“Right ho, Mrs. B.”
At a little past eleven the gentle peace of the browsing bookshop customers was interrupted by the arrival of Miss Snipp’s twin nieces, Rosaline and Sylvie Finch. They were as chatty as sparrows and often finished each other’s sentences as if they were sharing the same thoughts. As soon as Miss Snipp saw them enter, she turned abruptly toward the back of the shop.
“Hullo, Aunt Snipp,” cried Rosaline, waving to her hastily retreating back.
“And goodbye, Aunt Snipp,” added Sylvie, nudging her sister, who giggled.
“Good morning, girls,” said Gertie, looking up from the counter. “What did you think of Jane Eyre?”
The pair exchanged glances. “We didn’t really think Jane should have gone back to Mr. Rochester. He was far too cross,” said Sylvie.
“Terribly cross,” agreed Rosaline. “Although that St. John chap was a complete bore, so she couldn’t stay with him either.”
“True,” said Sylvie. “But Jane’s a good egg, and Mother said she’d never seen us so quiet during the blackouts, so she’s sent us in to ask what’s next.”
Gertie held out a buttercup-yellow volume with red and black type.
“Rebecca,” read Rosaline, running a finger over the cover.
“A new novel. Daphne du Maurier,” echoed Sylvie in wonder.
“It’s completely gripping,” said Betty, joining them at the counter. “Kept me up all night, and the twist is splendid. I think you’ll enjoy it.”
The two girls shared an excited look before turning back to Gertie. “We’ll take it, thank you, Mrs. Bingham.”
“Just the one copy?”
Sylvie nodded. “Oh yes. We like to sit beside each other and read so we can share the story as we go.”
Gertie smiled. “I look forward to hearing what you think.”
The shop quieted to a trickle of customers in the afternoon. “I expect people are making the most of the last days of summer,” said Betty, gazing out the window. “They’re probably all sitting in their gardens.”
Gertie was about to suggest that they close early when the wail of an air-raid siren punctured the quiet. Hemingway barked in alarm as they looked at one another in surprise.
“This is it,” whispered Betty with barely concealed excitement. “It’s happening.”
“Come on, girls,” said Gertie. “Let’s get to the shelter. Hemingway!”
As they hurried to the back of the shop the bell above the door rang, and Gertie turned to see an anxious Elizabeth Chambers leading Billy by the hand. “May we join you?” she asked as if suggesting tea in the garden.
“Of course,” said Gertie. “Follow us.”
“I like books,” said Billy, trotting happily beside his mother. He caught sight of Hemingway’s wagging tail. “And dogs.”
Once inside the shelter, Gertie lit a candle and glanced around at the bare brick walls. “It’s a little sparse in here, but we’ll be snug as bugs in no time,” she said, taking comfort from the book-ladened shelves above their heads.
“Are the Germans coming now?” asked Billy, stroking Hemingway’s soft ears as the hum of aircraft began overhead.
Everyone exchanged glances. No one knew what was happening. They had been expecting this for the longest time and yet, somehow, felt woefully unprepared. “Perhaps it’s a drill?” suggested Betty, but this idea was quickly overturned as they heard the first terrifying explosions.
“Are those bombs?” asked Billy, eyes wide with fear.
Elizabeth Chambers swallowed. She looked more frightened than her son. “I think so, Billy, but our brave soldiers will stop them from falling,” she said, clasping his small hands in hers.
“I’m scared,” he said, his face crumpling with the imminent threat of tears.
Gertie spotted a book on the shelf behind his head. “Have you ever read the story of Winnie-the-Pooh?” she asked, reaching for it. Billy shook his head. “Well, he’s a bear who has lots of friends including Piglet, Tigger, and Christopher Robin, and sometimes Piglet in particular is very scared, but his friends always make him feel better.”
“I would like to hear that story,” said Billy with a grave nod.
Gertie opened the cover. “Very well then.”
The first raid lasted for over an hour. Gertie sensed them all leaning in to listen as she read. There was untold comfort in these words uttered out loud, in the story of a little boy and his bear playing with their friends in the forest. They could pretend it was all for Billy’s benefit when really they were grateful for a distraction from the horrors outside. As the all clear sounded, Gertie finished the chapter she was reading and closed the book. “Did you enjoy that, Billy?”
He gave a thoughtful nod. “Yes, and I think that if we see the Germans like Woozles and learn not to be afraid of them, everything will be all right.”
“You’re a very clever boy,” said Hedy.
“Can we read more stories like this if the Germans come again?” he asked.
“Perhaps,” said Hedy, glancing at Gertie, “we should have a book club for children too.”
“What a splendid idea,” said Gertie. “And perhaps this young man could help us choose the books.”
“Would you pay me?” asked Billy.
“Billy!” cried Elizabeth. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Bingham.”
Gertie laughed. “Not at all. I admire your entrepreneurial spirit, Billy. I tell you what, why don’t you keep that copy of Winnie-the-Pooh as your first payment?”
“You don’t need to do that, Mrs. Bingham,” said Elizabeth.
“I know,” said Gertie. “But I’d like to.”
“Thank you,” said Billy. “When I’m older, I want to join the RAF so I can protect you all.”
“My chap is in the RAF,” Betty told him. “And so is Hedy’s.”
“Gosh,” said Billy, his eyes bright with awe. “They must be very brave.”
“They are,” said Betty, nudging Hedy.
“Betty, dear,” said Gertie. “Why don’t you use the shop telephone to call your mother and let her know you’re all right.”
“Oh yes, hell’s teeth. She’ll be beside herself. Thanks, Mrs. B,” said Betty, disappearing to the back of the shop.
“I’m very grateful to you, Mrs. Bingham,” said Elizabeth. “It’s not been easy.” Her voice wavered slightly.
“Call me Gertie,” she said, touching her on the arm. “And you’re both welcome here or in the shelter at home anytime. I’ll make sure I leave the side gate open for you.”
Elizabeth nodded with gratitude.
“Mama, it looks like the sky is on fire,” called Billy, pressing his nose up against the shop window.
Acrid smoke filled their nostrils as Gertie opened the door and they spilled out onto the street. She glanced up and down the high street. Thankfully, this little corner of London remained untouched, the closed-up shops all defiantly intact, the clock above Robinson’s still ticking. Her eyes were drawn toward the horizon above the center of London. “Oh my goodness.” The others followed her gaze in silence. The entire sky over London was a glowing furnace.