When the doctor had a moment between tending to sobbing children with bloody stumps where their limbs had been, he confirmed what I knew by drawing a stained sheet over Jane and motioning for orderlies to take her away. I answered his questions about her next of kin and what had happened as best I could, but my answers were just as unsatisfying to me as the answer I gave Jane for why the Germans murdered her.

I never understood why Mum cried the day Chamberlain declared there'd be peace between England and Germany, I thought, watching a fireman stagger past me, clutching a bandage to his head. Now I do. Nothing justifies the organized destruction of people who are no more a threat to another country than the sunshine.

I leaned against the wall as exhaustion threatened to send me into a dreamless sleep. What's wrong with me? I should be crying over Jane; God knows I want to. Some friend I am. I didn't even know she was married, or that her husband died. No wonder she looked at me like I had ten heads when I mentioned our anniversary.

I sighed. I should've been with her anyway. Maybe I could've saved her.

Knock off that talk, I thought. You don't know if you could've saved Jane. Besides, there's no point in dwelling on maybes when it doesn't change matters.

"Mavis! Mavis! Where the bloody 'ell is that twit?"

My eyes flew open. Not now. I can't deal with him.

"Mavis!"

I took a deep breath and went to find him.

Da was in his bed, his face red from bellowing. "About time you got here! Where have you been?"

I folded my arms. "I was with a friend. She died."

He waved at a passing nurse. "You see what I mean. They don't listen to me."

"Did you hear me Da? I said she died."

"Bah," he wheezed. "Life is for the living."

I narrowed my eyes. "What were you having a fit about?"

He pointed to the bed across from him, where a woman thrashed and moaned. "Make the nurses shush her up. I can't sleep."

I turned away to hide my disgust. "Da, these people are hurt. The Germans have been bombing again. London's on fire."

"I don't give a rat's arse what you say the German's have been doing. I need my sleep!"

"Ignore it, which ought to be easy because you're half deaf, anyway."

He rubbed his eyes. "I need you to take me to the barber in the morning! I look like a damn sheep dog, and these stupid bitches won't do anything about it."

I shook my head. "Da, I can't."

"Of course you can't. You never have time for me," He harrumphed. "Who's the one who made sure you had food in your mouth, a roof to rest your pretty head under and a smile on your face? You owe me."

I whirled around, clenching my hands. "How dare you! Mum and Peter gave me those things! You never paid me the slightest mind but to call me a failure."

He smiled. "You look like your mother when you're angry."

I grabbed his shoulders. "I'm not my mother, or Peter. I'm me, Mavis. Your only daughter, Da. Why don't you love me?"

"You're a…."

"I know, I know. I've made mistakes, but Alistair and Glynis weren't mistakes. They're the best things that ever happened to me and you've got a lot of nerve to say otherwise! They're part of your family too."

He looked me over. "So, are you taking me for a trim or not?"

I fought the urge to shake him until his loaf snapped off. "Will you stop flapping about your bloody hair? Don't you understand what I'm saying?

He scowled. "What do you want, an apology?"

"It would be nice, considering you called your only grandchild a bastard this morning."

"What do I have to be sorry for, telling the truth?"

I trembled as blind rage overtook me. "The truth! The truth is I've always known what you are, but I've refused to admit it because I thought that, just once, you'd treat me as kindly as your friends if I could prove myself worthy of it. People were always saying how wonderful you were, so I believed I must be truly awful because you've never shown me any affection. I know better now. People never see the real you, the one who's incapable of thinking of anyone but yourself!" I stood up. "I love you Da, but I've had enough of your judgments. You'll probably never approve of me and life is too short to waste worrying about it, but I do deserve some respect. I'm not coming to see you again until you're ready to give it to me."

I don't know what hurt more, his callousness that morning, or when he didn't try to stop me. Still, I felt better than I had in ages having said my piece.

"Mum!"

My lightness turned to elation as Glynis sprinted to me.

I grabbed her as she tackled my legs. "Oh, ducky, thank heavens you're alright." I said, hugging her as hard as I could.

"There you are, sea hag."

I smiled as my dear friend waddled over. She looked as tired as I felt, but all right. "Charlotte, what are you doing here?"

"Checking the 'ospitals to see if you were a patient." She pointed to the ceiling. "They just gave the all clear."

I cocked my head, my ears straining to filter out the noise around us. "You're right," I murmured, as I heard what sounded like a persistent chuffer horn. "Thank God, it's over."

oOo

It took me a few hours to get home with the bedlam of people going to work and the homeless and tired wandering the streets, gaping at the charred ruins around them. Glynis, thankfully, fell asleep in my arms halfway home.

I'd put her to bed when our front door closed.

"Alistair," I whispered, rushing to the hall.

Alistair looked up at me with a dazed expression. He moved his lips, though no words came out.

I ran into his arms, my tears finally falling as I kissed his cheeks with a passion I didn't think I was capable of.

oOo

28 February, 1941

Dear Peter,

I've just come home from doctor's and I have to tell someone. It'll be hours before Alistair gets home and with Charlotte being out, you're the only one I can talk to, if only through letters. I'm going to be a mum again. You're the first to know, though I think Alistair suspects something because I've been sick for the last week. I have a feeling it's a boy. I feel exactly the way Mum said she did when she had you.

Yes, the worst of the bombing seems to be over, but I'm not the most objective one to ask. Nothing seems so bad after that horrid night in December. Still, perhaps Hitler's bored with us and will bother someone else now.

No, I haven't see Da since our row, but I ring up his doctor every few days. He says the old man's got a good chance of pneumonia setting in, since he's still refusing to get out of bed. The quack's talking out of his backside if you ask me. I wouldn't be surprised if Da outlived us, the way he's pickled his liver. Still, I've looked into making arrangements in case they're right. I'm doing my best to make sure he's next to Mum.

Speaking of Mum, I visited her the other day. It's funny, even though she's been gone for a long while, I still feel like she's there with me whenever I see her, and that she's happy. I wish you'd visit her with me some time. You'd love how peaceful the cemetery is at this time of year; it's one of the few places the Jerries haven't destroyed.

Our other Glynis is doing well. She's always looking at your photo and asking about you and when you're coming home. Yesterday, she gave me a picture she drew of her and her friends playing at school, and said 'send this to Uncle Peter.' I've included it for you.

Charlotte is also doing well and says hello. She hasn't heard from Harry in awhile and is getting worried. I keep telling her not to dwell on it, though I know all too well that's easier said than done.

I've been thinking a lot about something Mum said once when we asked her about Da's time in the trenches, 'I hope the war to end all wars is exactly that. Otherwise, we've left a legacy of heartbreak and suffering for our children.' I think I understand what she meant now, yet I can't help being optimistic about the future. I have to hope Glynis and her brother or sister will see better days. That's what I think we're fighting for; not foreign policies or any other rubbish, but hope. It's the only thing worth fighting for if you ask me.

God bless you Peter. Keep safe until I can hold you in my arms again.

All my love, kisses and prayers,

Mavis