There was no warning. No siren. No shout or rattle from the Air Raid Patrol warden. Nothing. The explosion, followed by the roar of aircraft overhead and heavy gunfire, seemingly came from nowhere, and lifted Audrey from her feet like a giant pair of invisible arms had picked her up and hurled her across the room, slamming her body into the kitchen dresser. Glass jars of marmalade, jam, pickles and bottled fruits fell from the shelves, smashing onto the floor tiles, as heat and bright light scorched her eyes, clouds of dust and smoke filling the air.

Audrey lay on the floor with her arms protectively over her head, stunned, blinking in the darkness, trying to make sense of what was happening all around her. Sounds of what could only be masonry, or the ceiling collapsing, stirred her into action, as she became aware of the taste of blood on her lips, then the sight of flames leaping up through holes in the floor like dancing devils into the kitchen. Reaching for a bucket of sand, she threw it onto the flames, to little effect, and staggered across the room to the stairwell.

Lily, home earlier from the party, emerged from the bedroom, clutching Joy, who was crying hysterically.

‘Get outside!’ commanded Audrey. ‘Into the shelter!’

Her mind rushed through where everyone was. John and William were in the bakehouse and hopefully by now in the shelter, but Mary was upstairs in bed.

‘Audrey!’ called John from behind her at the bottom of the stairwell, a handkerchief over his mouth. He came up a few stairs and tried to grab her arm, but Audrey was heading up to Mary’s room. ‘The front of the building is on fire,’ he said. ‘We got hit. Go outside to safety, I’ll go up for the girl.’

‘No!’ said Audrey, pulling away from his grasp. ‘I have to get her. Put out the ovens – they’ll make the fire worse! Get the AFS! Find the sandbags!’

Audrey felt her way through the weaving trails of thick black smoke that were rising up the stairs like snakes and burst into Mary’s bedroom. It was pitch-black and impossible to see.

‘Mary!’ she cried. ‘Get up! Quickly!’

Throwing open the blackout blind, so at least the moonlight would fill the room, she flew to Mary’s bed, but Mary wasn’t in it. Feeling under the bed with her hands, in case she was hiding, Audrey found she was there, curled up in the foetal position. Grasping hold of her little arm, she tried to pull her.

‘Come out, Mary love!’ she said. ‘We have to get out now!’

But Mary did not move.

Her heart pounding, as screams of ‘Audrey, come down now!’ came from outside the building, she tried pulling Mary again, but to no avail. It was as if the girl was frozen solid, utterly paralysed with fear.

---

Moments earlier, on the other side of Bournemouth, Maggie and George were welcomed into their room in the Ocean View guesthouse by Fanny Chandler, the kindly proprietor, an elderly lady who had laid out a silver tray with a small decanter of port on the table by the window, with two small crystal-cut port glasses and a red rose in a vase.

‘Oh, it’s just lovely!’ said Maggie, clasping her hands as her gaze ran over the room. The heavy curtains were pulled shut across a large window, and the floral carpet was thick underfoot. Near the fireplace were two inviting velvet-covered armchairs, and the bed – a double with a mahogany headboard – was freshly made up with starched white sheets, perfectly pressed. Above the fireplace hung an oval mirror and when Maggie caught her reflection she was taken aback. She’d never seen herself look so radiantly happy. Feeling like a movie star in her dark blue ‘going away’ outfit and silver fox fur given her by George, she suddenly felt she had no cares in the world. Finally, she was where she wanted to be, with a man she truly loved. Placing down her handbag, she moved over to the decanter and poured herself and George a nip of sherry, wanting to squeal with joy.

‘Congratulations,’ Fanny said. ‘It’s lovely to have something to celebrate. If Hitler had his way, we’d never celebrate again, would we? This war is hard on young people, I know that. You must enjoy every moment together as if it were your last, my dears. Tomorrow is not guaranteed.’

As she closed the door of the room behind her, informing them of the location of the air-raid shelter in the basement and wishing them both goodnight, George walked towards his new bride, his arms outstretched.

‘Here we are, Mrs Meadows,’ he said, beaming at her. ‘Alone at last.’

Maggie put down her glass, smiled at George and took his hand, leading him over to the bed, where they sat down next to each other – and kissed. For all her flirtatious ways and movie-star looks, Maggie wasn’t experienced with men and she blushed, amazed at how her body felt almost electrified by George’s kisses. For a blissful few moments the pair were oblivious to everything else around them, until the awful wail of the air-raid siren shattered their intimacy.

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake!’ said George, standing quickly and holding Maggie’s hand, to lead her to safety. ‘We’ll have to carry on where we left off a bit later. Let’s hope this is a false alarm and over quickly.’