They were hardly ideal comforters, but Eileen cared about them—she’d been talking about them just before they found out about Mike. And the important thing now was to jar Eileen back to reality, something Alf and Binnie were experts at.
now was to jar Eileen back to reality, something Alf and Binnie were experts at.
Polly didn’t know where they lived except that it was in Whitechapel, and according to Eileen, no one was ever at home. Which left the tube stations.
She started with Embankment, where Eileen had last seen them, and then searched Blackfriars and Holborn. When she still couldn’t find them, she began collaring urchins and questioning them as to the Hodbins’ whereabouts, which didn’t work either. The children clearly thought she was from Child Services or a schoolmistress and weren’t about to tell her anything, so she switched tactics, giving them twopence to deliver a message to Alf and Binnie and promising another twopence on delivery.
They were waiting outside Townsend Brothers when she left work the next day. So was the urchin she’d promised the twopence to. She paid him, and he darted off.
As soon as he’d gone, Binnie said, “Did somethin’ ’appen to Eileen?”
“Was she killed?” Alf demanded.
“No, nothing’s happened to Eileen.”
“Then ’ow come she ain’t ’ere?” Binnie asked.
“Does she need us to go with her in the ambulance again and tell her which way to go?” Alf asked.
“No,” Polly said, frustrated. Eileen was liable to come out the staff door at any moment. Polly needed to tell them about Mike before she got here. “It’s about her friend, Mr. Davis. You met him that morning at St. Paul’s.”
“The bloke what didn’t have no coat?”
“Yes,” Polly said, remembering with a sharp pang Mike sitting there defeatedly in his shirtsleeves on St. Paul’s steps, remembered wrapping the pumpkin-colored scarf round his neck. “He was killed, and—”
“Eileen won’t ’afta go to an orphanage, will she?” Alf asked.
“No, you noddlehead,” Binnie said. “Only children get sent to orphanages.”
“Eileen’s been feeling very sad since Mr. Davis was killed,” Polly said, “and I was hoping you two might cheer—”
“Was it a bomb what killed ’im?” Binnie cut in.
“Yes, and Eileen—”
“What sorta bomb?” Alf demanded. “A thousand-pounder or a parachute mine?” Before Polly could answer, he said, “Parachute mines is the worst. They blow you up! Ka-blooie!” He flung his arms out. “And bits of you go everywhere!”
What was I thinking? Polly asked herself. These two have no business going anywhere near Eileen.
But now how would she get rid of them? Especially when Binnie was saying, “So you want we should cheer Eileen up?”
“Yes, but Eileen’s too sad to see anyone yet. I thought perhaps you could send her a condolence card.”
“We ain’t got no money,” Alf said.
“We could come to the funeral,” Binnie said. “When is it?”
“We don’t know yet,” Polly said, fumbling in her bag for money. She had to get rid of them before Eileen came out.
“ ’Ow can we send ’er a card?” Binnie said. “We don’t know where she lives.”
And I have no intention of telling you, Polly thought. “You can send it to Townsend Brothers.”
“And we ain’t got money for a stamp,” Alf said.
“Yes, you do,” Polly said, coming up with a shilling. “Here.”
Alf snatched it, and the two of them darted off immediately, thank goodness.
But she was back to square one, and Eileen was more determined than ever that Mike was alive. “People don’t just disappear.”
Yes, they do, Polly thought.
“Perhaps Mike went to Bletchley Park again, to see if Gerald came through after he’d left, and he can’t tell us because of Ultra’s being so secret and everything. So he had to make it look like he was dead.” Which made no sense. “He didn’t want to, but it was the only way he could get you out before your deadline.”
And that’s what this is about, Polly thought. If she admits Mike’s dead, that they weren’t able to pull him out before he was killed, then it’s also admitting they won’t be able to pull me out either.
But this couldn’t go on. Polly wondered if she should write the vicar again, but she didn’t have to. He walked up to her counter, wearing his clerical collar, just before closing. “Miss Sebastian?” he said. “I’m Mr. Goode. I believe we met briefly in Backbury last autumn. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to come sooner. Your letter didn’t reach me till two days ago, and I had difficulty making arrangements—”
“Thank you so much for coming,” Polly said, smiling at him. “I can’t tell you how much this will mean to Eileen.”
“Were Miss O’Reilly and Mr. Davis …?” He hesitated.
“Romantically attached? No. He was like a brother to us, and Eileen’s taking his death very hard.”
Polly glanced at her watch. It was nearly closing time, and she didn’t want Eileen to see the vicar till she’d had a chance to explain the situation to him. “If you’ll give me a moment, I’ll ask my supervisor if I can leave early,” she said, and hurried off to speak to Miss Snelgrove, who was nowhere to be found.
“She went up to sixth,” Sarah said, and the closing bell rang.
