Page 45 of The Lost Story of Sofia Castello

44

LONDON, 1941

‘What do you want to do?’ Trafalgar asked as the last of the planes disappeared, leaving the London skyline in the distance ablaze. ‘We could make a break for it before the next lot come and try to get down to a shelter.’

I thought of the Underground station we’d gone to previously and the smell and the noise and the bodies all crammed in together, and I wondered what would happen if there was a direct strike on the station. Would we all be buried alive in there? At least up on the roof, we could see what was going on and there was less of a feeling of claustrophobia.

‘Could we stay here?’ I asked, my voice wavering.

‘Of course. We’re probably safer here anyway.’

I looked at him hopefully. ‘How so?’

‘The first planes didn’t drop any incendiaries here.’ He pointed to the burning horizon. ‘All of the fires are focused over to the east – so that’s where the next lot will be attacking.’

Any relief I felt at this was very short-lived. As I gazed at the fires blazing on the horizon, I thought of the people there – all the mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, friends, lovers – and my eyes filled with tears. Hopefully they’d all made it to the relative safety of the shelters, but the thought of them coming back to find their homes, workplaces and shops destroyed was heartbreaking.

‘I’m so sorry,’ Trafalgar said, for once sounding defeated. ‘I’d wanted this to be a really special night, especially as you’re leaving tomorrow.’

‘It still is a special night – I’m not going to forget it in a while, that’s for sure.’ I looked at him anxiously. ‘So how long do you think we’ve got until the next lot arrive?’

‘Not long, I’d imagine.’ He glanced down at the book I’d picked from the shelf, now on the roof beside me. In the mad rush to get up there I hadn’t even realised I’d still been clutching it. ‘Why don’t we see what your book’s answer was, to take our minds off things?’

‘Good idea.’ I examined the book’s cover. It was called The Lord and the Scullery Maid . ‘I can’t remember the page.’

‘Seventy-nine,’ he replied instantly.

‘Thank you.’ I turned to the page, and he held up the lamp so I could read.

‘Oh my!’

‘What does it say?’

‘It says, “You are nothing but a cad and a liar, Lord Douglas, and there’s no way on God’s green earth that I’m going to kiss you.”’

Trafalgar frowned. ‘Did you make that up?’

‘No, look!’ I handed him the book.

‘Why?’ he cried theatrically to the book.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘Now you’ll never let me kiss you.’

‘What makes you think that was my question?’ I asked, trying not to laugh. As silly as our conversation was, I was very grateful for the distraction.

‘Because this is the answer!’ he exclaimed, pointing at the page. ‘And now you’ll think that I’m a liar and a cad like this fool – this fool…’ He looked back at the book. ‘Lord Douglas!’ He threw the book down in disgust, and I burst out laughing.

‘You could argue that the book is telling me not to kiss a lord,’ I said. ‘So that lets you off the hook, doesn’t it?’

He grinned. ‘Oh – yes – so it does.’

There was a moment’s silence, and he put the lamp down and moved closer, causing my heart to race. But then the hum of a plane filled the air.

‘Oh no,’ I exclaimed.

Trafalgar extinguished the lamp and leaped to his feet. ‘They’re back,’ he said grimly, looking up at the sky. ‘Shit!’

‘What?’

‘There’s so many of them.’

I stood beside him and watched, terrified, as the orange sky on the horizon filled with a cloud of planes. From this distance, they looked like a swarm of hornets. Silver streams of anti-aircraft fire shot up to meet them, but there were too many, and the white flashes of more explosions began. It was like watching some kind of macabre firework display.

‘Oh no!’ Trafalgar exclaimed as the noise grew louder.

‘What is it?’

‘Some of them are coming our way.’

‘But I thought… There aren’t any fires here.’

‘They’re obviously planning something big tonight. I’ve never seen so many of them.’ He stood gazing up at the sky.

‘Should we take cover?’ I asked, somehow keeping my growing fear under control.

‘It’s too late,’ he replied. ‘It’s safer to stay here. Come.’ He ushered me behind the huge chimney breast. We crouched down, and he grabbed my hand and held it tightly. ‘It’s going to be OK,’ he said. ‘We’re going to be OK.’

I wasn’t sure if he was trying to reassure me or himself.

The roar of the planes grew louder and louder, as did the rattle of the anti-aircraft artillery. I looked up and saw the dark silhouette of a plane directly overhead. It was so close, I could see the markings on its side. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t move. I felt a rushing sensation in my head; a sense that I was hurtling towards my death, and my body began shaking violently. I saw something drop from the plane and I knew that was it. It looked as if it was going to be a direct hit. I closed my eyes tight, but then I heard a strange rustling sound, and I saw some kind of fabric floating down towards the building.

‘Oh no,’ Trafalgar exclaimed. ‘It’s a parachute bomb.’

‘What?’

‘They have timers,’ he yelled over the din of the planes. ‘They time the detonator to go off in line with the rooftops.’ And with that he pushed me flat and flung himself on top of me.

There was a swishing sound and I peeped over his shoulder. The bomb had landed on the roof, the silky fabric of the parachute cascading down all around it. I closed my eyes tight. Waiting. Waiting. For the end.