before the movie outing, there is a major attack. A hundred and fifty tons of bombs are dropped, most of them on Southbank and the Docklands.
The bombs are mixed, but most are incendiaries. London burns. The Rescue Squad must wait hours for the firemen to bring the flames under control. Wild feels powerless. Finch and Duncan sleep. Mia and Julian talk until Finch wakes just long enough to tell them to shut up.
There is injury on the streets. People are dead or badly burned. Once the worst of the flames has been put out, the squad is summoned to assist in the recovery of valuables and bodies. Are valuables first on the war list?
A one-armed Wild serves tea (slowly), while Julian is asked to shadow Duncan and Frankie in search of bodies. But he can’t. Because he can’t take his eyes off Mia who is searching for valuables. She’s supposed to be getting out blankets and helping to bandage the wounded, but instead she is climbing into a ruined house to get something for someone. Julian can’t concentrate on what’s under his own feet because he is watching her so anxiously. Asking Duncan to give him five minutes, he walks over to stand behind Mia, who is balancing herself precariously on an end of a charred beam to get inside the house.
“Mia, stop.”
She turns to see him behind and below her. “What are you doing here? I’m fine.”
Julian blinks, the memory and the real girl colliding in his eyes. Is she Mirabelle at the peaceful Crystal Palace on a ladder? Or is she Mia in the midst of a disaster? Placing his firm hands on her slender legs, just below her hips, Julian stops her from moving. This isn’t Victorian London. This is war. “I’m serious, stop,” he says, giving her thighs a light squeeze. “Look.” He points up at the ashy window frames above them, teetering above the ripped-out floors, at the roof breaking off in patches.
“I’ll duck.” She smiles.
He shakes his head.
“I’ve been inside a hundred houses like this,” she says. “This one isn’t too bad.”
“It is bad,” he says, “and your luck is going to run out.”
“What, right now?”
Before Julian can nod, the beam she is standing on breaks. Gasping, she totters backwards and falls. He catches her. Like a see-saw, the half-burned crosspiece flies up and ricochets toward her. Julian has barely a picosecond to turn his shoulder to cover her before the beam smashes into his back, knocking them both to the ground, him on top of her.
Wild is the first one to run over, yelling for Finch and Duncan. “I’m fine,” Julian says. “Mia, you okay?” She is still underneath him. She grunts, her mouth full of soot. Duncan moves the charred timber, and he and Wild pull Julian and Mia out, helping them to their feet. Though he said he was fine, Julian is having trouble standing. A three-inch nail got jammed in his calf when the beam fell on him. He yanks the nail out, fleetingly hoping the tetanus shot he got when he came back from Mary in 1603 is still good.
Finch looks unhappy instead of relieved. “Are you all right, dove?” he says to Mia, pulling her away from Julian. “Did he hurt you when he fell on top of you like that? You should be more careful,” he says brusquely to Julian. “You could’ve hurt her.”
“Finch, don’t be an arsehole,” Wild says. “Did you even see what happened? He wasn’t chatting her up, he was . . .”
“I’m just saying,” Finch says. “What’s the point of hurting the people you’re trying to help?”
“Don’t listen to him, Jules, he’s a pillock,” Duncan says.
“He didn’t hurt me, Finch,” Mia says. “That beam would’ve hit me in the face if he hadn’t stepped in front of me.”
“I’m just saying . . .”
“What are you saying, Finch?”
Duncan and Wild support Julian as he limps to the HMU, his arms around their shoulders. Mia runs after them. While Sheila cleans and bandages his wound and confirms that his shoulder blade is not broken, Julian listens to Mia outside the medi truck arguing with Finch.
“Why are you standing here, dove? If you’re not hurt, as you say, why don’t you go . . .”
“I’m not going anywhere, Finch. I’m waiting for him to be done.”
“Why? There’s so much that still needs to be . . .”