I thought of the idyllic world we had left just hours before, where everything was perfect except that Mum wasn’t there. I wanted to go back. I wanted to go back in time to that happy place before you left me. Before the bombs came. Before the dead cats.
Charlotte, I said. It was the only word I said for a long time.
Charlotte? Thea said. What’s her last name?
I couldn’t remember.
Sweetheart, where does Charlotte live?
I couldn’t remember where she lived, Emmy. I still can’t.
Thea took me by the hand into the kitchen.
Did you and Emmy write to your mum? she asked.
I might have nodded as Thea looked through Mum’s recent mail for a letter from us.
Does your mum keep important papers in a special place? Do you know where she’d put your billeting card?
I said nothing. A blanket of numbness was replacing the fear.
We went upstairs, crunching on glass that had been blown onto the steps. Thea went into Mum’s bedroom and opened her top bureau drawer. She looked inside and pulled out an envelope. Granny told me much later that Thea had thought she’d found a letter from us because she didn’t recognize the return address.
But it wasn’t a letter from you and me.
It was the letter Granny had written to Mum after Neville died. Thea read it while I leaned against her leg.
That was how I came to be with Gramps and Granny, Emmy.
Thea couldn’t find our billeting papers that had Charlotte’s name and address.
She didn’t know where Mum was. She didn’t know where you were.
And she was leaving for Wales the next day.
Thea took the letter and we left our demolished neighborhood. We had to walk a little bit before she was able to hail a taxi that could take us to her hotel.
The air raid sirens started again as we were getting out of the taxi cab. I think we spent the night in the hotel basement. That part is a bit foggy.
In the morning, Thea called Gramps and Granny. They talked for a little while, Thea in hushed tones. Then she called the widow Mum worked for, and I heard her ask if she could please try to get word to Mum that I would be at my grandparents’ house. The next thing I remember, I was on a train with Thea and her mother. They took me to the Oxford railway station on their way to Wales, and Gramps and Granny met us there.
I recall Thea telling Granny that Mum worked for a widow named Mrs. Billingsley whom Thea had called that morning. The widow’s butler would try to locate Mum and let her know where I was.
When Thea knelt to say good-bye, I flung my arms around her neck and held tight.
Your grandparents will take good care of you, she said. They are your family, Julia. They will help you find your mum.
I tightened my grip around Thea’s neck.
She had to pry me loose.
I crumpled to the pavement as Thea, crying into her handkerchief, walked away. Gramps lifted me into his arms.
I really don’t remember anything else of that day, just Thea—the last link I had to the life I knew—growing smaller and smaller in my field of vision until she was gone.
My hand hurts, Emmy.
Everything hurts.
I must stop for now.