Page 1 of The London Girls
PROLOGUE
LONDON, 29 DECEMBER1940
Smoke curled through the air, threatening to choke Ava as she slowly opened her eyes. She reached out a hand, fumbling in the dark, clawing at the ground as she tried to drag her body from the hard road beneath her.
Where am I?
She blinked, the black skyline in the far distance punctuated by large, rising clouds of white smoke that she knew could only mean one thing.Bombs are falling on London.
The ringing in her ears was so loud she could barely think; a high-pitched scream that made it almost impossible for her to piece together what had happened.
Ava finally hauled herself up, frantic now as she realised she’d come off her motorcycle on the road and could be hit by a vehicle at any moment. The blackout meant that the roads were the most dangerous place to be as night fell, with most vehicles forced to drive without lights. She couldn’t remember what had happened, how she’d ended up on the ground, her body flung so far from her bike. Had she hit something? Had a bomb been dropped near her?
I was riding straight and then ...Her mind felt like a sieve, unable to piece together the moments that had left her on the ground.
She searched for her torch, barely able to see as she shuffled across the road. Eventually her foot connected with something hard and she bent to collect it, grateful to discover it was what she’d been looking for. She turned it on, banging it against her leg when it didn’t immediately work, and then suddenly there was a pool of light around her, illuminating the crash.There was a tree.It all came rushing back to her then: the explosion that had sent her careering sideways; the fallen tree trunk she’d seen too late; swerving across the road, her front wheel clipping the trunk and sending both her and the motorcycle flying up into the air.
Ava’s breath caught in her throat, rasping as she hurried to inspect her bike. She wiped at her face, eyes stinging as she hauled her motorcycle up, her light positioned between her teeth now, and desperately tried to start it. But it was a waste of time; the front wheel was pushed back into the frame, and even if she could have started the engine, she never could have ridden it. It was a mangled mess.
She hauled the motorcycle off the road, arms screaming in pain as she used all her strength to move it, hoping it would look salvageable come morning, and she checked the satchel across her body, sliding her hand inside to make sure the document was still there. Her head was spinning and she lifted her hand to it, wondering if perhaps she’d hit it. When her hand came away sticky with blood, she realised there was a good reason for how woozy she felt. Her head had started to pound and she was finding it difficult to balance, let alone walk, her ears still ringing and making it almost impossible to think. She stood in the dark, her light turned off now for fear of being seen from the sky as more booms echoed out, more than she’d ever heard before, and she tried to ground herself, tried to keep her feet steady as she focused on breathing in and out.
You deliver those documents, even if it kills you.
Ava had never forgotten the words relayed to them during their training, and as she set off down the road on foot, her canvas satchel firmly across her body, bombs falling behind her and wreaking havoc on the city she loved, she wondered if it was to be her last dispatch. Every time she was sent out with a memo, she knew she was carrying an order or piece of information considered crucial to the war that was highly time-sensitive; they all knew they were risking their lives every single time they set out. She’d just been lucky up until now.
She forced her legs into a run, like a newborn foal trying to gain its balance as she stumbled along, determined to do her job even if it took her all night. How much time had passed? She wracked her brain, trying to remember where she’d been, how long she’d been riding for before the crash.
Devonport. You were trying to get to the shipyards at Devonport, in Plymouth. You know the route like the back of your own hand. You can do this.
She stopped a moment, turning her light on to get her bearings again. She was still miles away, but so long as she could walk, if she could just keep moving, she could still make it before morning.I’m not going to let anyone down. I can do this.
Another boom sounded out so loudly that she felt it reverberate through her feet, the ground shuddering with the force of it as she propelled herself forward again, as she refused to accept defeat. But in that moment there was something scaring her more than the bombs; she could smell smoke, and it was becoming thick in the air, filling her nostrils, sending a shiver down her spine as she realised what was happening.
London wasn’t just being bombed. It was on fire.
If ever there was a night she was in danger of losing her life, it was tonight.
PART ONE
CHAPTER ONE
THREE MONTHS EARLIER
AVA
Ava stood in front of Norfolk House, running one palm down her tailored navy uniform to smooth any creases. She’d caught the tube and then walked from the station as she did every morning, and she wished she could have lingered a little longer in the morning sun. Two weeks ago she’d been moved from the Navy section to a temporary posting, on loan to a dashing general who had a penchant for working late into the night. The hours were long, which meant she was frequently exhausted, but she’d loved every minute – working so closely with a man like him wasn’t exactly a hardship. Her heart skipped a beat as she walked, the way it always did when she knew she was about to see him.
She squared her shoulders and entered the building, which was already a hive of activity. There were men and women from all three services stationed there and it didn’t seem to matter what time of the day she was there, it was always busy – war never slept.
‘Morning,’ someone called out as she headed for the stairs.
Ava smiled at a fellow Wren, their fashionable Women’s Royal Naval Service uniforms setting them apart from the other working women in the building. She knew it was the not-so-secret reasonwhy so many young women wanted to join the Navy – because the uniforms were so smart – and she’d heard the waiting list was a mile long now. If only she could tell them all just how much work the job actually was, it might reduce the list by half. But she knew many of the girls would still apply, simply because they weren’t likely to encounter any objection from their parents. It had certainly been that way for her; her mother loved bragging to her friends that her daughter was a Wren, and her father had been more than happy for her to join. As far as they were concerned, it was the most prestigious posting a woman in London could have.
Ava smiled to herself as she pushed open the door to the section she’d been assigned, walking through to General Armstrong’s office. She hesitated, lifting her hand to knock on the open door before entering. As he did every morning, her boss waved her in before she even had the chance to tap her knuckles against the wood, somehow sensing her presence – it wouldn’t have mattered if she’d arrived two hours early, she would bet he’d already be there.
‘Good morning, sir,’ Ava said, making her way to her desk and setting her things down, lingering just a moment longer than necessary when she felt him watching her.
‘Morning, sailor.’
