Connie Willis - All Clear

“And squirrels,” Alf said, brandishing his slingshot.

It really is too bad we can’t smuggle them into Nazi Germany to drive Hitler to distraction instead of us, Polly thought, though on the whole things were going It really is too bad we can’t smuggle them into Nazi Germany to drive Hitler to distraction instead of us, Polly thought, though on the whole things were going better than she’d expected. The children were going to school, the deserted houses meant there were scarcely any neighbors for Alf and Binnie to annoy, and Eileen seemed much more cheerful.

“I’ve been thinking about Dunkirk,” she said. “Mike said the soldiers sitting waiting on the beaches thought no one was coming for them and they’d be captured by the Germans. But they didn’t know about the launches and rowboats and ferries which were being rounded up to come fetch them. And the soldiers wading ashore on D-Day didn’t know about all the things going on behind the scenes, like the deception campaign—what did you call it?”

“Fortitude.”

“Fortitude,” Eileen said, “or about all the things the French Resistance was doing, or Ultra. And it may be the same with us. There may be all sorts of things going on we don’t know about. Mr. Dunworthy may be working on a plan to get us out this very minute. Or he may already be on his way here.”

But this is time travel, Polly thought, despairing of ever making her understand. If they were coming, they’d already be here.

“We mustn’t give up hope,” Eileen said. “Dunkirk worked out all right in the end.”

“Never give up,” Alf said behind them, and they both jumped.

Oh, no, Polly thought. How much did he hear? But when she turned around, it was only the parrot.

“I’m sorry,” Eileen said. “I told Alf and Binnie to teach her something patriotic to say instead of ‘Hitler’s a bloody bastard.’ ”

“Loose lips sink ships,” Mrs. Bascombe squawked.

“Well, she’s certainly right about that,” Polly said. “We need to watch what we say with the children here.”

“Donate your scrap metal,” the parrot croaked. “Dig for victory. Do your bit.”

Eileen was certainly doing her bit by taking in Alf and Binnie. She deserved some sort of medal. But everyone they knew was doing theirs, too—the vicar, and Mr.

Dorming, who’d taken on Mr. Simms’s job as a firespotter, and Doreen, who’d given her notice at Townsend Brothers and signed up for the ATA.

“I’m going to be an Atta Girl and fly a Tiger Moth,” she said proudly.

Her departure for the ATA and Sarah Steinberg’s—she was going to do her National Service as an RAF plotter—left the third floor terribly shorthanded, and Miss Snelgrove told Polly that Townsend Brothers was applying for an Employer Hardship Exemption for her so she could remain in her job.

Eileen was overjoyed. “I’ve been ever so worried about how the retrieval team would find you after you left to do your National Service.”

“I told Miss Snelgrove no,” Polly said. “I’m going to try to get assigned to a rescue squad.”

“A rescue squad?” Eileen said. “But why?”

Because I have a deadline, and if I simply sit here waiting for it, I’ll go mad. And I keep thinking of Marjorie, lying there in that rubble with no one coming to dig her out. I know exactly how that feels. I can’t bear to think of anyone else going through that. And if Colin was here—if he was the one who was trapped—that’s what he would do.

She didn’t say any of that to Eileen. She said, “If they don’t get the waiver, I’ll almost certainly be assigned to somewhere outside of London. I need to sign up now.”

“But a rescue squad,” Eileen said. “It’s so dangerous. Couldn’t you drive an ambulance instead? That’s what you did before, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but I can’t risk it. I might be assigned to a unit with one of the FANYs I knew and create a paradox. And rescue work’s not that dangerous. We don’t go to the incident till after the bomb falls. And you heard Binnie. Bombs never fall in the same place twice.”

“But what about the retrieval team? How will they find us?”

“I’ll tell Miss Snelgrove which unit I’ve been assigned to,” Polly said. The next morning Polly gave her notice at work and went to the Works Board. She filled up a registration form and eventually had her name called by a stern woman with a pince-nez.

“I’m Mrs. Sentry. Please be seated,” the woman said without looking up from the form. “I see your last employment was as a shop assistant with a department store.

I assume you can do sums. Can you type?”

If she said yes, she would end up in Whitehall, typing requisition forms for the War Office. “No, ma’am,” she said. “I was hoping to be assigned to a rescue squad.”

Mrs. Sentry shook her head. “You’re far too slight to do the lifting involved.”

“Well, then, some other sort of Civil Defence work.”

Mrs. Sentry looked at her over her pince-nez. “My job is to match you with the job for which you’re best suited. Are you married?”

“No, ma’am.”

Mrs. Sentry wrote “single” on the form below “good at sums.” “Are you good at puzzles?” she asked. “Acrostics, crosswords, that sort of thing?”

Oh, God, Polly thought, she’s planning to send me to Bletchley Park. That’s why she asked me if I was married. I can’t go to Bletchley Park. It’s the last place I should be.

“I’m not good at puzzles at all,” she said, “or sums, really. My supervisor at Townsend Brothers was always having to correct my sales slips. And I’m not married, but I do have obligations. My cousin and I have two war orphans living with us.”

“How old are the children?”

How old do they have to be to keep me from going to Bletchley Park? Polly thought, wondering if she dared lie about their ages, but Mrs. Sentry looked the type who’d check. “Alf’s seven and Binnie’s twelve,” she said. “Their mother was killed in a raid.”

And it was a good thing she’d told the truth because Mrs. Sentry was looking suspiciously at her. “What did you say your name was?”

Oh, no, she knows Alf and Binnie. They’ve tried to steal her handbag in the tube station.

“Polly Sebastian,” she said.

“Sebastian,” Mrs. Sentry said thoughtfully. “You look extremely familiar. Have we met before?”

It was Stephen Lang all over again. What if she knew me as a FANY? Polly thought. She didn’t look familiar, but …

But this wasn’t 1944. Even if I did meet her then, it hasn’t happened yet.

“I’m almost certain we’ve met before,” Mrs. Sentry was saying, “but I can’t think where … It was at Christmas …”

I hope she wasn’t at the pantomime, Polly thought, recalling that episode with Theodore.

I hope she wasn’t at the pantomime, Polly thought, recalling that episode with Theodore.

“Could it have been when you were at Townsend Brothers Christmas shopping?” she asked to throw her off the scent.

“No, I shop at Harrods. It was something to do with a theater …” She frowned, trying to remember.

Polly had to get her to assign her to a job before she did. If she remembered Theodore’s screaming, “I don’t want to go home!” she was likely to decide Polly was an unfit mother and ship her off to Bletchley Park after all. “If I could be assigned to an ARP post or an anti-aircraft gun crew—”

“I know where I saw you. In a play in the tube station at Piccadilly Circus. A Christmas Carol. When you said ‘anti-aircraft gun,’ I remembered you having to shout over them. You played Belle, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” Polly said, relieved that at least it hadn’t been the pantomime.