suddenly had a chilling thought that she had to prove wasn’t right. Pushing the door open, it creaked on its hinges. She looked inside the darkened room and then gasped. On the table were leaflets, booklets, all about the fifth column: the group of people that were anti-war, anti-British, and supported Hitler. Meetings, places they were getting together, and she realized with a shiver that the letter she had found in the rubble had been Agnes’s.
Was Agnes working with the enemy? That was impossible. She was an old lady. Her son was fighting in this war. There had to be some mistake. Julia continued to flick through the leaflets. ‘Why would Agnes do this?’ And then something chilling hit her. She would have to report Agnes to the authorities here. They’d probably arrest her, probably put her in prison, and suddenly her thoughts went to John. John coming home injured. John asking her to take care of his mother. How could Agnes do such a thing?
She turned to leave, and suddenly she heard a rattling at the front door. But before she could move downstairs and out the back, Agnes was on the doorstep. She seemed shocked to see Julia up there.
‘I just dropped the children off at your house. I thought you’d be there,’ she said in an accusatory tone as she climbed up the stairs to meet her halfway to where Julia had been.
‘I wanted to tell you I have some news,’ said Julia, trying to drag her thoughts back from the spare room.
‘Diana said you had something to tell me, but she thought it better that you tell me yourself. What is it? Is it John? Have they taken him as well? Is he dead like everybody else is in my life? Just like my husband? Is that it? Is that what you want to tell me?’
Julia shook her head and just held up the telegram to Agnes. Agnes scanned it, and then looked up with her piercing glare.
Could she not even be happy to know her son was alive? Julia thought to herself.
‘He’s probably wounded beyond recognition. This could mean anything. He could be broken in so many ways. His mind could’ve gone. Could be missing parts of his body. How is this good news?’
For once, she wanted to shake the woman. Shake her until she rattled. ‘Because, Agnes, it means he’s alive, and that’s all that matters.’
Agnes glanced past her up the stairs and appeared to notice that her spare bedroom door was pushed wide open. Realization crept through her, and she narrowed her eyes as if she was trying to read what Julia knew. Julia swallowed. She had to confront her. She had to. She worked at the War Office. How would this look? Besides, it couldn’t possibly be real, could it?
Agnes pushed past her on the stairs.
‘What were you doing up here in my private things?’ she snapped in a quiet, calculating tone.
‘I was looking for you. I wanted to share the good news. Agnes, what are all those leaflets in there?’
Agnes’s eyes widened, and it was as if she was now proud. She’d been found out. Instead of being upset or trying to hide it, she just walked in and turned the light on. ‘This is the only way we will stop this madness. Sending young men off to their death.’
‘Agnes, you’re helping the enemy!’
‘I don’t see it that way,’ she snapped. ‘There are people here in England doing everything they can to stop this war, and if Hitler wants this island, then let him have it. Then at least people can come home. Wives can have their husbands, children can have their fathers, and then…’ she added in barely a whisper, ‘mothers can have their sons. It is easy for you. You have never sent a son to war. My heart was ripped out when I lost my husband and he wasn’t even a very kindly man. But my son is everything to me. He has taken care of me for years, making this house a home, and together we became a family. I will do anything to save him, to bring him back, to end this war. Even if it means doing things that in other people’s eyes don’t appear right. I love him. Do you understand?’
Agnes started to cry. Julia really didn’t know what to say or what to do. She saw the fear and terror in the woman’s eyes and knew that it was that that had pushed