Page 105 of The Secrets of the Tea Garden

Adela laughed, despite her nervousness. ‘I did used to work for ENSA,’ she joked. ‘But my name’s Adela.’

‘Eeh, hinny, has our Billy gone and smashed yer car window or owt? He’s that clumsy. He’ll have to pay for it with odd jobs, ’cause I haven’t got the money—’

‘Mam!’ Billy protested. ‘I’ve done nowt wrong.’

‘No, it’s nothing like that,’ Adela reassured her. ‘Billy’s just trying to help me track down some people who used to live in the street. He thought you might know them.’

‘Try me,’ said the woman, wiping her hands on her apron.

Adela explained who she was looking for.

‘Oh, aye, the Belgians,’ she said with a nod. ‘Canny couple. He worked over the river. Terrible thing, the bombing. I was on nightshift and Billy was evacuated up Alnwick way, thank heaven.’

Adela forced herself to ask. ‘So were the Segals caught in the bombing or did they escape it too?’ She could hardly breathe as she waited for the answer.

The woman gave her a pitying look and shook her head. ‘House took a direct hit. Caught in the shelter so I heard. Didn’t stand a chance of getting out.’

Adela felt nauseated. She put her hand to her mouth to smother a sob.

‘Eeh, hinny, you’ve lost all your colour,’ said Billy’s mother. ‘Sit yersel’ doon.’

She pulled out a stool. Adela sank on to it, trembling.

‘I’m sorry if it’s a shock. Were they friends of yours, hinny?’

Adela felt completely numb. All she could think about was the randomness of a bomb falling on the very place where her son was living. Her mind filled with horrific images: the Segals grabbing John Wesley and hurrying to the shelter – fearful, praying, clutching each other tight – while the small boy wailed in fright. Would they have felt anything as the blast ripped them to pieces? Did they all die at the same time or did her son linger on, terrified and consumed with pain and completely alone?

‘They would have died instantly,’ said Billy’s mother, as if reading her dark thoughts. ‘No time to suffer.’ She patted Adela’s hand. ‘A crying shame. And such a bonny bairn they had an’ all.’

Adela let out a howl and doubled over, clutching her sides. Nothing the woman said could comfort her. As quickly as she could, Adela left, mumbling her thanks, and fled from the house, the gang of boys staring at her in astonished alarm as she ran up the street.

‘Wherever have you been?’ Tilly asked when Adela finally returned home late that night. It was dark but Tilly and Josey were in the sitting room waiting up for her.

‘I’m not sure,’ Adela said, numb and weary. ‘Just wandering ...’

Josey steered her into an armchair. ‘You look terrible. What’s happened? Have you had another row with Sam?’

‘Sam?’ Adela said in confusion. It occurred to her that she hadn’t thought about her husband for hours – not since she’d learnt the shocking news of John Wesley’s death. She closed her eyes. She couldn’t think about Sam – couldn’t contemplate the idea that he might be relieved her relentless search was over.

‘So you haven’t been to Cullercoats?’ prompted Tilly.

Adela shook her head.

‘Then where?’ demanded Josey.

‘Do you want to talk about it?’ Tilly said more gently.

Adela felt her chest tighten in grief. ‘No ... yes.’ She leant forward, face in hands, and burst into fresh tears.

‘Darling girl!’ Tilly rushed to comfort her.

Adela groped for her and buried her face in Tilly’s plump shoulder.

‘How can I bear it?’ she wept.

‘Bear what?’ Josey asked.

‘My baby!’ Adela wailed. ‘My darling boy!’