Chapter Twenty-one
When I dragged myself downstairs in the morning, I found Ellis and Hank in unusually good spirits, not in spite of being wrenched out of their beds in the middle of the night, but because of it.
As they revisited the air raid over the breakfast table, the details matured. By the final retelling, Ellis had made sure that everyone else was safely in the shelter before coming in himself, Hank had positioned himself on the bunk above Meg and me to shield us with his own body, and Mr. Ross was barely present.
Anna’s demeanor got stonier and stonier as she served and cleared breakfast.
Hank decided he would write to Violet, musing that perhaps the idea of his being in mortal danger would loosen her draconian premarital rules.
“You and she are premarital now, are you?” said Ellis.
“Well, pre-premarital, at least,” said Hank. “But still, I think I ought to be able to sample the goods. What if I wait until the wedding night and then find I’m stuck with something subpar until death do us part?”
“Hank,” I said urgently.
“What?”
“In case you’ve forgotten,” I continued in a lowered voice, “you’re in mixed company.”
“Darling girl, when did you become such a prude?”
“I don’t mean me.” I cut my eyes over to Anna.
“Oh,” he said, furrowing his brow.
He changed the topic to monster hunting, but not before giving me an odd look. It was perfectly obvious that he hadn’t registered Anna’s presence at all.
—
The front door opened, and a handsome ginger-haired man in shabby clothing came in. He nodded at Hank and Ellis, set the two baskets he was carrying on the floor, and turned his attention to the door, swinging it back and forth until he identified the point at which it squeaked most loudly. He was young enough to be fighting, and I wondered why he wasn’t—not that I would judge, but I was certainly sensitive to the issue.
“Well, whadya know,” Hank said to Ellis. “It’s George the Vannie. Maybe he’ll give us a lift again.”
“Aye aye, George,” said Anna, appearing behind the bar. “And how are you getting on?”
“You’re seeing it. Although it’s right dank, the day,” he said, closing the door and carrying his baskets to the bar.
I couldn’t help staring. He walked from side to side, almost like a penguin, swinging his right leg forward from the hip. The leg was false.
“And what have you got for me today?” asked Anna.
“Paraffin, naturally. Plus a packet from the laundry and some things from the butcher.”
“Well, let’s see them.”
“There’s mutton shanks and some lovely sausages,” said George, hauling them out and setting them on the bar. The meat was unwrapped with the price drawn directly on it.
Anna leaned over to sniff it. When she stood back up, she put her hands on her hips.
“And I suppose our sheets are also smelling like paraffin?” she asked accusingly.
“Just pitching in to save petrol,” said George. “They’ll air out. Put them in the meat locker and they’ll be right as rain.”
“I’m to put the sheets in the meat locker, am I?” Anna said with a long-suffering sigh. It was apparently a rhetorical question, because she turned and took the meat through to the back.
“Shall I oil the door for you, then?” he called after her. “It screeches like someone caught a cat by the tail.”
He craned his neck, peering through the doorway and waiting in vain for an answer. Eventually he gave up.
“Well, I’m off then,” he said to the three of us. “Tell her I’ll be back to fix the door.”
“Say, I don’t suppose you’re going anywhere near the Horseshoe, are you?” Hank asked.
“I wasn’t, but I suppose I could be.”
“Same terms as before? Perhaps a little extra for your trouble?”
“I’d be a fool to say no,” said George. “Are you ready now, or shall I come back when I’ve finished my rounds?”
Hank drained his tea and lifted his duffel bag. “Ready when you are. Why don’t you drop us off at the telephone and collect us when you’re done? We have some calls to make.”
Ellis kissed my cheek before he left.