London, England

August 1944

Evie Hawkins groaned as she trudged up the steps to her flat. The stairs creaked dangerously so she steadied herself against the wall as she walked, hoping to shift some of her weight. The last thing she needed was for the stairs to finally go out from under her and send her to her death, accomplishing what a thousand German bombs hadn't. When she finally reached the top, she pulled her arm away to find it covered in some unknown grime. She leaned over and wiped it on her skirt.

She made her way through the hall, listening to the noises coming from the other apartments—babies shrieking, couples yelling, and a lone radio blaring. At the end of the hall, she heard the toilet flush and a moment later, another tenant stumbled out and pushed past her, on his way back to his own flat.

Evie was too tired to squawk. She had spent all day scrubbing floors and all she wanted to do was fall into bed and go to sleep. When she finally arrived at her own flat, she realized the radio was coming from there. Will must have forgotten to turn it off. With a sigh, she pushed against the door. It always stuck. She threw her shoulder against it once, then twice, and on the third time, it creaked open enough for her to slip in. She pushed herself back against it to close it before locking it.

As she unbuttoned her shirt, she kicked aside whatever debris was in her way. Her bed was inviting her forward. She didn't even care about the radio—she could sleep through it.

"Oi, it's a bit early for you to be home, innit?"

Evie groaned, her arms reaching out for the bed even as she stopped and looked over. "It's not early, Will. And what you doing here? I thought you said you had a job tonight."

Will Newkirk snorted. "Me mate scarpered. No one'll work with me now."

"What you mean? You're the best." Maybe if she stroked his ego, he wouldn't turn whatever was bothering him into an argument. She ran the risk of making him amorous, but she'd usually take that over the yelling and a smack.

Will jumped to his feet and stumbled. Even from where she stood, Evie could smell the alcohol on his breath. "Ha, yeah, the best. You know my Pete was better than me by half. Magic touch he had."

Evie felt dread build inside her. She knew Will's son, Peter, although not well. Will didn't mention him very often, but she knew he loved him. Had something happened to him?

"Is everything all right?"

"Taught him everything I knew, I did. For all his box and toys about how I weren't there for him, I still taught him to take care of himself. Never short of a sheet was he either. Took the fall for him a time or two so he could stay out of nick, not have that over his head. Them bottle and stoppers never even know he alive cause of me."

"You're a good father, Will," Evie ventured tentatively.

"I was! I was!" Will cried. "He thought he was so much better than me just because he took care of Mave. But he weren't. He just had more luck than me. Looked down his nose at me he did! But at least I'm no traitor! I have that to my name. I'm no traitor!"

Without warning, Will grabbed the radio and threw it. Evie jumped back. "Will! Are you barmy! The radio!"

"Maybe I weren't the best, but I never sold out me mates. Never sold out me country!" Will yelled down at the radio. "You thought that uniform could hide who you was but you was always a coward, weren't you? Too afraid to admit what you was! That you was no better than me." He kicked the radio. "Well, now I can look down my nose at you. And Mave, she knows now don't she. She knows you're no hero!"

"Will, please. What's going on?" Evie cried. She grabbed his arm, hoping to save the radio from any more abuse. She should not have been surprised when a back-hand to her face sent her to the floor.

Will stood over her for a moment before dropping to the floor himself. Evie gingerly put her hand on his shoulder.

"He was on the radio," Will mumbled. "Told us to stop fighting. Told us the Germans would win anyway."

Evie blinked in surprise. "That doesn't sound like him, Will. Maybe they forced him to. Maybe they hurt him."

Will shook his head. "Maybe," he conceded. "Don't matter though, does it? He did it and now he's marked, innit he? It's one thing to be a thief and a scoundrel, but we have our pride here, don't we? And now he can't go anywhere. From king to crook, we all see him for something worse: a traitor.

"He was supposed to be something. He was supposed to be better than me. But now he's nothing. He's nothing, Eve." Will turned into her and rested his head on her breast. "Nothing."

Evie cupped his head with her hand and held him tightly. She tried to think of something to say, but couldn't find the words. Despite a strained relationship, Will had always been proud of his son. He had suffered through the pain of his children turning their back on him, of thinking he was good for nothing. He had desperately tried in his own way to stay connected to them, to show that he cared despite his shortcomings.

As she listened to him sob, she knew that, despite his rant, Will wasn't angry with Peter for what he had done. Not really. His son had failed in the worst possible way and she knew Will was blaming himself. He could bear all his other failures, but not this. This was too much. His heart was broken and there was nothing she could do to put it back together.