She was ready for it all to end. She’d been ready for a long, long time. Outside, planes were every-where; the ack-acks were firing and spotlights sliced through the night sky. Bombs fell and the earth trembled so they could feel it through the foundations under their feet.
‘What about you?’ said Dolly, sealing her case and standing up. She held out her hand to take back the boarding house let-ter.
Vivien smiled; her face ached and she was bone tired; she felt herself sinking under the water, towards the lights. ‘Don’t worry about me. I’m going to be fine. I’m going home.’
As she said it, an enormous explosion sounded and light was everywhere. Everything seemed to slow down. Dolly’s face lit up, her features froze in shock; Vivien glanced upwards. As the bomb fell through the roof of 24 Rillington Place, and the roof fell through the ceiling, and the bulb in Dolly’s room shattered into a million tiny shards, Vivien closed her eyes and rejoiced. Her prayers had been answered at last. There would be no need for the Serpentine tonight. She saw the twinkling lights in the darkness, the bottom of the creek, the tunnel to the middle of the world. And she was in and swimming, deeper and deeper, and the veil was right before her, and Pippin was there, waving, and she could see them all—they could see her, too, and Vivien Longmeyer smiled. After such a long, long time, she’d reached the end. She’d done what she had to do. Finally, she was going home.
Part Four
DOROTHY
Thirty-one
London, 2011
LAUREL HAD COME to Campden Grove first thing; she wasn’t sure why exactly, only she’d had a conviction it was what she must do. In her heart of hearts, she supposed she’d hoped to knock on the door and find the person who’d sent Ma the thank you card still living inside. It had seemed logical at the time; now, though, standing in the foyer of number 7—an apartment block of short-term holiday lets these days— breathing in the scent of lemon deodoriser and weary travellers, she felt rather foolish. The woman working in the small cluttered reception area looked up from behind her telephone again to ask if she was still all right, and Laurel assured her that she was. She went back to eyeing the dirty carpet and tying her thoughts in knots.
Laurel wasn’t remotely all right; in fact, she was exceedingly dismayed. She’d felt so exhilarated the night before when Ma told her about Henry Jenkins, about the kind of man he’d been. Everything had made sense and she’d felt sure they’d reached the end; that finally she understood what had happened that day. Then she’d noticed the cancellation mark on the stamp and her heart had turned a cartwheel; she’d been sure it was important—more than that, the discovery had felt personal, as if she, Laurel, was the only person who could unravel this final knot. But now, here she was, standing in the middle of three- star accommodation, at the end of a wild goose chase, with no-where to look, nothing to look for, and no one to speak to who’d lived there during the war. What did the card mean? Who’d sent it? Did any of it really matter? Laurel was beginning to think it did not.
She waved at the receptionist, who mouthed, ‘Bye-bye,’ over the phone receiver, and then Laurel went outside. She lit a cigarette and smoked it tetchily. She was fetching Daphne from Heathrow later; at least the journey wouldn’t be a complete loss. She glanced at her watch. Still a couple of hours to kill. It was lovely and warm, the sky was blue and clear, scarred only by the perfect jet streams of people going places—Laurel sup-posed she ought just to pick up a sandwich and walk in the park by the Serpentine. She drew on her cigarette and as she did, remembered the last time she’d come. The day she’d stood outside number 25 and seen the little boy.
Laurel eyed the house now. Vivien and Henry’s house: the site of his secret abuse; the place in which Vivien had endured. In a funny way, with all she’d read in Katy Ellis’s journals, Laurel knew more of life in that house than she did of the one behind her. She finished her cigarette, considering, and dropped the butt into the ashtray by the apartment entrance. By the time she’d straightened, Laurel was decided.