in mock horror. He had taken her right into the shelter, past his mate who rested on his own spade to watch the performance.
‘Welcome home, Mrs Sullivan,’ he’d joked, as he had kissed her on her neck playfully and she had attempted to squirm away from his sweaty face. He had laid her on the little bunk bed then and moved close to his wife, a playful gleam in his eye.
‘Cosy, isn’t it? Might be quite intimate on those nights when you’re frightened and need to get close to your big brave husband to protect you from those scary Germans.’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘Who knows what could happen, maybe if we had another baby we could call it Anderson?’
‘Oh yes, very romantic,’ she had barked back, in a sarcastic tone. ‘With all five of us in this bed, two children and your mother if we ever managed to convince her to get into the shelter.’
‘Where there’s a will there’s a way.’ He had smiled and kissed her again.
She had heaved him off her and raced from his grip. And into the house where she had locked the back door, laughing, and then had flicked water out of the window to cool him off.
All at once she could feel the water. Coming back into the present and looking down Julia saw that the kettle was overflowing and running down the back of her hand and she hadn’t even noticed.
Diana was suddenly there, taking the kettle from Julia and placing it on the stove.
‘Come on, Julia. We can do this,’ she said softly.
Julia nodded blankly and then walked to the table, sat down and picked up the envelope. She turned it over in her hand. For some strange moment, she thought about the people who had to write these. How hard would it be to do this day in, day out? There were thousands upon thousands of these arriving every day, all over the country. Such a difficult job.
Julia slipped a finger under the flap of the envelope and tore it open. Taking a deep breath, she unfolded the piece of paper. She read it, and then again to make sure she hadn’t just imagined it. Then she jumped to her feet, her hand to her mouth.
Diana jumped up beside her. ‘Julia, what is it?’
Julia couldn’t speak. She just shook her head as tears rolled down her cheeks.
Diana grabbed the telegram from her quickly and read it, then she threw her arms around her friend.
‘Thank God. Thank God.’
Julia nodded. ‘I was so sure that it was bad news. I was so sure I was going to be planning his funeral too. They say he’s wounded,’ she said, repeating the words again so that they would sink in. ‘What does that mean, Diana?’
‘It means he’s coming home, Julia. It means he’s coming home to you.’
She nodded her head, and couldn’t believe it. John wasn’t dead, and he wasn’t missing. It didn’t say the extent of his injuries, but she imagined if they talked about him coming back, then hopefully it wasn’t too bad. But whatever it was, she didn’t care. She would nurse him and take care of him herself.
‘I must tell Agnes. And Tom!’
‘I’ll make the tea,’ responded Diana. ‘You go and tell them. She’ll be overjoyed.’
Julia raced next door, noticing once again the taped windows after the blast. When nobody answered her knock, she pulled out the key that Agnes always kept under a flower pot in the garden, and putting it into the lock, she stepped inside. She realized with a sense of guilt that she hadn’t been over to Agnes’s house in a long time, as Agnes was so often in her own house. So she never really bothered to pop over. It was such a gloomy place, always dark, and Agnes hardly ever heated it. It was as if the inside of the house reflected the inside of Agnes.
She raced down the hallway, calling her mother-in-law’s name. Then up the stairs. Maybe she was resting. But the rooms were dark, and she suddenly remembered that Agnes – who’d been babysitting – had talked about taking Tom and Abigail to the park while they were at the funeral, as it was Saturday.
She was on her way back to the stairs when something caught her eye. The spare bedroom door was open, and on the wall was something red and black. It seemed familiar to her. She knew she probably shouldn’t pry with Agnes not being there, but she