The front door had a glass panel towards the top, crisscrossed with brown tape against bomb blasts, and with one corner cracked since a raid last spring. She could pick out the silhouette of a figure, taller than her but not as tall as the Banham brothers. She was none the wiser.
Peggy could not have been more surprised at the man in unfamiliar uniform who stood there as she opened the door.
‘Well, hello, Peggy. Remember me?’ He smiled broadly and swept off his olive-coloured cap.
‘James?’ She could scarcely believe her eyes. She had heard nothing from the young soldier after their night in the dance hall, which at first had surprised her, but then she assumed anything could have happened. He could have been stringing her along – plenty did. He could have met another girl he liked better. He might have been killed in training or combat. You could drive yourself mad thinking about the what-ifs. It was better not to think at all.
‘That’s right. Ain’t you going to invite me in?’
Peggy could see at least one set of net curtains was twitching in the houses across the narrow road. Well, this will give the old gossips something to talk about, she thought.
‘Yes.’ She smiled back at him, remembering what lovely eyes he had. ‘Yes, of course. Come on through.’
‘I’m sorry to turn up all of a sudden,’ he said, as she took him into the small kitchen. The front parlour was too suffocating and formal. She didn’t know how they did things in the States. ‘You must have thought I forgot you, not writing to you like we said.’
‘Well …’ Peggy felt caught out. After all, she hadn’t written to him either. She had felt that would be too forward. She didn’t need to go chasing after any old soldier on scant acquaintance; she had her pride, which God knew had been dented enough. If he wanted to contact her first, that would be a different matter.
‘See, I mislaid your address,’ he rushed in, hastening to make things right. ‘I thought I had it tucked away safe and all, but when I came to look I couldn’t find it. You got to believe me, Peggy, I was real keen to write to you.’ He hesitated and she sensed he meant it. She relented a little.
‘I’ll put the kettle on, shall I?’
He looked at her blankly.
‘To make tea. You do drink tea?’
He laughed. ‘Sure I do. Yes please. Got to have a cup of tea in a proper British home.’
‘That’s right,’ she said, wondering if this was what he thought a proper British home was like. ‘Only we don’t have much sugar. Will just milk be all right?’
‘I don’t have much of a taste for sugar,’ he said, easing the collar of his olive shirt. ‘What happened was, I must have slung my jacket down and the notebook fell out. I couldn’t find it nowhere. I searched high and low, but it wasn’t until I opened a pocket of my bag that I found it. Must have fallen in. Then they said we were coming through London at the end of our training and I thought a letter might not get here in time, so I’d take a chance and just show up.’
Peggy nodded, taking this in. Was it likely? Was he spinning her a tale? He sounded genuine, and he looked contrite.
‘Did I do right?’ he asked.
She decided to take a chance. ‘Yes,’ she said. She had the sensation that she had just crossed a line. Steadying her hands she made the tea, pouring a careful amount of fresh leaves into the warmed pot, taking the milk from the cold shelf in the back pantry, putting it into a little jug. The familiar ritual calmed her. ‘Sorry, I haven’t got any biscuits.’
‘Don’t need no biscuits.’ He smiled up at her and she could see how good-looking he was, in his army uniform. She remembered how strong his arms had felt as they moved together on the dance floor. He sipped his tea with appreciation. ‘Say, is this your place? Do you live here with your folks?’
It was the moment of truth. Of course everyone around here knew about Pete. Yet when she’d gone out dancing since his death, Peggy had never so much as mentioned him. That part of her life was closed to the servicemen she met at dances or in the pub, who thought she was looking for fun and a good time.
‘Sort of,’ she said, reaching a decision. ‘Tell you what. Let’s drink our tea and then go for a walk.’ She couldn’t talk about Pete in his own mother’s house. That felt like a betrayal. But for the first time since the news from Dunkirk had come, she felt she could confide in a stranger. ‘Then I’ll explain. Does that sound all right?’
His eyes brightened, clearly relieved that she hadn’t slung him out on his ear. ‘Sure, Peggy. Whatever you say.’
‘I’m so sorry to bother you,’ said the young woman in smart uniform. ‘I know you’ll probably have other plans for Easter Sunday afternoon, but we’re dreadfully short down at the ambulance station, so we thought we’d try the nurses’ home for backup. There’s been an accident; at least one child’s been badly hurt.’
Belinda stepped back from the large front door, which was shiny as ever in a fresh coat of navy paint to show that – no matter what the neighbourhood had been through – the nurses’ home was still in good shape. ‘It’s all right. You’d better come in and wait while I grab my bag – it’s Geraldine, isn’t it? We worked together before, with those people from the block of flats with smoke inhalation.’
The woman with the bright blue eyes nodded. ‘Clever of you to remember. And you’re … Belinda, aren’t you? I do apologise for ruining your Easter.’
Belinda shrugged. ‘I’m Jewish, actually, and I don’t celebrate it. So I’m free to come along.’ She ran up the stairs towards the upper-storey bedrooms and reappeared a minute later, now changed and with her Gladstone bag. ‘Let’s go. Where’s it happened? Do you know what we’re likely to find?’
Geraldine hurried out towards the ambulance parked at the end of Victory Walk. ‘It’s only the other side of the Downs; that’s why we got the call, as our station’s so close,’ she explained. ‘A wall collapsed, and apparently there were several kids playing on the pavement beneath. Perhaps they’d been trying to climb the wall, we don’t know, but it didn’t sound good.’
‘Oh, poor things.’ Belinda hopped into the passenger side as Geraldine swung herself into the driver’s seat and instantly started the engine, her muscular arms turning the wheel in a well-practised move. Belinda remembered that the woman had been extremely competent in the smoke inhalation incident, and was relieved that – if they were to be the only two on the scene – she would be partnered by somebody who knew what she was doing.
The far side of Hackney Downs, the big green open space a stone’s throw from the nurses’ home, was only a short distance away, and before the war it would have been an easy drive, but Geraldine had to navigate numerous potholes, keeping a fine balance between arriving at the accident as quickly as possible and yet not shaking her passenger and herself half to death on the bumps, cracks and craters in the road surface. Belinda had to grit her teeth as the vehicle shuddered along, thanking her lucky stars that the injured children weren’t further away.
It was obvious where the trouble was as they drew closer. An old brick wall had clearly given way, and the back of a shop was visible through the gap. A couple of small boys were sitting on the pavement, and leaning over the pile of bricks was an ARP warden. Belinda screwed up her eyes to try to see who it was; it wouldn’t be Stan or Billy, as they were going to be at Flo’s big dinner. It must be Brendan, their colleague, who was a stallholder at Ridley Road market. She knew he was good with children, and exhaled in a sigh of relief.
‘Ready?’ Geraldine swung the ambulance close to the kerb, her hand already on the door handle.
‘Ready,’ Belinda confirmed, picking up her leather bag and jumping out. She ran towards the bricks and then