London September 1940.
Helen clutched the strap of her handbag in a death grip, her heels pounding the pavement hard as she strutted down the street. She huffed angrily, muttering under breath as a couple ambled arm in arm along the middle of the path. She paced behind them, trapped by the crowd of people on either side.
"Excuse me!" she snapped, turning sideways and squeezing past.
"How rude!" the woman uttered but Helen didn't bother to apologise merely carried on, stamping ahead. She walked and walked with no destination in mind, the buzz of traffic and the stench of car exhaust doing little to clear her head.
She was waiting behind a crowd of people at the crossing of a particularly busy junction when a woman with a pram stopped beside her. She gave Helen a tight smile and Helen stared down at the gurgling infant before her, clenching her jaw as it cooed at it's mother. She shifted from one foot to another, waiting for the lights to change.
In the distance she could make out a vague droning sound and behind her a shop door rattled loudly as two men came tumbling through.
"Jerries. Over Kent I tell you," one of them uttered in terror and there was a murmur of discontent beside her.
"Jerry's on his way, get on with you people!" the other man barked, waving his hands at the faces turned to gawp at him. Helen met the worried eyes of the young woman beside her, her mouth going dry as she noticed the way her knuckles went white gripping the handle of the pram in front of her. A moment later the sinister dirge of the air raid siren began to whine through the air. A couple of men on bikes came to a stop at the junction, white W's painted on their helmets and the loud blast of their whistles made Helen wince.
Somebody shoved from behind and Helen caught the young woman beside her as she staggered forward.
"Ladies and Gentlemen if you please!" one of the wardens bellowed as the crowd began to mill about in disorder, panic setting in as the drone of planes grew steadily louder. Helen stepped forward and gripped the hood of the pram as a two men barged past and ran across the street.
"This way!" The warden stood on a stone bollard in the middle of the road and began to wave people across.
"It's alright," Helen said to the terrified face of the young woman, forcing a smile even as her heart began to thud inside her chest. "Come on now." The woman's lips were a thin line as she nodded her head anxiously and Helen walked beside the pram like a shield as they were bundled across the road by the mass of people around them. She took calming breaths as they went, following the line around the corner to a doorway piled high on either side with sandbags and another uniformed warden directing people inside.
"You'll have to leave that behind, mam," he told the young woman gravely. "No room." Helen could see the trepidation on her face and touched a hand to her shoulder. The young woman chewed her lip and let out a stuttering breath, her hands unsteady as she struggled with the blankets covering her baby. The siren droned on and on above them and the warden scowled in irritation as they blocked the entrance.
"His mask," the young woman stammered. "It's underneath." Helen nodded and crouched down, reaching her hand into the metal basket underneath and feeling around for the stiff card of a gas mask box. She slipped her fingers under the rim and gripped the hard front of the goggles, pulling it out and shoving the pram behind the warden before turning back towards the entrance.
Helen wrapped her arm around the woman's shoulder and guided her through the door, the gesture meant to comfort her but in truth it was more for Helen than anything. As they descended the steps down the stairs her gut began to twist sickeningly, the tension hung heavily in the air as they moved down into the dark recesses under the street. Lamps burned dimly as they were ushered along a narrow corridor and into a room. Helen swallowed hard as she took in the rows of anxious faces and she squeezed her arm around the young woman at her side.
Helen stood against the wall as the woman sat down on the last available seat in the room, the warden in the corridor barking at the incomers to move around the corner into the next chamber of the shelter. The rubber of the baby's gas mask squeaked obscenely and Helen watched as its mother tenderly draped it over his tiny body with shaking hands.
The hum of planes was clearer now and in the distance Helen could hear the sound of incendiaries dropping onto the roofs of the buildings above. She pressed her palms against the wall behind her and closed her eyes, jumping at the first titanic boom as a bomb went off somewhere. There was a rally of gasps and groans in the dim room about her as children hid their faces in the shoulders of their parents. She watched an old man twist his cap around and around in his hands, the siren droning on and on and on.
She flinched as a loud explosion rumbled nearby and the ground seemed to shake. There was a hiss and crackle and a tiny fountain of sand spewed out from the top of the doorframe. Helen gripped her skirt in her hands and slowly slid down the wall, pulling her knees up against her chest. She started when a hand touched her shoulder and she turned her head to see the smiling face of the young woman, the baby sleeping soundly in his gasproof bubble. Helen smiled meekly back and waited and waited and prayed for the sound of the all clear.
When they emerged onto the street an interminable time later, Helen stood dumbstruck at the sight before her. Smoke billowed around them, seeming to come from everywhere and the sky was tinged orange from the flames burning in the distance. The stink of burning wood and fabric filled the air and she staggered slightly as people poured out of the shelter behind her. She looked around for her young companion but she had disappeared amid the throng of people and so Helen followed the crowd as it moved in the opposite direction of the carnage, fire engines swarming with black uniformed wardens speeding past, their bells clanging madly.
Dazed she ambled along a street, broken glass strewn across the ground. A man and a woman argued loudly as the man brushed his broom across the pavement, the bristles scratching loudly against the stone and the shards of glass rattling as he swept them into a heap.
Eventually she found herself outside Charing Cross station and coming back to herself somewhat, looked around for a bus stop. She sat at the back near the door and listened to the hubbub of chatter as the passengers talked about the raid. Her feet hurt, she realised, peering out of the window. She watched the buildings slide by until she recognised the neighbourhood and alighted on a corner a few minutes walk from home.
"Dear God in heaven, where the hell have you been?" James bawled, shaking her by the shoulders before pulling her close and hugging her fiercely.
"I...I went..."she stammered but James didn't seem to hear her, just buried his face in her hair and hugged her tightly. They swayed back and forth in hall and he clasped his palm to the back of her head.
"I didn't know where you were! I've been going out of my mind, oh god, oh Helen!" he rambled but he didn't let her go.
"I'm sorry I ran off like that," she told him and he pulled back, his face screwing up with emotion.
"Helen," he gasped. She reached up to stroke her hands across his cheeks and he leant forward and kissed her hard.