Into the Darkest Day: An emotional and totally gripping WW2 historical novel

by Kate Hewitt

  He was standing in the kitchen doorway; after coming in from the bright sunlight, he loomed up like a dark, hulking shadow, and she tensed, because she knew she’d been here before. When he spoke, his voice was both defeated and angry, a sorrowful growl of despair.

  “What the hell have you been up to, Abby?”

  Chapter Eleven

  February 1944

  Lily clutched her handbag to her chest as she stood by the front gate and stared up at the unassuming house on Keildon Road, just a short walk away from her own home. It was where Matthew was billeted, and she had decided to stop by after work even though she wasn’t expected. Even though it wasn’t at all like her to do something so unprompted, so forward and bold.

  She’d got the address from Sophie, after that taut morning encounter, when her sister had seemed so blithe, her blouse buttoned wrong, her eyes alight.

  Richard’s bewilderment and Carol’s pursed-lip silence hadn’t dented Sophie’s optimism at all. She’d seemed incandescent as she hurried upstairs to change into her clothes for work. Lily had followed her, full of trepidation, as well as an undeniably avid curiosity.

  “What happened?” she’d asked as Sophie wriggled out of her skirt.

  “What do you mean, what happened?”

  “Did Lieutenant Reese meet you at the pub?”

  “Lieutenant Reese, Lieutenant Reese.” Sophie had laughed, a little wildly. “I think you can call him Tom by now, Lily.” She gave her reflection a quick, smug smile. “Yes, I most certainly think you can call him Tom.”

  “Your blouse is buttoned up wrong,” Lily had blurted. If she’d expected her sister to be embarrassed by this fact, she was disappointed. Sophie’s smug smile had just curved wider.

  “So it is,” she’d agreed, and started to unbutton it, a challenge glinting in her eyes. She was reveling in whatever had happened last night, Lily realized. Reveling in her freedom and her power, her experience and her allure. She’d practically shone with it; it radiated from her fingertips, and Lily had felt, quite suddenly, a deep, penetrating pang of envy.

  “Did you have a nice time?” she’d asked, feeling the question was inadequate, even ridiculous.

  Sophie had slipped out of her blouse with a shrug. “We most certainly did.”

  Her tone had made Lily want to know every detail, even as she already knew she wouldn’t ask anything more. “I don’t think Mother noticed about your blouse,” she’d said instead.

  Sophie had tossed her head as she caught her reflection again, her gaze lingering on her own smile. “So what if she did?”

  “Sophie—” Lily had begun, although she wasn’t sure what she could say.

  “I told you, Lily, I don’t care.” Sophie had let out another wild laugh, full of joy. “I don’t care,” she’d said again, her tone triumphant. “I really don’t.”

  Lily had stared at her uncertainly. “What did you and Lieu—Tom get up to, then?” she’d asked, even though she’d already told herself she didn’t want to know any details.

  “We went to the pub, of course.”

  “But after… The air raid didn’t start till after midnight, Sophie, and the pub would have closed by ten. What were you doing during all that time?” Although Lily hadn’t been sure she wanted to know.

  Sophie had turned back to face her, blouse unbuttoned, hands on her hips. “Do you really want to know?” she’d asked with a catlike smile.

  Lily knew then that she really didn’t. “Do you care for him, then?” she’d asked.

  Sophie’s smile had dropped as she’d gazed thoughtfully at her sister. “Do you know, Lily,” she’d said slowly, “I actually think I do.”

  “And… will you see him again?” She’d thought of Matthew, standing so close to her in the hall, asking her the same question. Why, oh why, had she been such a ninny about it? Why couldn’t she just have said yes, two o’clock on Sunday, we’ll go for a walk?

  “He’s taking me to Rainbow Corner on Friday,” Sophie had said as she began to button up a fresh blouse.

  “Oh.” Lily couldn’t keep the disappointment from swooping emptily in her stomach. No double date this time, then. That much was obvious.

  “Are you missing your little sergeant?” Sophie had teased. “He is a dark one. Do you know, Tom doesn’t really know him at all? I asked about him for you, but he hadn’t much to say. Only that he’d met him on the boat over, and the good sergeant never says much. Keeps himself to himself, and talks a bit funny too—have you noticed? Almost as if he’s some sort of lisp he’s trying to hide.”

  “He doesn’t have a lisp,” Lily had returned fiercely. “Far from it. He speaks very clearly. Very precisely.”

  “Exactly. He’s too precise, don’t you think? As if he’s trying too hard. Anyway, Tom thinks he’s a bit queer. He wouldn’t call him his friend, certainly. I’m not sure he even really likes him.” She had spoken matter-of-factly, but Lily had still been stung.

  “I’m not at all certain that Sergeant Lawson would call Lieutenant Reese his friend either,” she had retorted, but Sophie had only hooted with laughter.

  “Listen to you! I’ve got your back up, haven’t I? Well, I’m only trying to give you fair warning. Tom said he’s often missing at times when he shouldn’t be, but, for some reason, no one seems to bat an eye. And he doesn’t have any real friends, except for a bloke named Guy, who’s just the same.”

  “Tom sounds envious.”

  “Envious?” Sophie had let out a scornful laugh. “Of what?” It was so obvious that Sophie thought Tom Reese was the better man, the better catch. Lily’s chest had burned with the effrontery of it. Tom Reese, she suspected, was all brash swagger and shallow charm. Nothing he’d done or said so far convinced her otherwise, but she was sure Matthew was different. He had to be.

  “Does Tom know where Matthew is billeted?” she’d asked recklessly.

  “Ooh! Are you going to see him, then? Send him a postcard?” Her sister had sounded amused, which had made Lily feel as if she could almost hate her. It was a new and shocking feeling; she loved Sophie, she always had. Her high spirits kept them all buoyed up when life was so low. She was laughter and fun and light-hearted simplicity. But, right now, Lily’s fists were clenched and she had to take a breath before she spoke levelly.

  “I might.”

  “Oh, don’t be cross.” In typical Sophie style, her sister’s mood had changed and she dropped to her knees in front of her and laid her head in her lap as if she were a child. “I’m sorry, Lily, I really am. I’m acting like a cow when I shouldn’t be. It’s just I’m so happy.”

  Lily didn’t know why being happy would make one act like a cow, but she’d forborne saying so. “I’m pleased you’re happy.”

  “Are you?” Sophie had twisted her head to look up at her. “Are you, really?”

  “Yes, of course I am. Truly.” Although Lily knew she was still worried, about so many things. “Do be careful, Sophie,” she’d said quietly. “Lieutenant Reese—Tom—he’s going to go away, isn’t he?”

  “He’ll come back on leave.”

  “Did he say so?”

  “And so what if he doesn’t?” Sophie had scrambled up to her feet. “Not everyone is looking for a wedding ring, you know.”

  “Even so,” Lily had said quietly. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  Sophie had grabbed her utility skirt from the wardrobe and thrust her legs into it. “Perhaps I just want a good time.” She’d sounded defiant, and Lily suspected her sister was trying to convince herself as much as her.

  “Then do be careful,” she’d repeated. “Don’t let him break your heart, or…” Get you into trouble. She couldn’t say it. She didn’t even like thinking it. She could not imagine what their mother’s response to that would be.

  “Don’t worry about me, Lily,” Sophie had stated rather loftily. “I can take care of myself, you know.” She’d grabbed her hairbrush and started yanking it through her mussed hair. “And don’t worry, I�
��ll get you the address for your sergeant.”

  He’s not mine, Lily had almost said, but then didn’t. Perhaps he was hers, if just a little bit. Two days later, Sophie had handed her a slip of paper with a smile; she’d been out to Rainbow Corner with Tom and she was fizzing from it.

  “You should have seen all the things they had there, Lily! Endless supply of just everything. I tried Coca-Cola. It tickled my nose! Oh, it made me laugh.”

  Lily had thought of how she’d felt the same when she’d drunk champagne. She’d smiled and patted her sister’s hand, genuinely glad for her happiness, and she’d put the slip of paper in the pocket of her dress where she felt its promising weight all day.

  And now she was here, under a darkening sky, knowing she should hurry home—there had been another raid last night—and yet so wanting to be daring. Wanting to do something, just the way Sophie had said—to seize life and what it had to offer, no matter how little or fleeting.

  The house was small and unassuming, brick-fronted, the blackout curtains drawn across every window. Lily took a deep breath and started forward. With her gloved fingers clenched tightly, she rapped on the front door and then waited, shivering a little in the cold, still air. It was a clear night, a silver crescent of moon slender in the sky. She waited, sensing the emptiness within. It shouldn’t have surprised her that Matthew wasn’t home; he might be on leave, or on an operation, or at the base. He could be anywhere.

  But what about the family he was living with? She’d been prepared to stammer out an explanation of who she was here to see to whoever came to the door, but it remained closed, the house clearly empty.

  Lily waited another minute before she started to turn to go back down the path, stopping after just a step. She couldn’t leave it at that. To work up all this courage only to walk away at the first hurdle…? She glanced again at the house, but, of course, she couldn’t see any lights inside, thanks to the blackout curtains. Still, it felt empty.

  Then she noticed a wooden gate at the side of the house that no doubt led to the back garden. Hardly daring to believe she was considering it—she didn’t do things like this—Lily walked towards the gate. It was latched, but when she stood on her tiptoes, she was able to work the latch from the other side. A bit of back and forth and it slid free, pinching Lily’s fingers in the process, but she didn’t care.

  She glanced around, but no one was about, and even if there was, they wouldn’t be able to see her. Everything was swathed in deep, blackout darkness. Holding her breath, she pushed the gate, and it swung open with a shudder and creak.

  The narrow alley that ran the length of the house was darker still, and the paving stones were slick under Lily’s shoes. There was a faint smell of drains and when she pressed one hand against the brick wall to steady herself, she felt damp seep through her gloves.

  What was she doing here? What could she possibly hope to find? Yet she kept walking, feeling her way along the wall, having no real idea why, only that she needed to do something, just as Sophie had.

  The narrow alleyway emerged into the back garden, exactly like just about every other on the street, or Holmside Road, for that matter. A rectangle of muddy grass—it hadn’t been turned into a Victory garden, which was a bit surprising—and a back door that led into the kitchen. There was no blackout curtain, but the room was dark.

  By the pale light of the slender moon, Lily was just about able to make out the bulky shapes of furniture—a table, two chairs, a sink, a range cooker, and a larder cupboard.

  She turned away from the door, gazing blankly at the dark garden. There was no Anderson shelter, just an expanse of muddy grass, everything seeming unlived and unloved in a way she didn’t understand. Surely there should be a washing line, or a vegetable patch— or something. There was nothing.

  There was no reason for her to hang about here, and it would look decidedly odd if Matthew came home and found her skulking about the back garden. Lily knew she would never be able to explain it, and her cheeks heated simply at the thought of having to do so. She needed to leave, immediately, before she was discovered by Matthew or a nosy neighbor.

  She’d just started back to the alley alongside the house when she heard a noise coming from the opposite side of the garden—the sound of something alive, although she couldn’t have said what it was. Blinking through the gloom, she made out a rickety little shed against the garden wall.

  Lily hesitated, her heart starting to pound. The horrid absurdity of the situation struck her forcefully—really, what had she been thinking, coming here like this, skulking about in the garden, looking for clues like some schoolgirl detective? And yet somehow, despite that, she found herself turning around and walking slowly towards the shed.

  The sound came again, like a soft sigh, almost a moan. A strange sound, especially to come from a dilapidated little shed, that looked as if it should hold firewood or coal, perhaps a rusty bicycle or two.

  Lily reached for the latch. It slipped out easily, and the door swung open. She stepped into the darkness, breathing in a sweetish animal scent. Rustling sounded all around her, and she heard the strange sigh again—it was a cooing, she realized. The shed was full of birds. They rustled again, louder, making her want to step back, yet she stood still.

  By the pale sliver of moonlight, she was able to make them out—at least a dozen, all in wicker cages. They rustled and cooed and clucked, disturbed by her presence.

  It wasn’t entirely out of place for someone to keep birds, Lily knew, although she’d thought pigeons had been requisitioned for the war effort years ago. Then she noticed that each of the birds had a small metal canister attached to one of their legs. These had to be carrier pigeons, meant to send messages into occupied Europe. She’d heard about such things, but only vaguely, and now, curious in spite of every instinct telling her to walk away, she reached into the cage closest to her and unfastened the metal tube from the bird’s leg.

  It took a moment of fussing, and the bird tried to peck her hand, but for a reason she couldn’t articulate, Lily was determined. She unscrewed the lid of the tube and withdrew the paper folded tightly inside. She had to step outside the shed and hold the paper up to the moonlight to read it, but when she was able to make out the words—only just—her heart felt as if it had dropped right out of her chest. The message was in German.

  At least, she thought it was German. The only German she’d seen was in newsreels about Hitler, but she thought she recognized the style, and some of the words. Der. Sind. Heer.

  She stared at the message, desperately trying to think of a suitable reason why Matthew Lawson would have carrier pigeons in his shed, with messages in German attached to their legs.

  A noise sounded from somewhere at the front of the house, the squeak of a gate, and Lily jumped. She darted back into the shed and, with shaking fingers, tied the canister back onto the pigeon’s leg; it pecked her hand, causing a hole in her glove, but she couldn’t care about that.

  She’d had no time to roll up and replace the message, so she slipped it into her pocket, where it seemed to pulse in awful accusation. A message in German. What if someone found it? What on earth would they think?

  What did she think?

  She knew many Germans living in England had been classified as enemy aliens. They’d been rounded up at the start of the war, many of them Jews, and sent to internment camps as far away as the Isle of Man, although the public outcry since then had had the majority of them released. Still, people were afraid of spies, seemed to see them everywhere.

  She thought of the posters she’d seen on her way to work, or by the Underground—“Zipp it! Careless Talk Costs Lives!” or “Bits of Careless Talk Are Pieced Together By The Enemy” with a picture of a jigsaw map of Europe and a hand moving the pieces with an awful swastika ring. Some people said there were hundreds—thousands of spies, all through the country, listening, watching, waiting for the right moment.

  Another noise sounded from somewhere in the street
, and Lily knew she couldn’t stay here a moment longer. She hurried out of the shed, her legs watery, her hands shaking as she latched the door. Her mind was buzzing, a haze of thoughts she couldn’t bear to discern. Messages in German. The empty house. Matthew’s clipped, precise voice. The way Tom Reese had said he was strange, even mysterious, joining the regiment later than everyone else… She had to get out of here.

  She walked as quickly as she could towards the alleyway, slipping on the damp paving stones and nearly falling. When she threw one hand out to the wall to steady herself, she scraped her wrist hard across the brick. Her breath was coming in ragged gasps, her heart thudding so hard it hurt.

  Somehow she made it to the end of the alleyway, and, standing on her tiptoes, she did her best to force the latch’s bolt back in, but she couldn’t manage it. Lily let out a desperate, disbelieving cry, wondering if she should just leave the gate unlatched. Would Matthew even notice? If he was a spy, he would.

  Finally the bolt slid through, and Lily let out a near-sob of relief. She whirled around, intending to sprint towards the street and safe towards home, when she caught sight of the figure at the front gate, one hand about to open it. Even in the dark, she knew who it was; she recognized the straight bearing, the set of his shoulders, and the cap on his head.

  “Hello,” Matthew said in his familiar, clipped voice. He sounded surprised, and why shouldn’t he be? “Is that you, Lily?”

  Chapter Twelve

  Lily stared at Matthew and suddenly had the absurd urge to laugh wildly. How could this be happening? Why had she come here, why had she sneaked into the back garden, and why, oh why, had she opened the door of that wretched shed? All of it had been so very, very unlike her. She was sedate, safe, and deadly dull. Deadly… Her hand slipped into the pocket of her coat and clenched around that terrible slip of paper.