Carefully I slid out of bed, picked up my dress and pulled it over my head. Then I went in search of my bag and shoes. They were in the lounge. I sat on the sofa – where I remembered sitting last night – and pulled on my heels, wishing I had my stolen Converse to put on instead. I was just checking I had my phone, my door keys and my purse when Surfer Dude appeared at the bottom of the stairs wearing a pair of shorts.
‘Doing a runner?’ he said with a grin. ‘I thought maybe we could hang out today.’
Don’t be nice to me, I thought. Please don’t be nice.
‘I’ve got stuff to do,’ I lied, trying to look apologetic. I blew him a kiss. ‘Thanks for a lovely night.’
I turned towards the front door, but Surfer Dude was too fast.
‘Was that a brush-off?’ he asked.
I paused.
‘I think it was,’ I said honestly. ‘Sorry.’
He grimaced.
‘Wow,’ he said. ‘You British girls are brutal.’
I felt a bit embarrassed.
‘Look,’ I said, knowing I was about to sound completely up myself and hating it. ‘I’m on TV – at least I was – and I’ve got an image that I need to protect. This was a mistake. I can’t be here.’
Surfer Dude winced.
‘It was a lovely night,’ I said. ‘Really. And I’m sorry.’
I pulled my dress down a bit so my walk of shame wasn’t quite so shameful (who was I kidding – everyone I passed was going to know what I’d been up to) and opened the front door.
It was only when I reached the street that I realized I didn’t even know his name.
The sound of a car door slamming stirred me from my doze in the armchair. I found that increasingly these days I woke very early then snoozed in my chair whenever I sat down. This morning I’d risen before six, made myself a cup of tea, and settled down to read a book. But I’d fallen asleep almost immediately. My tea was still warm, though, I thought, touching the back of my hand to my mug, so I hadn’t been dozing for long.
Ever the nosey neighbour, I rose from the chair to see who was slamming doors at this early hour. It was my new tenant – Amy. She was leaning into the window of a taxi, paying a fare. I watched as she handed over the cash, then turned away to go down to her flat. She was wearing a sparkly 1920s-style dress and in her hands she had a pair of high heels and a similarly sparkly clutch bag. She looked very beautiful, I noted, but very overdressed for a Sunday morning in Clapham. She’d obviously been out all night and I hoped she’d had some fun – she’d struck me as someone who was in need of fun when I’d spied on her the other day. I smiled as she tiptoed down the stairs to her front door. She definitely reminded me of myself, I thought once again. At least, she reminded me of the old me. The one I’d once been …
1944
I hurried through the camp, stopping anyone I recognized to ask if they’d seen Donnie. I had no idea where he’d gone. His friend, Paul, had told me he’d had a letter from home and had seemed upset. So now I was worried he’d had some bad news and I wanted to find him to see if I could comfort him.
I skirted the edge of a garage and came face to face with another of Donnie’s friends, Rog.
‘Have you seen Donnie?’ I asked.
Rog nodded.
‘Saw the back of his head,’ he said, pointing to a storage tent. ‘He was going in there.’
‘Thank you,’ I said, giving his arm a squeeze.
I dashed into the tent and let the heavy canvas door drop behind me. It was dark in there and it took a while for my eyes to adjust.
‘Donnie,’ I whispered. ‘Donnie, are you in here?’
There was a noise from the back of the tent, so I carefully picked my way towards the far end. The tent was full of bags of uniforms, piles of boots, sandbags – anything and everything. And at the back, sitting on a pile of scratchy grey blankets, was Donnie. He was holding a letter and crying, and when he saw me he turned his face away so I wouldn’t see his tears.
My heart ached for him so much I felt his pain like it was my own. I sat down next to him and gathered him into my arms and he cried and cried onto my neck.
‘What is it?’ I whispered, kissing his tears away. ‘What’s happened?’
Donnie gave a sort of hiccupping sob.
‘Gene,’ he said.
I knew who Gene was. He’d been Donnie’s best friend since they started school. They’d gone all the way through school together but joined up separately – Gene into the navy and Donnie the army. Donnie talked about him a lot and had told me how much he wanted us to like each other. Now my stomach twisted with sadness.
‘Is he …?’
Donnie wiped his face with the heel of his hand and handed me the letter.
‘Torpedo,’ he said. ‘The ship sank. No survivors.’
I scanned the letter – it was from Donnie’s mum and broke the bad news in such a sweet, sad way that I felt tears pricking my eyelids, too.
‘Oh, darling,’ I said, pulling him closer to me. ‘What a sad, sad loss.’
‘This damn war,’ Donnie said. ‘You know, sometimes I don’t even know why we’re fighting.’
I didn’t know what to say. I’d been a schoolgirl when war broke out, and it was so much a part of my life that I couldn’t remember what it was like before. But I was lucky. I had no brothers to lose, and my dad, who’d seen action in the Great War, had passed away before war broke out this time.
Donnie was crying again.
‘I just want it to be over,’ he said. ‘I just want it to end.’
‘I know,’ I said, kissing him again.
‘I don’t want to go to France,’ Donnie said. ‘It’s awful there. It’s really, really awful. I’m scared, Cora.’
Now I was crying, too.
‘Oh, my darling, darling boy,’ I said. ‘I’m scared, too. I’m so scared. But we’ve got this time together. We need to make the most of it.’
Donnie nodded.
‘And when you’re in France, I want you to think about me all the time,’ I said, kissing his face all over. ‘I want you to think about the hours we’ve spent together, and the way you make me laugh more than anyone else, and the way you make me happier than anyone else ever has.’
Donnie kissed me deeply and I shivered in pleasure.
‘And the way your kisses turn my legs to jelly,’ I said weakly.
I began unbuttoning his shirt. Donnie stopped my