Page 12 of The Stranger in Room Six
If only they’d had more time to get to know each other.
1941
Before Mabel knew it, the war had begun and Papa had left to ‘do his bit’ for King and Country. They all cried a lot then, including Annabel. Even the doll that Mama had bought her didn’t help.
Then came the planes. Night after night, they would roar over the rooftops, while sirens wailed into the evening air, sending Mabel, Annabel, Mama and Lizzie running to the bottom of the garden to hide in the shelter that Papa had built a few weeks ago.
Then one night, there were no sirens. ‘Thank goodness for that,’ her mother said.
‘But what if the planes come and we don’t hear the warning?’ cried Mabel.
‘Don’t be silly, darling. That’s the whole point of sirens. Wewillhear them.’
‘We need to go to the shelter; I just know it!’
‘Honestly, Lizzie. That girl is so dramatic. Take her there, will you, to keep her quiet. I need to carry on nursing.’
‘Please come too, Mama.’
‘There’s no need, darling, I promise.’
Mabel and Lizzie sat in the shelter ‘twiddling their thumbs’, as her maid called it. ‘I’m meant to be meeting my young man,’ she complained. ‘I’ll be late at this rate and …’
Then it came. The sound of planes.
The maid’s voice was shaky. ‘For the love of God. Where are the sirens?’
‘Mama! I need to get her.’
Lizzie clung to her. ‘You can’t go out, miss. You’ll get killed.’
Her voice was interrupted by crashing noises, screams. The din outside made Mabel’s ears ring.
When it finally ended, the two of them crept out, hand in hand, too shocked to speak. Houses had been reduced to rubble. Bonfires lit the night sky, while children yelled and adults wept. Their neighbour was clawing through bricks, screaming out her husband’s name.
‘Where’s our home?’ Mabel whispered.
‘Gone,’ said Lizzie in a voice that didn’t sound like hers.
‘Where are Mama and Annabel?’
But the maid didn’t answer.
‘WHERE ARE MAMA AND ANNABEL?’
‘God in heaven,’ whispered Lizzie. ‘They must be buried under all this.’
Frantically, Mabel tried to lift some rooftiles. ‘Help me,’ she called out. ‘They’re underneath. I know it.’
Side by side they worked, moving slabs, or trying to because most were too big and heavy. Around them, others were doing the same. Shouting. Screaming. Quietly sobbing. Names were being called. Joan. Tom. Harry …
‘Mama!’ screamed Mabel. ‘Annabel!’
Men wearing uniforms arrived. A grey-faced man was being hauled out, limp and floppy.
‘Don’t look, miss,’ pleaded Lizzie.
But she’d already done so. It was their neighbour.
