A bomb fell through the sky right above them with a deafening scream. Eve lowered her head and gritted her teeth, preparing to die. When it struck nearby with a tremendous roar, the ground trembled. Another followed and another. Hundreds of bombs, one after the other, until the building shook and shifted. Plaster sifted from the ceiling like flour, coating everyone with white dust.
Eve had never known such terror. She was going to die, and she didn’t want to. She wanted to live, get married, have children, grow old. She closed her eyes as she hunched in place, silently pleading with God to spare her life. To spare Mum and the other servants in the Anderson shelter. Audrey at Wellingford. And Alfie, wherever he was. She wanted to beg for mercy for the people she loved, yet she had nothing to bargain with. Nothing to offer God in return for her pitiful pleas. She was helpless. Utterly helpless.
Overhead, another bomb screamed through the sky, and she braced herself for the hit. When the explosion came, the suction tingled through her. The very air seemed to shake. Why was this shelter aboveground? No one would live through this onslaught. All around her, people whimpered and wept. Eve silently vowed that if she ever had to endure this again, it would be in an underground shelter.
On and on the bombs fell, the explosions booming and roaring until Eve lost all track of time. The ringing in her ears was so loud she didn’t notice, at first, that the hum of planes grew fainter, replaced by the clamor of racing fire engines outside, the shouts of rescue volunteers. The bomb blasts tapered off.
“Dear God, is it over?” she whispered. A hush fell over the room as everyone waited, holding their breath. Time passed. Eve’s limbs ached as she sat cross-legged on the floor, bracing for more, straining to listen for approaching planes. When the all clear sounded its steady, two-minute note, she slumped with relief, unsure if she had the strength to move.
“Are you both all right?” she asked Iris and her granny. Plaster dust coated Iris’s black hair, making her look like an old woman. Iris nodded and swiped her tears, smearing more dust across her face. Eve must look the same. Iris’s granny stared straight ahead as if in shock, her gnarled hands clenched into tight fists.
There was another scrambling race to get out of the shelter. Eve looked at her watch. Six thirty. Nearly two hours had passed since they’d sat in the sunshine in front of Iris’s house, enjoying the afternoon. Two hours of relentless bombing.
Iris helped her granny to her feet and they all followed the others outside. Eve had feared the worst, but the sight that met her eyes was beyond imagining. She stepped out into hell itself. “Dear God . . . dear God . . . ,” she breathed.
Bombs had demolished the neighborhood, leaving mounds of lath and beams and bricks where tenements and houses had stood two hours ago. The sky above the nearby docks resembled a wall of flame. The smoke stung Eve’s eyes and clogged her throat. If the fire spread this way, they would never outrun it.
Fragments of wood and belongings lay strewn everywhere. A wooden table leg. The back of a splintered chair. A spoon. Broken glass crunched beneath her feet as Eve walked forward in a daze. Farther down the street, a row of tenements still stood, but all the windows had blown out, leaving gaping black holes like unseeing eyes.
Streams of water and tangled fire hoses filled the streets. Injured, bleeding people begged for help. Civil defense workers shouted to each other as they shoveled through the rubble, searching for survivors. Eve wanted to help. She needed to do something. But what?
“Our home . . . ,” the old woman mumbled. “Where’s our home?” She looked disoriented, in shock.
Iris was in shock, too. Her voice trembled as she said, “Please stay here with Granny, Eve. I’ll run home and see.” Eve kicked aside some broken glass and helped Iris’s granny sit down on the curb. They waited in silence. Nothing Eve said could console her in this nightmare.
Suddenly a dark stream of movement streaked toward her—a swarm of rats fleeing from the burning docks. Eve screamed, unable to move as they raced past, then disappeared into the debris. She shivered in horror.
Hours seemed to pass before Iris returned, carrying a few of her family’s belongings in a scorched pillowcase. “The landmarks are all gone,” she said, her voice hoarse with smoke. “I could barely find our house. Then I couldn’t find my way back.”
“But your house . . . ?” Eve asked.
Tears filled Iris’s eyes as she shook her head. “Gone. It’s gone.” She sank down beside her grandmother, clinging to her, weeping. “I’m sorry, Granny . . . I’m so sorry!” Eve thought of the sugar packet, the errand that had brought them to the East End. Iris’s granny would be dead if they hadn’t come.