Rosie Goes to War (14 page)

‘Can you shine some light in while I'm going down?' I ask. ‘I want to keep my hands free until I get to the bottom.'

‘Good idea. Ready?'

Bill's looking like he wants to stop me. I stand on tiptoes and kiss his cheek. ‘It'll be a doddle.' I say. ‘Don't worry.' He can't see that I've got my fingers crossed. What the hell am I doing? ‘I've got to do this, Bill. It might be the reason I'm here.'

‘What you on about, girl?' he says, starting to get angry.

‘Nothing,' I say. ‘It's just that someone's got to do it, and it looks like I'm the only one who can. Maybe it's my destiny.'

‘Bleeding hell, Rosie. I swear you're a strange one. Are you sure you're up to this?'

‘Definitely,' I say, nodding. I'm trying to convince myself as well as Bill. ‘Let's do this.'

Reluctantly he steps back.

‘You go careful, now, or the girls will blame me.'

I smile at the thought of this tall soldier being frightened of two teenaged girls.

They lower me gently down through the hole until my bare feet touch damp earth. I take out the torch and switch it on.

‘Hello? Can you hear me?' I call. I hear a soft groan in answer. I shine it in the direction of the noise. There's a great heap of debris. I start shoving it out of the way, but as I move a big bit of wood I've just moved shifts towards me. I scream, and scramble out of the way. When it settles I've even less room.

‘Rosie!'

‘I'm all right,' I call up. ‘Can you lower some buckets down on ropes to take some of this rubble away?'

Within seconds I'm loading buckets and they're pulling them out. I work steadily, clearing some space. I leave the bigger pieces in place. They look like they're holding a ton of other stuff up, and I'm worried if I try to move them the whole lot will come down on us.

All the time I'm talking to the woman on the other side of the blockage. ‘Don't worry. I'm coming. We'll get you out. It won't be long now. You'll be all right, I promise.'

She's crying softly now, and it's breaking my heart. Oh God, please let me get her out.

I pull on something and it shoots out and whacks me on the head. I fall back, dropping the torch and knocking over an empty bucket which clatters really loudly in the small space. The woman screams and above my head people are shouting down, wanting to know what's happened.

Oh, my head! I put up a hand and feel something warm and sticky in my hair. ‘I'm all right,' I call out.

At least, I think I am. I sit up slowly and everything starts spinning. I'm feeling really sick. I take a deep breath and blow it out. I've got to do this. I can't give up now. I pick up the torch and point it towards where I've been working and immediately drop it again. It goes out as it lands on the floor, leaving me blinking in the darkness. I scramble around on my hands and knees until I find it, telling myself I didn't see what I just saw. When I finally find it I switch it on. My hands are shaking.

The beam of light shines on a gleaming red car. This isn't a bombed out basement, and that's definitely not an old-fashioned car. I'm in an underground car park. I move the light and it picks up other cars. On the wall is a sign saying ‘Have you paid and displayed?'

Am I dead? Did that bang on my head kill me? No, I can't be. You don't die and go to a car park, do you? If I was dead there'd be a light at the end of a tunnel or something, right? If I'm not dead, I must be back in the future.
Woohoo!
I start to grin, so relieved I've got back, wherever I am. But just as I stand up and start to walk towards the exit I hear her again – the woman who's trapped in the basement. I look round and behind me I see the hole I've been working in, shimmering.

I tell myself she'll be alright. They know she's there. Someone will dig her out. She groans again. I feel a huge knot in my stomach as I stand there, half way between the past and my own time. This might be my only chance to get home. I
have to
go, don't I?

The knot in my stomach tightens, my head starts to throb. What if I go, and they can't find someone else small enough to help rescue that poor woman? I could be her only chance.

I can't do it. I can't just walk away and leave her. The hole is shrinking. I step back into it, not letting myself think about how close I've been to getting home; not letting myself wonder if I'll ever get another chance to leave.

‘It's OK,' I call out. ‘I'm going to get you out.' I start digging again and don't stop until I've created a tunnel through the debris.

At last I push through and my hand grasps thin air. ‘I'm through!' I shout. Behind me I can hear a muffled cheer from above. In front of me the woman grabs my hand.

‘Oh thank God! Help me, please. It's so dark down here.'

‘Hang on,' I pull my hand back and get the torch. ‘Here.' She takes it, crying with relief at the light. I carry on in the dark, pulling stuff out of the way, trying to make the hole bigger. Now I really am in a tunnel, and heading for the light!

Something warm touches my leg and I jump, hitting the back of my head this time. ‘Ow!'

‘It's all right, Miss. I'm here to help.' Someone is in the dark behind me.

‘Well you might have warned me you were coming. I thought you were a rat. Now I've got another bloody bruise on my head. You frightened the life out of me.'

‘Sorry about that. Be careful now, and I'll try to clear some more while you see to the patient. You're a first-aider, right?'

‘Sort of.'

‘What do you mean by that?'

‘It was a long time ago, OK? Look, I was the only one small enough to come down here, so instead of criticizing me, just help me get to the lady and then find someone who can tell me what to do.'

‘All right, girly. No need to shout.'

‘Sorry,' I mumble.

It's quicker work with this guy behind me, taking the stuff away, and after a few minutes I can squeeze through into the cellar. The woman is sitting on the floor, cradling her pregnant belly. Oh my God, I hope she isn't in labour or anything. I can't put a splint on that!

As I scramble in, she grabs me and pulls and I land in a heap next to her. She's crying and hugging me. ‘Oh you're an angel. You've saved us. God bless you.'

I hug her back, nearly crying myself. ‘It's not just me. There's a load of people out there. We'll get you out. I told you we would.'

A face appears in the hole. That must be the phantom leg-grabber. ‘Any injuries?' he asks.

‘No, I'm all right,' says the woman. ‘But I can't get out through that little hole.' She points to her huge baby bump.

‘Bloody hell. You look ready to pop.'

‘Don't say that,' I say. ‘She can't have a baby down here. We've got to get her out.'

‘Is there anyone else?'

‘No, I was on my own in the house. I didn't fancy walking to the shelter. I thought I'd be safe in the cellar.' She starts to cry again.

‘Don't you fret, love. I'll get some more help down here.' He turns to me. ‘You make her comfortable.' I nod. ‘It might take a bit longer, but we'll get you out, missus, don't you worry.' He disappears back down the hole and reappears with the canvas bag. ‘Here. I'll get some blankets sent down for you.'

We settle down with our backs against the wall opposite the hole. It feels like being in a little den – the floor from above has crashed down at an angle, leaving a triangular space. Thank God the wall behind us didn't collapse. I pour out some hot, sweet tea from the flask and offer her a sandwich. ‘Sorry, it's not exactly a banquet.' I have a sniff. ‘Fish paste, I think.'

‘Anything'll do,' she says, taking the tea and half a sandwich, still a bit tearful. ‘I never thought I'd get the chance to eat again. You've saved my life.'

I haven't really. I mean, she's still stuck in the cellar, isn't she? I just hope they hurry up and widen the hole. It's pretty grim down here. I shiver and rub my arms. When a couple of blankets are pushed through to us I wrap one round the lady's shoulders, then snuggle into mine. Ah, that's better. A sip of the tea, even with that revolting milk, helps warm me up a bit. We share the sandwich, listening to the noise of the rescue operation.

‘When's your baby due?' I ask, trying to distract her. Or maybe I'm trying to distract myself. Every now and then there's another collapse and a lot of swearing on the other side of the blockage. I'm trying not to think about the whole lot shifting and trapping us both on this side of it. The other thing I don't want to think about is that car park. What if that was my only chance to get home?

‘Middle of January I think. I don't know what we're going to do now the house has been blown up. I suppose I'll have to evacuate somewhere.'

‘What about your husband? Is he around?'

She shakes her head. ‘He's in the army. I haven't got a clue where he is. He can't tell me. I don't know when he's going to see the baby after it's born. How's he going to find us now the house has gone?' She starts to cry again. I try to get her to drink some more tea. I don't know how to deal with her tears. It must be pretty awful, no home, your husband away fighting, and having to cope with a baby.

‘Please don't cry, it can't be good for the baby.' Oh crap. Wrong thing to say – she cries even harder. I pat her arm, wishing I'd just shut up. I am such a total loser. Now I want to cry too.

Eventually she calms down. ‘I'm sorry. I shouldn't be so silly. You've been so kind, coming in here to save me. For a while back there I was thinking I was a goner for sure. And my poor baby.' She fills up again, but sniffs and shakes her head. ‘But I reckon I'm the luckiest woman in London tonight.'

Seriously, if she carries on like that I'm going to the one bawling my eyes out.

‘Do you know if it's a boy or a girl?' I ask.

She laughs. ‘Of course not! No one knows 'till it's born, do they?'

‘Oh, right.' No ultrasound scans in the 1940s. ‘But don't some people reckon they can tell?'

‘Well, my friend Kitty swears it's a boy, seeing as how I'm carrying it all at the front. But my Aunt Dolly did the needle test and says it's a girl.'

‘Needle test?'

‘You know, they thread a needle on some cotton and hold it over your belly. If it swings round it's a girl, if it goes from side to side it's a boy. Or is it the other way round? Oh, I don't know. All I care about is having a healthy baby. A boy would be nice for my Fred. He'd be proud as punch to have a son. But I'd quite like a little girl.' She sighs and strokes her bump.

Our rescuers are getting closer. I can hear swearing and what sounds like a pickaxe popping away at the brick and concrete barrier.

‘Not long now. Have you thought of any names?'

‘Definitely Fred if it's a boy. I don't want to lumber a little girl with a name like Shirley though.'

‘Is that your name?'

‘God love us, we ain't even introduced ourselves have we?' she says. ‘You saved my life and I didn't even tell you my name. What am I like? Yes, I'm Shirley.'

‘And I'm Rosie,' I grin. ‘Nice to meet you.'

‘Rosie,' she smiles. ‘Now that's a nice name for a girl.'

‘Well, I like it.'

‘And if a little Rosie of mine grows up to be half as brave and kind as you, I'll be well pleased.'

I can't believe how chuffed I feel. That's the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.

Another crash makes us both jump. A load of rubbish and dust shoots through the hole, making us cough. When the dust clears, there's Bill pushing his shoulders through the bigger hole, all filthy and sweaty and the most beautiful sight I've ever seen.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

It didn't take them long to get us out after that, and everyone cheered as we emerged. They all seemed to want to pat me on the head or shoulder, which didn't do my cuts and bruises much good. But they were all so pleased with me that I didn't have the heart to complain.

Shirley was taken off to the hospital to be checked over. As she left she shouted over to me ‘If it's a girl, I'm calling her Rosie.' I waited until she was out of sight, then burst into tears.

Now I'm sitting in the back of an ambulance while a first-aider is sorting me out. I don't know what he's using to clean the cuts, but it really, really stings. I try not to be a wimp, but can't help hissing through my teeth when he gets to the cut on my head.

‘All right, Miss, nearly finished. You're lucky, none of these cuts are too bad. You won't need any stitches.' He finishes up and starts putting his kit away.

Bill appears, looking through the window in the back door (that's how tall he is – I'd never reach it). The first-aider sees him and opens the door.

‘All done. She'll be fine. Just needs a cuppa and a bun and she'll be right as rain.'

‘Thank you,' I say, getting up. I sway a bit, but I'm fine, really.

‘You're welcome. And well done. It was a brave thing you did.'

‘I didn't feel very brave,' I grin, trying not to cry again.

‘None of us do, love. It's the ones what do it even when they're scared that mean Hitler will never win. You mark my words. Now, I'll leave you to put your bits back on, then your young man can get you home safe.'

Bill hands me my shoes and stockings as the first-aider gets out the ambulance. They shut the door to give me some privacy. I can hear them talking outside while I struggle to put the stockings on. My nails are completely wrecked and my fingers are covered in cuts, my legs have got grazes and bruises all over them. I can't remember getting any of them, I was so focussed on getting to Shirley. I've a feeling it's all going to start really hurting soon.