Connie Willis - All Clear

“How strange,” she murmured. “I wonder if she …? That would explain …”

“You wonder if she what? Who? Eileen? What is it?”

She shook her head, as if to clear it. “Nothing. I keep forgetting you don’t know anything that’s happened. Eileen married shortly after the war, and they had two children. Besides Alf and me, I mean. Godfrey, that’s her son, assisted us as well, but even with all of us looking, we hadn’t any luck, and then Alf said, ‘We’ve got to think about this from Colin’s point of view. Where would he look?’ And that was when it occurred to us that you’d go where people who were in the Blitz were likely to be, and luckily that was just before the fiftieth anniversary of the war’s beginning, and—”

“You’ve been doing this since 1990?”

“No. 1989. The war actually began in ’39, you know, though there weren’t any battles for nearly a year. But there were several evacuated-children’s reunions, and then in the spring there were all the Battle of Britain exhibitions, and of course every year the VE-Day parades. Those were the most difficult. So many cities had their own, and all on the same day—”

“Do you mean to tell me you’ve been going to parades and anniversary celebrations and museum exhibitions for six years?” There must have been scores, even hundreds. “How many have you gone to?”

“All of them,” she said simply.

All of them.

“It’s not so bad as it might have been,” Binnie said. “It’s only May. Since it’s the fiftieth anniversary of the war’s end, there will be celebrations all year, including a special memorial service for the fire watch at St. Paul’s on December twenty-ninth.” She grinned mischievously at him. “At least you didn’t go to that.”

No, but I was planning to, he thought, and the Dunkirk Commemoration at Dover and the Eagle Day Air Show at Biggin Hill and the “Life in the Tube Shelters”

exhibit at the London Transport Museum. And if he had, Binnie, or Alf, or one of Eileen’s other children would have been there as well. They’d spent nearly as much time and effort searching for him as he had for Polly. “Binnie—” he said.

“My, will you look at that,” a woman’s voice said from only a few feet away, “a gas mask! Do you remember having to carry them everywhere with us? And having those tiresome gas drills?”

“Oh, dear, they’re coming back from lunch,” Binnie whispered. She stood up.

“Wait,” Colin said. “You still haven’t told me where they are.”

She sat back down. “I’m not sure I did tell you. I think Mr. Dunworthy may have—”

“Mr. Dunworthy? I thought you said they were all in one place.”

“They were, but Mr. Dunworthy was the one who found you. Or you found him—I don’t know that bit of it—and brought you there.”

“But where did I find him?”

“In St. Paul’s.”

St. Paul’s? That meant he’d used Mr. Dunworthy’s drop. But it hadn’t opened once since Mr. Dunworthy had gone through, despite thousands of attempts. “Did I use the drop in St. Paul’s?” he asked.

“I don’t know that either. Why?”

“Because it’s not working.”

“Oh. Then you must have found him—or he found you—somewhere else. All I know is that we left him at St. Paul’s that night—”

“Which night? You still haven’t told me the date.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know that either. It was so long ago, and we were only children. It was sometime in late—”

“Have you been in the air-raid shelter yet?” a woman’s voice said, and the door opened on Talbot, Camberley, and Pudge. “So here you are, Goody,” Talbot said, looking from Binnie, who’d shot to her feet, to Colin. “What are you two up to?”

“I was showing him the shelter,” Binnie said.

“We can see that,” Pudge said dryly. She looked around at the shelter. “My, this is cozy.”

“And much nicer than I remember shelters being,” Talbot said. “We were looking for you, Goody. You must come see the ambulance display. You drove an ambulance.”

“I’ll come in a moment,” Binnie said. “Mr. Knight and I weren’t quite done—”

“Obviously,” Talbot said.

“I only have one or two more questions,” Colin said, belatedly pulling out his notebook. “Would you mind if I borrow Mrs. Lambert for a bit longer?”

“Of course not,” Talbot said. “We shouldn’t want to stand in the way of true love.”

“Don’t be a noddlehead, Talbot,” Binnie said. “Mr. Knight’s a reporter—and young enough to be my grandson.”

“Impossible,” Colin said gallantly. “And at any rate, I’ve always liked older women.”

“Impossible,” Colin said gallantly. “And at any rate, I’ve always liked older women.”

“In that case,” Talbot said, taking his arm, “you must come with us to see the ambulance display.”

“Yes,” Camberley said. “It looks exactly like the ones we drove.”

“You can ask her your questions on the way there,” Talbot said, leading him, her arm still firmly linked in his, toward the ambulance exhibit, but he had no chance to ask Binnie anything. Half a dozen women latched on to her before they reached it, asking her questions, and when they reached the ambulance, half a dozen others were waiting for her. They insisted she climb into the back and then the driver’s seat.

He pushed through the crowd to her and leaned in the window. “If you could just clear up a few details, Mrs. Lambert,” he said. “You mentioned the bombing of Westminster Abbey. When did that happen?”

“May tenth,” Camberley said before Binnie could answer.

And so much for that clever idea, Colin thought.

“I remember,” Camberley said, “because I was supposed to go to dinner and a show that night with a simply gorgeous flight officer, and instead I spent the entire night ferrying casualties. I’ll never forgive Hitler for ruining my evening.”

“What show was he taking you to?” Binnie asked.

This is no time to be discussing “Theater During the Blitz,” Colin thought in annoyance.

“Was it the naughty revue at the Windmill?” Talbot suggested.

“ ‘We never closed,’ ” Pudge quoted.

“Nor wore any clothes,” Talbot said.

“No,” Camberley said. “He took me to a play! And I wore—”

“What sort of play?” Binnie asked. “A pantomime?”

“A pantomime?” Camberley said. “Pantomimes are for children.”

“I saw a pantomime once during the Blitz,” Binnie went on as if she hadn’t heard her. “Sleeping Beauty. At the Regent. Sir Godfrey Kingsman was the Bad Fairy.”

“Oh, speaking of sleeping,” the woman who’d passed out the name badges said, “you all must see the display on ‘Sleeping Through the Blitz.’ Do you remember Horlick’s? And those siren suits? It’s this way,” she said, and they all started through the doorway and down the corridor, taking Binnie with them.

Colin followed, but before he reached the door, a new group of women with Union Jacks on their name badges swept in, and by the time he made it into the corridor, he expected her to have vanished. But Binnie was only halfway down it, stopped in front of a black-and-white photograph of a church, its tower in flames.

“Isn’t that St. Bride’s?” Binnie asked, pointing at it. “I remember the night it burned. The raids were so terrible that night. It was sometime at the end of April—”

“No, it wasn’t,” Browne said. “St. Bride’s burned in December.”

“Oh, that’s right,” Binnie said, “the same night St. Paul’s nearly did.” She looked down the corridor at Colin. “I must have got it confused. I know something happened at the end of April.”