Ellie glances over at the stage and gives her fiancé a wave. ‘George has nothing to worry about. We’ve been engaged for ages.’
Thomas taps Ellie’s ring finger. ‘Why haven’t you got an engagement ring on your finger, then, maid?’
‘Oh, well, you know, the war and all that. He needs to save up some money. He works over at Mcklintock’s Chocolates. He’s in administration. He’s making his way up the ladder.’
‘Sounds like a clever fella.’
‘Oh, he is.’
‘I’ve saved up some stamps for him. Why anyone’d want to collect stamps is a mystery to me. Just pieces of paper as far as I can tell. My mam writes to beat the band. Every week I gets seven letters from her. She must be usin’ up all the ink in Newfoundland. I’ll bring the stamps next week.’
‘Next week?’ Was he expecting to see her next week?
‘Sure thing. We all wants to get away from barracks come Saturday. They’re puttin’ on trucks to bring us into town from next week. We won’t need to squeeze onto the two carriages on the train. Some fellas always get left behind. They were goin’ to have a riot on their hands if they didn’t sort it out.’
‘Well, George will appreciate that. The stamps, I mean.’
Thomas raises an ash-blond eyebrow. ‘How about you? Would you be happy to have a go on the dance floor again with a fella with two left feet?’
‘Two left feet?’ Ellie laughs. ‘You must be joking. You jitterbug better than any of the boys around here.’
‘That’s because a lot of us have family down in Boston. They brings us American records when they visits. Newfoundland’s a right crossroads of the world. All the aeroplanes heading to Europe has to refuel in Gander. They’d drop like a brick into the ocean on their way over if they didn’t. We had Carole Lombard over there in St John’s just before I signed up. The girls were all out in force hopin’ to see Clark Gable, but he didn’t show up. That’s her husband, you know. I read it in the Telegram.’
‘Ruthie would have loved to see Clark Gable.’
‘You never knows. Maybe she’ll see him here in Norwich some day.’
Ellie shakes her head. ‘Ruthie … Ruthie’s gone. Her house was hit by a bomb in July.’
Thomas squeezes Ellie’s hand. ‘I’m sorry. That’s hard.’
‘Thanks. Yes. It’s very hard.’ Ellie leans her head against the rough khaki wool of Thomas’s uniform. ‘It doesn’t seem fair.’
‘No, it’s not. We just has to keep going. That’s the choice we got.’
‘It’s why I decided to join the fire service. I couldn’t not do something.’ Ellie sighs against the khaki wool and looks up at Thomas. ‘I was studying art. I had a job helping a famous artist.’ She shrugs. ‘I gave it up. I still take an art class a couple of times a week, but it’s getting busier at the fire station. The Germans have already been over twice this month. One just missed bombing the Cathedral by a whisker.’
‘He must have been blind. A boy with a slingshot could hit that with his eyes closed.’
Ellie laughs and looks at Thomas. Ruthie was right. He has the same sandy blond hair and strong-boned face as Gary Cooper. The nose a little too long but fitting just right in his angular face. Not that it mattered, of course. It was just nice to dance with someone who knew how to, for a change. What was wrong with that?
A crash outside the building thunders through the music and the chatter, setting the paper streamers swaying. The band judders to a stop and a silence as thick as a winter quilt falls over the room. Then, a crush as the crowd suddenly surges towards the exit. Another crash outside, further up the road, followed by the whine of the air raid sirens.
Thomas grabs Ellie’s hand. ‘Not that way. There’s a cellar. The door’s at the back.’
‘No, I need to find George.’ Ellie pulls away and fights her way towards the stage. ‘George!’
A pair of arms enfold her. The familiar brown wool suit. ‘I’m here, Ellie.’
Thomas taps George’s shoulder. ‘C’mon, b’y. There’s a cellar. We’ll be safe there.’
***
Ellie sits on a wooden crate packed with wine bottles beside a large beer cask. The cellar windows are blacked out and reinforced with a crisscross of masking tape, and a single electric bulb hangs from the ceiling, throwing an eerie yellow light over the round-bellied beer casks and wooden crates of wine and soft drinks. Others have found their way to the cellar as well, and they sit together in an uneasy silence, waiting for the all-clear.
Thomas nods at the crates. ‘We’re not goin’ to go thirsty, that’s for sure.’
George squints through his glasses at Thomas’s face, lit pale yellow by the electric light. ‘How did you know there was a cellar?’
‘I always makes it my business to check these things out. Just in case.’
‘Well, I’m very glad you did.’ Ellie shifts on the crate, away from a splinter pushing through her navy skirt. ‘I wouldn’t have wanted to be squeezing into the shelter up the road with everyone else.’
George removes his glasses and tugs the handkerchief out of his breast pocket. ‘I saw your friend Charlie,’ he says as he wipes a film of dust off his glasses. ‘He said to tell you he’d gone back to Filby early on the train.’ He tucks the handkerchief back in his pocket and pushes the glasses over his nose.
‘That’s not like Charlie. He’s one for a party.’
‘He asked about Ruthie.’
Thomas nods. ‘All right, then. I see.’ He looks at Ellie. ‘He liked your friend. He talked my ear off all about her for months. He kept looking for her at the dance halls every time we came to Norwich.’
Ellie presses her lips together, willing the sob that’s forming in her throat not to spring into life. If it does, she can’t trust herself not to stop crying. She’d thought she’d cried all the tears allotted to her body, but she was wrong. They were like a perpetual spring with a source that never dried up.
The ear-splitting wail of the all-clear slices through the heavy stillness of the December night. They rise and stretch, unfolding into the pale yellow light illuminating the cellar. The revellers pick their way over the crates and beer casks and make their way up the cellar steps.
Outside, a half-moon hangs like a Christmas bauble in the twinkling sky. George holds out his hand to Thomas. ‘Thanks for your help tonight.’ His breath forms into a cloud that sits on the cold air. ‘Will you get back to Filby okay?’
Thomas shakes George’s hand. ‘No problem, George, b’y. There’s always someone happy to give a soldier a lift.’ He looks at Ellie and touches his forehead in a mini-salute. ‘See you anon. Thanks for the dance.’
Ellie watches as Thomas walks down the street, his tall figure growing smaller, his outline growing fainter, until he melds into the black winter night.
Chapter 15
Tippy’s Tickle – 13 September 2001
The screen door from the yard into Ellie’s kitchen swings open and Becca bounds into the room, the great black bulk of Rupert at her heels. She runs over to Florie, who is drying the breakfast dishes at the sink, and gives her a hug. Scampering over to the table where Ellie and Sophie are drinking coffee, she hugs them both. She pulls out a chair and sits down beside Ellie.