London Pride (73 page)

There was no answer.

‘Knock again,' Jim said.

She knocked again, once, twice, three times. And they listened again, holding their breath, hoping against hope.

And a small faint knocking answered them. Once, twice, three times.

‘She's there!' Jim whooped. ‘She's there.'

‘Get down out of it quick then,' Mr Goodall said. ‘The sooner we get her out the better.' She'd been buried for far too long, and time and oxygen were running out.

The three of them stood in the street and watched as the rescue teams hauled away the last obstructions, clearing part of a wall, more and more bricks, and finally revealing a section of the roof, which lay aslant the shelter, crushing one corner. Lifting equipment was hauled into position as they watched, praying and hoping.

‘Once that's out the way we shall see where she is,' Mr MacFarlane promised them. ‘Wait a wee while.'

It was for ever, standing in the dust, not daring to hope, hardly daring to breathe, as the rescue teams hauled and dug. Please don't let her be dead. Let it be her who was knocking.

One of the men was waving. ‘Now,' Mr MacFarlane said. And he led the way across the rubble.

As Jim climbed he could see that the edge of the
Morrison was jutting up from underneath the bricks. It was buckled but intact.

‘Is she there?' he begged, falling onto his knees among the broken bricks, peering down into the hole they'd made.

There was something in the shelter. He could see a shape, a torn shirt, part of an arm, and the roughened fur of a tabby cat lying under the arm. ‘Peggy!' he called. ‘Peggy! Are you there?'

They were jacking up the top of the shelter. ‘Peggy! Peggy!' Lifting out the cat, which hung between its rescuer's hands, damp and swearing.

‘Let me go down,' he begged. ‘Please let me get her out.' Whatever state she was in, dead or alive, he had to be the one to get her out.

They made way for him, glancing at the leader of the rescue team for his agreement. And so he was lowered into the shelter.

She was lying on her side as if she was asleep, and there was blood streaking her shoulder and congealed on her hands. ‘Peggy,' he said, and he put out his hand fearfully to touch her face. And her face was warm.

‘She's alive,' he called. ‘She's still alive. Thank God.' And warmth flooded his own face and spread into his chest and down his arms. She was alive.

She opened her eyes and looked at him, exactly as she'd done so many times early in the morning waking to a new day. ‘Jim?' she said. ‘Oh Jim. Is it you?'

He was lifting her up, holding her in his arms like a baby. Her left arm was hanging limply and her shoulder was out of alignment so something was broken. But she was alive. She would heal. Hands reached into the hole to help them both out. And then he was carrying her into the light of day and the good fresh air.

‘I'll come with you,' she said weakly. ‘To the house. I should've said. You were right.'

‘Hush, hush,' he soothed, kissing her dusty hair. ‘It doesn't matter.' Nothing mattered now that she was alive. That was the important thing. ‘Oh Peg, I love you so much.'

She leant her head against his chest as he climbed carefully down the rubble towards the waiting ambulance. ‘I'll
come to the house,' she said, ‘I mean it. I should've said so yesterday. I love you more than anything.'

‘I know,' he said. And he did know. They both knew. The bomb had stripped them of every emotion except love. ‘Save your strength, my little love,' he said. ‘First we'll get you over this. Then we'll go to the house. I promise. We'll go as soon as ever we can. Everything'll be all right. You'll see. We've got a new world to build.'

Beryl Kingston
was born in Tooting in 1931. She was eight when the war began
and spent the early years of her education in many different schools, depending on her latest evacuation. As an undergraduate she attended King's College London, where she read English.

She married her childhood sweetheart when she was 19, with whom she has three children. Kingston was an English teacher before embarking on a career as a full-time writer in 1980.

Discover books by Beryl Kingston published by Bloomsbury Reader at
http://www.bloomsbury.com/BerylKingston

A Time to Love
Fourpenny Flyer
Gemma's Journey
Maggie's Boy
Sixpenny Stalls
Tuppenny Times

For copyright reasons, any images not belonging to the original author have been
removed from this book.The text has not been changed, and may still contain
references to missing images.

This electronic edition published in 2013 by Bloomsbury Reader

Bloomsbury Reader is a division of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc, 50 Bedford Square,
London WC1B 3DP

First published in Great Britain 1990 by Macdonald & Co. Ltd

Copyright © 1990 Beryl Kingston

All rights reserved
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make available this publication (or any part of it) in any form, or by any means
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printing, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the
publisher. Any person who does any unauthorised act in relation to this publication
may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

The moral right of the author is asserted.

eISBN: 9781448213948

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