“You must join us too, Mr. Evans,” Mrs. Weatherford called. “Better to be with us on Christmas than to be alone.”
Mr. Evans stuck his head out from a shelf he’d sequestered himself behind. “Are you being meddlesome, woman?”
“Are you being a curmudgeon?” She pursed her lips and studied him expectantly.
He scoffed in reply.
“Arrive at two then?” she asked in a light tone, her eyes sparkling in a way Grace loved to see.
Mr. Evans disappeared behind a shelf. “Fine. Two.”
Several days later, Grace was off from the bookshop and curled up on the sofa as she read A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens. She’d read several of his works, but had specifically saved that one for Christmas.
The townhouse parlor had been decorated, but not in the usual fashion. The ornaments on the tree had lost their sparkle since the lights were required to be off during blackouts, and rather than boughs of fresh evergreen, they had to make do with painted newspaper garland. The festive cards had also been affected by the paper ration and wilted on the mantel, smaller than before and too thin to be properly propped upright.
It wasn’t the kind of Christmas she’d had as a girl with her mother, but then no one had that kind of celebration anymore. Most people weren’t even in London for the holiday. Not with the war on.
Anyone with relatives in the country found excuses to go see them. Well, anyone but her.
She was interrupted in the beginning pages of her book when a rattle sounded at the door before it swung open.
Mrs. Weatherford was already home, in the kitchen, preparing supper, working miracles with the things that passed as sausage these days. Which meant it could only be the one other person who had a key to the townhouse.
Viv.
Grace squealed with delight and bolted from the chair. Viv dropped her kit and responded in kind, bright vermillion lips parted in a wide smile.
Still lovely as ever with her red hair in rolled curls under her service cap, she managed to look far more chic in the khaki uniform than others did in their most stylish outfits.
“Grace.” Viv threw her arms around her. The embrace was still scented with a sweet perfume, though no longer as strong as it’d once been, and now harboring traces of damp wool and the nip from the air outside.
Grace squeezed her arms around her dearest friend. “It is so good to see you.”
“It’s been far, far too long.” Viv put her icy hands to Grace’s cheeks. “How I’ve missed you, Duckie.”
“Viv?” Mrs. Weatherford pushed through the kitchen door and stared for a moment with tears gathering in her eyes. “Oh, it’s so good to see you, love.”
Viv grinned. “It’s good to see you too.” She went to Mrs. Weatherford and enfolded her arms around the older woman for a long moment. It reiterated her shared pain at Colin’s death in a way that couldn’t be conveyed in letters alone.
The agonized expression on Mrs. Weatherford’s face against Viv’s shoulder said she understood exactly. The older woman pushed back and dabbed at the corners of her eyes with a handkerchief. “You go get settled now and I’ll put the kettle on. You can stay…” She swallowed. “You can stay in whatever room you like.”
She rushed out before explaining what she meant. But then, no explanation was truly necessary.
Colin’s room.
“I’d still like to share our room.” Viv pulled off her service cap and set it on the hat shelf by the door. “After all, I’ve been sharing a room with three other ladies in the ATS all this time. That is, if you haven’t become too used to having all that space to yourself.”
“It’s been far too lonely.” Grace picked up Viv’s kit before her friend could grab it, and carried it up the stairs.
Once in their shared room, Grace set her bag on the metal rail bed Viv slept before, still immaculately made since its first washing after her departure.
While Viv unpacked, the two picked up right where they had left off, as if the gap of time between them had never passed.
Grace told her about gardening and their experience with cutworms, which made Viv laugh. She told Viv about Mrs. Weatherford and Colin and Jimmy, which made Viv cry, and she told her about the ARP warden position and working with Mr. Stokes. Grace omitted, however, the dangers of the job and the horrible sights she’d witnessed.
Not that it mattered when Viv knew her so well. After she’d finished sharing how things had gone on in London, Viv approached and gently touched the wristlet on Grace’s arm. “It’s worse here than I thought,” she said softly. “You can try to mask it, but I know what the ARP wardens do. I know your job has great dangers.”