The Air Raid Book Club(19)

“Nein, nein, nein! Lass meinen Bruder gehen!”

Gertie recognized the words from her schoolgirl German.

Let my brother go!

Hemingway barked, and Hedy woke with a start, rubbing her eyes. She reached down to wrap her arms around the dog’s huge head as she sobbed.

“Hemingway, du bist mein bester Freund. Danke. Danke!”

You’re my best friend.

Gertie crept back to her room. The stark echo of this language reminded her that she had a German living under her roof. Germans were their enemies, and yet this was a child. A child in pain. Gertie was used to hearing German screeched by Hitler in the snippets of his speeches broadcast on the radio, but this was different. Hedy was no more a part of the Germany of jackboots and fascism than Gertie was. Gertie tossed and turned for the rest of the night, ashamed that she had allowed some deep-rooted intolerance to rise to the surface. She eventually fell asleep around five and woke a couple of hours later with an unexpected sense of purpose.

At eight o’clock, Gertie knocked on Hedy’s door. “Would you like to come to the bookshop today? Betty is running the book club meeting later and they’re discussing Pride and Prejudice. You could perhaps share your thoughts on the story.” There was a blanket of silence on the other side of the door. Gertie froze, realizing she’d inadvertently acknowledged the fact that she’d been in Hedy’s room. “I was dusting the other day and noticed you’d been reading it, you see,” she added with a wince.

The next sound Gertie heard was a half-hearted groan and the sound of two feet landing on the floor. Moments later, Hedy opened the door a fraction. “Yes,” she said. “I would like. Danke.”

Gertie’s shoulders relaxed a little. “Splendid. I’ll make us some breakfast.”

“Please, Mrs. Bingham?”

“Yes?”

“No kippers today.”

Gertie saw the twinkle of mischief in her eyes. “Oh, but I thought you said they were delicious.”

Hedy shrugged. “We should save for special times.”

Gertie pursed her lips into a smile. “Tea and toast it is then.”



“I must say your new houseguest is charming,” said Mrs. Constantine, glancing over to where Betty and Hedy were setting up chairs for the book club meeting. “You are a good woman to offer her shelter, Mrs. Bingham. It was the kindness of strangers which saved me when I first came to this country.”

“I can’t help thinking she’d be better off with a proper family,” said Gertie as she wrapped Mrs. Constantine’s latest Agatha Christie novel in brown paper.

“A proper family, you say? And what is that exactly?” Mrs. Constantine gazed at Gertie, her eyes as shiny as sapphires.

“Oh, I don’t know. Somewhere with a mother and father, some siblings perhaps.”

Mrs. Constantine shot Gertie a wry look. “Sometimes the thing you’re looking for is right in front of your nose.”

Gertie stared at her in astonishment. “I would never presume to act as a mother to Hedy and I know she’d hate it,” she said, recalling the look Hedy had given her when she’d politely suggested she take her elbows off the table at breakfast.

“My dear Mrs. Bingham, no one is asking you to take on that role. All anyone needs, particularly in these dark times, is human kindness.”

Gertie glanced at Betty and Hedy, who were giggling together. “I know you’re right, but I can’t help thinking that Hedy needs to be around people her own age.”

“Well, why not enroll her at St. Ursula’s? I know a young girl who came from Poland and went there for a time. The headmistress is a wonderful woman.”

Gertie’s eyes widened. “Mrs. Constantine, you’re brilliant. I know Mrs. Huffingham. I’ll telephone her later.”

The old lady nodded her approval, scooped up the paper parcel, and swept toward the back of the shop. “Now then, girls,” she said. “I am very much looking forward to our discussions. I consider myself to be as obstinate and headstrong as Miss Elizabeth Darcy.”

Gertie watched as the others arrived. Miss Snipp was thankfully absent today because of an appointment with the doctor regarding her bunion. Miss Pettigrew was in attendance again and had apparently read the right book this time, and Mr. Reynolds had recovered from his head cold and was telling a bemused Hedy about his collection of eighteenth-century Prussian fusilier caps.

“Fantastically ornate artifacts,” he said, shaking his head in awe. “Like an archbishop’s miter.”

“I’ll leave you to it then, Betty,” called Gertie, gathering her belongings. “Come along, Hemingway.”

The dog glanced at Gertie from his position at Hedy’s feet before returning to his afternoon snooze.

“He can stay with me,” said Hedy.

“Oh,” said Gertie, caught off guard. “Are you sure?”

Hedy nodded.

“And I can walk them home, Mrs. B. Don’t worry. We’ll be fine,” said Betty.

“Right,” said Gertie. “Thank you. See you later then.” Gertie took her leave with the sound of their chatter and laughter echoing in her ears.



“I just feel rather surplus to requirements,” she told Harry later as she placed the delicate posy of pale lemon primroses on his grave. “Hedy seems to engage with everyone but me. I don’t know how to talk to her. Oh, Harry, all this would be so much easier if you were here. You’d know exactly what to say, you’d jolly us all along, and . . .” Her voice trailed off as the pain of the past rose up to meet her. “It makes me think I wouldn’t have been much of a mother after all.” The tears sprung from nowhere as she recalled the endless failed pregnancies, and the last one in particular.