James Herbert - ‘48

She flinched as another bomb hit the other riverbank, the blast shaking the hotel’s windows, this time with more force.

‘He comes over every once in a while, usually when you think things have quietened down again and he’s given up. Given up or dead.’

‘It’s madness.’

‘Like I said.’

Another explosion, this one on our side of the Thames and fierce enough to make the whole building tremble. Muriel pulled me round so that she could squeeze between my arms, and I was about to suggest we take cover on the other side or beneath the bed when another noise came to us, a harsh, demented rattling from the corridor outside our room. She tried to burrow into me and I wasn’t sure which was scaring her most. The rattling grew louder, a terrible cacophony that resembled a stick running along iron railings, only a thousand times more piercing.

Then we heard the old warden’s voice. ‘Air raid warning, everyone under cover, please go to your nearest shelter!’

The door burst open and Potter’s bright flashlight lit us up on the bed. We shielded our eyes and the light dropped. I blinked away the dazzle and when I looked back at the doorway I saw there were two figures standing there.

Another blast outside – this one mercifully further off, the German bomber moving onwards – diverted my attention for a moment or two, and when I turned towards the doorway again, only Albert Potter was standing there, flashlight in one hand, his air raid warning rattle in the other. The second figure, Cissie, had gone.

I BROUGHT THE FLATBED truck round, a hard left from the Embankment into the gentle rise that ran between the park and the Savoy’s rear entrance, and was surprised to see Cissie sitting on the kerbside opposite the hotel. I grinned when I saw who was keeping her company and I wondered at it too.

They both looked up when they heard the chug of the truck’s diesel engine and the girl’s concerned frown switched to a guarded smile of welcome when she realized I was the driver. Cagney quickly rose from his haunches and gave a pleased yap, then chased after me when I drove on by. I headed towards the end of the narrow street where there was room to turn the long vehicle round so it faced the right direction, easy to get away in a hurry should the need arise. Another road ran beneath the buildings at the end of the street, but it was blocked by other vehicles, its first few clear yards only good for manoeuvring. A few hundred yards away one of the buildings of London ’s law courts was still smouldering from last night’s bomb damage, but I couldn’t see any other wreckage. The crazy German bomber pilot was unpredictable, but I hoped he’d had his fill of laying waste for a while: sometimes he came over several nights in a row, sometimes he wouldn’t appear for a few months; I guess it all depended on his disposition. I hoped some day a bomb would jam in its bay and blow him and his Dornier to smithereens. After completing the laborious parking procedure, the truck’s left wheels cracking pavement stones, I jumped down from the cab and made a fuss of Cagney, who’d been waiting for me.

I ruffled his ears, something he didn’t like, never had, and he growled low and menacing, so I did it some more. Before he got too riled I hugged him to me and got a face full of tongue for my kindness. The taste of dust didn’t seem to bother him and he would have slobbered me to death if I hadn’t stood and pushed him down when he reared up with me. Taking the hint at the second shove, Cagney trotted off back along the street, making, to my surprise, straight for Cissie, who was still sitting on the kerb observing us.

Cissie averted her gaze before I reached her, studying some point in the distance, her neck and shoulders kind of stiff-like. I sat next to her, laying my leather jacket with its added weight of Colt.45 on the ground between us.

‘Hyah,’ I ventured.

‘Hello,’ she responded without much interest.

Cagney settled in the middle of the road, facing us, head resting on his paws. He yawned as he watched us.

‘Hot day again,’ I said, making conversation.

The back of Cissie’s head bobbed in agreement Today she was wearing a dark-brown dress that matched her hair, puffed at the shoulders, slim at the waist. No stockings and, when she finally turned my way, I saw she wore no make-up. She eyed the dust in my hair, on my hands, on my face, but ignored it for the moment.

‘Is that your dog?’

‘He’s nobody’s dog.’

‘He was waiting outside when I came down for a breath of fresh air. I thought he was a stray.’

‘He didn’t run away?’

‘He was wary at first, so I just sat there and talked to him and after a while he came over and sort of slouched down next to me. Wouldn’t let me pat him though, moved away every time I tried.’

‘Cagney doesn’t like people very much. Seems to think they’re to blame for everything that’s happened.’

‘Did you say Cagney? His name’s Cagney?’ At last her face cracked into a smile. ‘After James Cagney?’

‘Well his real name’s probably Rex or Red, but he wasn’t saying when we met up. I decided on Cagney and the mutt didn’t seem to mind.’

‘Has he been with you for long?’

‘Coupla years, maybe.’

The sun beat down on the dusty roadway and pretty soon Cagney’s eyes drooped shut. I took a rumpled rag from my pants pocket and wiped sweat from the back of my neck and underneath my chin.

‘D’you have any idea what time it is?’ Cissie asked, a coolness still there in her tone.

I looked over my shoulder and squinted up at the sun. “Bout four, I’d guess. Busted my watch way back, had no use for it anyhow. Hell, I got no appointments to keep.’

‘So where have you been all day?’ She was looking directly at me now and I wondered at the suspicion in her eyes. ‘You left before any of us were awake. Even before Muriel was awake, apparently,’ she added meaningfully.

This time I looked away, staring up at the hotel’s taped windows. The thought that so much death lay beyond them was depressing. ‘I had things to do,’ I replied eventually.

She must’ve understood that was all I had to say on the subject, because she didn’t push it any further. I liked her for that.

‘How’ve you survived, Hoke? How have you lived on your own like this for three years?’ Curiosity, and maybe some concern, was edging aside her coolness.

‘It’s easier to get by when you’ve only got yourself to take care of. You can move faster and make your own decisions. It’s a lot simpler this way.’

‘You sound bitter.’

I gave a small, dry chuckle. ‘Really? Well now.’ I left it at that.

‘The aeroplane that came over last night…’

‘A Dornier Do 217. German medium bomber, the Flying Pencil they used to call it Whoever’s flying it doesn’t realize the war’s over, or doesn’t care. And there’s no way we can communicate.’ I tucked the rag back into my pocket ‘Maybe one night I’ll be waiting for him in a Spitfire or Hurricane and finish it once and for all.’

‘No. No more killing, Hoke. Hasn’t there been enough?’

‘Try telling it to that guy.’ I indicated the sky with my thumb and I could have meant the mad German pilot or the Creator Himself. It didn’t matter which.

‘What’s the point of continuing the hatred? Look what it’s already done to us.’ She lowered her head and I could see the beginnings of tears glittering in her eyelashes.

I could stand my own self-pity, but not somebody else’s. I pushed myself to my feet and reached down for my battered and torn leather jacket ‘I’m gonna clean up, then get a bite t’eat,’ I said.

She joined me, brushing dust from her seat, and suddenly I was the one who was curious.