned at him. “Doctor, whatever's going on?”
“Please, come with me.” He touched her on the elbow before he began walking down the corridor.
Lynne followed urgently. “Dr. Hawkins, please—tell me what's going on.”
“Something very odd. Do you remember when you thought one of your daughter's samples got contaminated?”
“Of course.”
“It appears to have happened again.”
Lynne stopped dead. Dr. Hawkins halted as she looked at him. “So it was your fault,” she said. “And now you've done it again.” She felt her anger rise.
“No. I don't believe either sample got contaminated. Please … you must come and see for yourself.” The doctor marched off, glancing back and prompting Lynne to follow.
She quickly caught up. “What are you saying?” she asked as they turned down another corridor.
“In both instances your daughter's blood has contained two different types. And I'm not talking about type O and type AB or whatever. I'm saying one type is human, and the other … isn't.”
“Is this some sort of practical joke?”
Dr. Hawkins cringed. “I would never be so callous.”
“Then what?”
“I think she's had some kind of cell conversion.”
Lynne scoffed. “Doctor, please. We both know that's not possible.”
“Which is why you must come and see for yourself.”
They turned the last corner and Hawkins took out his keys, hurriedly trying to enter his office. He put the key in the lock and turned it, but the door was already unlocked. “I thought I locked this,” he mumbled, before turning the knob and inviting Lynne in.
She was becoming ever more suspicious of the doctor's behavior.
Hawkins searched his desktop and picked up a brown paper folder, handing it to her before going over to one of the large fridges. She opened the folder and scanned over the results. “I assure you,” said Hawkins, opening the fridge. “Even if the sample was contaminated, the results wouldn't look like that.”
“Like what?” asked Lynne. “I'm not quite sure what I'm looking at.”
Hawkins stepped back over to her and peered over her shoulder. “Come now, Nurse Wade. For example, that—” His finger pointed at the piece of paper. He started to murmur, “No, no.” He snatched the piece of paper from the folder and held it out before him, frantically looking up and down the results. “This isn't possible, this is—” He slammed the paper on the worktop, making Lynne jump and feel uncomfortable. The doctor walked back over to the open fridge, noisily shuffling glass beakers and bottles around. They clattered so much Lynne was expecting a breakage. “It's gone!”
Lynne picked up the results from the worktop. “These seem perfectly fine to me.” She said it calmly, hoping it would have a similar effect on the increasingly erratic doctor.
Hawkins spun around. “They're not her results.”
“But her name is at the top, and your signature is at the bottom.”
“No! I didn't write that.” He shook his head. “Someone's tampered with it. Someone's been here. The door … I know I locked it.”
Lynne steadily put the paper back on the worktop. “Doctor. It's okay. I'm sure it's just a mistake. We all make them—heaven knows we're pushed to our limits here.”
But Hawkins just kept on shaking his head. “Someone's been here, I'm sure of it.” He looked at Lynne. “I need another sample.”
“Excuse me?”
“This could be a major discovery, Lynne. Please, I need another sample of your daughter's blood.”
“Nurse Wade.” Lynne made her fading patience clear. “And I'm not sure that's a good idea.”
“But, Nurse.”
“Dr. Hawkins, please. I'm very grateful for your help over the past few weeks, but my daughter is fine now and we know what the problem is. If she gets ill again, we'll simply perform another transfusion. I'm sorry, but I won't have my daughter become a guinea pig for a discovery that's more likely an accidental occurrence.”
Hawkins looked set to explode. He took a few deep breaths and, almost creepily, tried to smile. “Of course, Nurse. Sorry. I wouldn't want to put Elizabeth through any more hardship.” He looked like he was about to continue, but instead just smiled.
Lynne took her leave of the doctor. She'd been careful with her wording, but were her daughter to require another transfusion, she would do it herself. Dr. Hawkins had been a pleasant man, but it seemed the slim chance of making his name famous had changed him.
Lynne glanced back at him from the door as she left, gazing worriedly at his messy laboratory. “Goodbye, Dr. Hawkins.”
TWENTY
“BACK TO NORMAL.”
The term sounded like a joke and yet it was the best way Beth could describe her past week.
She stood in the yard at the front of the school building. It was Saturday, just past midday, and school was finally over for the term. Normally children would be walking away, eager to put the prison-like building behind them, but when it was the last day everybody seemed to linger around. Beth scanned through scattered children, clustered into small groups. She spotted Mary standing with Gibson and was about to wander over to them when Susan and Angela swooped in from the side, stepping in front of her. Julie trailed behind them.
“Better watch yourself, slave girl,” said Susan, looking down at her.
Beth sighed and stepped to the side to go around. Susan matched her and blocked her way. It was amusing how important Susan believed she was, how big a role she thought she played in Beth's life. But compared to the rest of her problems, Susan was like a fly buzzing around: nothing more than a mild irritation.
“What are you smiling at, Brownie?” Susan gave her a hard prod in the shoulder.
“Leave it out, Suze,” said Julie from behind them. “C'mon, let's just go.”
Beth jerked her head in surprise, but Susan ignored the plea. “Our street's off limits to you,” she warned. “Me and my friends better not catch you anywhere near it.”
That's hardly going to be a problem, thought Beth. Norton Street and its surroundings were in the opposite direction of her house, and it was something Beth had always been thankful for.
“Suze, c'mon.” It was Julie again. Beth had to hide her curiosity as to why Julie wasn't following Susan's lead like a good little girl. Apparently, Susan was wondering the same thing.
“What the bloody hell is wrong with you?” she demanded.
“Nothing. Only, she did save your life an’ all.”
Susan burst out laughing. “No, she never! There wasn't even any bombs. It wasn't even a proper bloody raid.”
“You didn't know that at the time,” countered Julie. “And neither did she.”
Susan's smile faded and she faced Julie straight on. Beth could see Julie's posture stiffening slightly. “Whose side are you on, anyway?” snarled Susan.
Angela followed her shepherd's lead and confronted Julie, and now both had their backs to Beth. She saw no reason to stick around. Walking away, she could still hear Susan's raised voice admonishing Julie. To Julie's credit she took all the spit-edged words without apologizing or changing her opinion. Susan and Angela backed down and finally walked away, leaving Julie standing by the gates.
“Bitch,” said Julie in a loud whisper.
Beth stopped and turned around. She was a good ten yards away from Julie. “Rot in hell,” she said before spinning around and marching off.
Beth looked over at the departing Susan and Angela, amazed that neither had turned back in response to Julie's insults. Surely they heard that? Instead they just carried on walking, and Beth just about picked out their voices over everyone else's, calling Julie a traitor and planning to give her the same welcome as they would Beth should she go near their street.
Beth turned back toward Mary and Gibson, but she didn't start walking. Instead she just concentrated on the sounds around her and tried to pick out their voices. Just theirs. And then she matched the words she could hear with the movement of their lips.
She gasped.
From an early age her mother had always commented on her hearing, noticing how she managed to listen in on private conversations happening in the kitchen while she was upstairs in her room. Recently, Beth had noticed how faraway sounds seemed louder than she'd expected. Now it seemed she was honing her acute sense. She looked around at the dwindling groups of children around her, listening in to what they were saying. It wasn't like the wireless, where she could turn a knob and only hear one conversation at time. She could hear everything going on around her, but she could just about ignore the sounds she didn't want to hear.
She focused again on Mary and Gibson, realizing it wasn't the best time to interrupt; it sounded like it might be a goodbye what with Gibson leaving London soon.
And as she started on her way home, she heard the unmistakable sound of a kiss behind her.
* * *
Beth walked in through the front door. Already her father had become part of the furniture.
“Hi, Dad.”
“Afternoon.”
“Where's Mum?”
“Over the road, at Joan's.”
Beth nodded and took the armchair opposite her father. She knew Mary would likely be a while and Oliver would be getting up to no good. Still, she felt like time was of the essence. She rubbed her neck and her father looked up from his paper.
“I think I need some more bl-blood.” The word still caught in her throat.
“Already?” her father asked. “I thought we'd got the quantity just right for a weekly …” he searched for a word, “… dose.”
“Perhaps.”
“So why do you need more, then?”
Beth sat up straight and rubbed her lower back. She felt herself blush and looked down at the ground. “I'm, uh, losing a little extra this week.”
Her father scowled and Beth could see the cogs ticking. Suddenly his face brightened and she knew it had clicked. “Of course. Yes. That makes sense.” He nodded. “It shouldn't be a problem.” Then he pondered for a second or two. “Every four weeks is it?” He sounded so clinical.
“Um. No, actually.”
“I'm sorry if this is embarrassing, but it would be best if I know how often it occurs so I can make arrangements.”
Beth shrugged. “I'm not sure. I thought it was five weeks, but this time it's been even longer. It's more like five and a half.”
“The interval is increasing,” her father said, mainly to himself.
“Is that normal?” asked Beth. “For me, I mean.”
“I really don't know.” He thought for a few seconds. “I wouldn't worry about it, though. I'll pop round the butcher's tomorrow, but I can't promise I'll have it tomorrow. Is that okay?”
“It's fine.” She felt her stomach as if she were hungry, even though that wasn't where the thirst seemed to set in. “I only got the first twinge of a craving today.”
Her father nodded. She was about to get up, but she couldn't hear anyone approaching the house. She didn't know how reliable her hearing was, but she was confident she'd hear footsteps before she heard the key in the door.
“Is there something else, Elizabeth?”
She was about to mention her ever-improving hearing, but thought better of it, keeping that little advantage to herself. She did, however, have something else to ask. “It's this,” she said, smiling awkwardly using only half her mouth to reveal the gap in her teeth. In the week since she'd pulled the old one out, the new tooth had grown and now half-filled the gap. Another two of the remaining
three baby canines had begun to wobble.
“What about it?” asked her father.
Beth hesitated. Was it a trick question? “It's a fang, isn't it?”
“I would assume so, yes.” He seemed too calm and relaxed about it, as if this was a normal conversation a daughter has with her father.
“Aren't people going to notice?”
“Notice what? That you have a pointed canine tooth?” He shrugged. “Everyone has pointed canines.”
“This pointed?”
“Some people, I'm sure. Besides, you'd only notice it if you were looking for it.”
“What if it grows long, though? I mean, really long?”
“Then you'll be a bit long in the tooth.” Her father chuckled at his own joke.
“Dad!”
“I don't think it will.”
“How can you be sure?” asked Beth.
“I told you, I've done my homework.” He lifted his paper back up.
Beth huffed quietly, picked up her things and went into the kitchen. She couldn't understand how her father could be so blasé about what was happening to her, when it took all her determination to keep it from eating away at her. Rubbing her back, she went to her room with a glass of water and tried to lie on her new bed of blankets on the floor, trying to find a position that would ease the aching.
TWENTY-ONE
GLOBE BUTCHERS, like many of the small shops on Globe Road, had sandbags piled up against the shop window, leaving only a small gap at the top to allow a little natural light in. The long pane of glass set in the door was crisscrossed with masking tape, behind which was a “closed” sign hanging from a yellowed tab of sticky tape. Putting his weight on his good leg with practiced ease, Bill rapped on the wooden doorframe, gradually softening to a tap from fear the glass would rattle out and smash to the floor. Through the gaps in the tape he saw his grizzled friend—a wall of a man—appear from the back. The butcher squinted, recognized him and came to open the door.
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