Prologue 1940 They left early, when it was still dark--before the lady who was meant to be looking after them woke up. They walked for miles and miles, through fields and woods, and along narrow twisting lanes banked by hedgerows. They didn''t have a map, and the signposts that could''ve helped them were blacked out. It was common knowledge that the enemy must be thwarted at all costs. As dawn broke, they shared the hunk of bread they''d stolen from the pantry. They''d had to be quick--quick as lightning--the boy grabbing it when no one was looking, the girl hastily shoving it under her sweater. They worked as a team. They were a team, having grown up together since the girl had been orphaned, years and years earlier, and taken in by the boy''s family.
Swallowing the last of the crumbs, they pressed on. To pass the time, they took turns whistling--they were good at whistling--and they tried to outdo each other, showing off their prowess, with wilder and wilder and more complicated tunes. At last, they came to a bus stop, and a bus that took them to Tonbridge, and then a train. Arriving at Charing Cross, they turned out their pockets. Three chestnuts, two marbles, and a hard candy. But no more money. "We''ll have to walk," said the girl. Neither of them minded.
They would''ve walked to the ends of the earth if they had to. They were going home. It was dusk now, and the scents of London filled the air: soot, cabbage, chips and vinegar--smells that followed them up St. Martin''s Lane, along Tottenham Court Road, and up again to Camden Town. Other things were familiar too: the trolleys rattling by, the carts and the cars, the shops still open for business even though some of them were boarded up. But it wasn''t the same. For a start, there were people walking about in uniform, and some of them were wearing tin hats. "Wardens," said the girl authoritatively.
She was knowledgeable. Read the newspapers, knew everything. "They help people find shelter when the bombs come." The air raids hadn''t seemed real when they were in the countryside, but now they could see the evidence: great gaps where buildings had crumpled in on themselves; glimpses of streets where on one side there were mounds of rubble, and on the other side houses still standing, but with all the windows blown out. In a house on one corner, a hole gaped so big, you could actually see straight inside. The wallpaper was a pretty rose print, pale pink blooms with green leaves, just like the girl had in her own bedroom. She''d see it for herself soon. By the time they had climbed the hill to Hampstead, their feet were dragging.
"Nearly there," said the boy as they skirted past the houses that faced the heath. It was still warm, right at the tail end of September, and the front gardens were a mass of Michaelmas daisies and blowsy roses. The girl breathed deeply. She could already see the lamp by the gate. She remembered how its golden light glinted on the ivy and the laurel bushes. For the first time in ages, her chest relaxed. They had just reached the drive when the wailing rose up. It started low and got higher and higher.
It sounded eerie, like the shriek of a banshee, making the hairs on the back of the girl''s neck prickle and stand on end. "I think that means an air raid ." she said, her chest tightening again. "We''ll be quick," said the boy firmly--now that he was here, he couldn''t wait any longer. "Let''s get him first and then we''ll surprise her." The boy rushed along the side of the house toward the back garden. The girl could almost feel his joyful anticipation. She waited, listening for the happy cries that would make the long arduous day worth it, but instead the sirens wailed again.
She glanced up at the house, properly worried now. It was still dark. "He''s not here!" burst out the boy as he reappeared. "She got rid of him!" "She wouldn''t do that, silly. Go back and check in the shed," said the girl. "Perhaps--" High above came a droning sound. The girl looked up and for the first time felt a sharp blade of fear. "Quick! We need to go in," she shouted.
They would go down to the cellar. They''d be safe there. She darted toward the house, trusting the boy to follow her. The droning was deafening now, like a swarm of bees. She heard a rumbling noise, like faraway thunder, and then, much, much closer, a swish and a dull thwump followed by a shudder. A wall of air rushed at her, lifting her up and flinging her to the ground. She lay quite still. Everything was choked in black: billowing clouds of smoke in her eyes and her nose and her mouth, making her cough and splutter.
A shower of dust and debris rained down. Fingers of fire leaped into the sky. Cinders floated in the air. It was like being caught in a terrifying dream with dancing devils and hellish furnaces and . Except it wasn''t a dream. It was real. Much later, she got to her feet. The sky had turned a dirty, bruised yellow.
Her ears were ringing. Something very, very bad had happened. "I can''t see you, where are you?" the girl called to the boy. But there was no answer.