Page 71 of The London Girls
‘Ava!’ she screamed. ‘Ava!’
‘If she was here, I’d have seen her,’ he said. ‘Come on, let’s go and see what we can find out.’
Florence clung to him as they walked back to the ambulance and she frantically looked around, half expecting to discover her friend’s body on the road. But there was nothing, no sign of her. Jack put her in the passenger side and got behind the wheel; she pressed her nose to the window, forgetting how difficult it was for him to drive.
Ava, where are you?
Florence recognised the way she was feeling, because it was the same as when she’d lain in bed in hospital, waiting for news about her family. She’d known they were dead, but there was still thatglimmer of hope – that maybe she was wrong, that maybe they had been rescued and at least one of them had made it.
They’d gone to see George, but he wasn’t there, and so she’d left a note for him and then returned home. It was the last thing Olivia needed to deal with after everything she’d been through, and she also hated how worried her grandmother was, too.
‘Florence?’
She looked up from where she was sitting as Jack bent low. She’d almost forgotten he was there.
‘I’m going to go and see what I can find out,’ he said. ‘The hospitals are full to overflowing, but someone has to know something.’
She nodded. ‘Thank you.’
‘You stay here with Olivia, so I know where to find you.’
Florence reached out to him, and Jack took her hand, bending even lower this time as he pressed a slow, gentle kiss to her forehead before leaving.
‘Here, have this,’ her grandma said, sitting across from her and passing her one of the two cups she was holding. ‘I wish I had some sugar for you – you look like you need it.’
‘Last night,’ Florence started, as she wrapped her fingers around the mug, grateful for the warmth.
‘Last night was horrible,’ Olivia said for her, shaking her head. ‘I mean, look at it out there.’
Florence followed her gaze out of the window. London wasn’t burning any more, but she was certainly still smoking. The firefighters had worked valiantly to control it – to stop the fires from spreading any further – but it was still horrendous to see their city so broken.
‘Sometimes I wonder if it will ever end,’ Olivia said. ‘All the news from the front seems so morose, too. It’s like everyone expects that England will fall next, unless the Americans come to our aid.’
‘We’d lost a great deal more men by now in the Great War. So, unlike you young ones, I’m still feeling mighty optimistic that we’ll be victorious.’
They all sat for a long while after that, sipping their tea and lost in their thoughts about the war, until eventually Olivia stood up and went to boil more water for another pot.
‘You know, if anyone can survive a crash, it’s Ava,’ Olivia said. ‘Honestly, if you could have seen her during our training, she was just crazy. Poor George actually looked like he was going to have kittens most of the time!’
Florence smiled; she couldn’t not. It definitely didn’t surprise her to hear how reckless Ava had been.
‘I wish I could believe you, but if you’d seen the motorcycle, what was left of it, I just ...’ She let out a breath. ‘I suppose I can’t see how anyone could survive it.’
They moved their chairs slightly so they could stare out of the window, and the minutes passed slowly as they sat, both lost in thought. But a loud thump sent Florence jumping and her teacup rattling.
‘What was that?’ Olivia asked, setting her cup down and standing.
‘I don’t know, but after all those bombs, the slightest sound has me on edge.’
There was another thump, and Olivia ran to the door with her grandma hot on her heels. ‘It’s something outside, at the door.’
Florence looked around for a weapon, convinced something terrible was on the other side of the door, and she was just about to tell her grandmother what she thought when the door opened and Ava fell inside, slumped over and bleeding heavily.
‘Oh my god!’ Olivia screamed.
Florence ran forward, dropping to her knees as she quickly supported Ava’s head, panicking when she felt her fingers instantlymoisten with sticky, warm blood. It was then she noticed a man standing there, a lorry parked outside her grandmother’s house that must have belonged to him.
‘She insisted I bring her here,’ the man said, clutching his cap so tightly it looked like he was wringing it dry. ‘She wouldn’t let me take her to the hospital, I didn’t know what to do.’
