in my department, she thought, and flung the blanket off. She sat up and reached for her shoes, but before she could put them on, Marjorie came in carrying a cup of tea and a parcel. “Did you manage to sleep for a bit?” she asked.
“Yes,” Polly lied. “I feel a good deal better. I’m ready to come back up to the floor now.”
Marjorie looked at her measuringly. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. You’re still looking very peaky.” She handed Polly the tea. “You need to rest, and besides, there’s no need to. We’re not at all busy.”
“Has anyone been in asking for me?” Polly interrupted.
“You mean from the ARP or Civil Defence? No, no one’s been here. Did they have to dig you out?” Marjorie asked curiously, and Polly realized they thought her boardinghouse had been bombed.
“No, it wasn’t where I lived,” Polly tried to explain. “It was the shelter. At St. George’s. They had a shelter in the basement where I spent the raids. I wasn’t there—”
But if she hadn’t tried to go to the drop, if she hadn’t been caught in the tube station—or if she’d gone through to Oxford earlier in the week to check in—she would have been there with them when the parachute mine exploded, when the church came crashing down, crushing—
“How lucky you weren’t there,” Marjorie was saying.
Lucky, Polly thought. “You don’t understand, they…” she said and had a sudden stabbing image of them sitting there in the cellar in the moment before they died: Miss Hibbard knitting, Mr. Simms petting Nelson, Lila and Viv gossiping, Bess and Irene—with her thumb in her mouth—and Trot huddled against their mother, listening to a fairy tale. “They… there were three little girls…”
“How dreadful,” Marjorie said, setting the parcel down on the floor and sitting on the cot next to Polly. “No wonder you… you really shouldn’t be here. Where do you live? I’ll ring up your landlady and tell her to come take you home.”
Home. “You can’t,” Polly said.
“But I thought you said—”
“She’s dead. Mrs. Rickett was at St. George’s. And all her boarders—Miss Hibbard and Mr. Dorming and Miss Laburnum…” Her voice faltered. “… there’s no one there to tell—”
“And that’s why you said you can’t go home. I suppose you can’t. I don’t know what happens to the roomers when a boardinghouse’s owner is killed,” Marjorie said, as if to herself. “I suppose someone else takes over… do you know if Mrs. Rickett had any family?”
“No.”
“But if they would decide to sell… And, at any rate, you can’t stay there all alone, after… Is there anyone you can go stay with? Have you any family or friends here in London?”
No, Polly thought, feeling the panic rise again. I’m all alone here, in the middle of a war, and if the retrieval team doesn’t come for me—
Marjorie was looking at her with concern. “No,” Polly said. “No one.”
“Where are your family? Do they live near London?”
“No. In Northumberland.”
“Oh. Well, we’ll think of something. In the meantime, here, drink your tea. It will make you feel better.”
Nothing will make me feel better, Polly thought, but she needed to persuade Marjorie that she was recovered enough to come back up to the floor, so she drank it down. It was weak and barely lukewarm. “You’re right, that helped,” she said, handing the cup to Marjorie, and attempted to stand up, but Marjorie stopped her.
“Miss Snelgrove said you were to rest,” she said firmly.
“But I’m feeling much better,” Polly protested.
Marjorie shook her head. “Shock takes people in odd ways. Mrs. Armentrude—she’s my landlady—her niece was on a bus that got hit, and Mrs. Armentrude said she seemed perfectly fine, and then an hour later went all white and shaky. She had to be taken to hospital.”
“I’m not in shock. I’m only a bit banged up, and I want—”
“Miss Snelgrove said you were to rest,” Marjorie repeated, “and that I was to give you this.” She handed Polly the parcel. It had perfectly even ends, and the string around it was taut and tied in a precise bow.
“Is this to practice wrapping on?” Polly asked.
“No, of course not,” Marjorie said, looking at her oddly. “You are shocky, no matter what you say. Here.” She took the package back from Polly. “Let me open it for you.”
It was a black skirt. “Miss Snelgrove said it cost seven and six, but that you’re not to worry about paying her the money and the ration points till you’re on