When Kitty came to, all she could see was darkness, with a few smudges of weak light way off to one side, but she couldn’t turn her head to see where they were coming from. She was unable to move much at all, as she seemed to be wedged in tight by sharp, heavy objects on both sides. The smell was suffocating – damp stone, dry dust, and a troublingly earthy scent that she couldn’t quite place but didn’t want to think about too carefully. Cautiously she tried to move her fingers and toes. The toes were all right and so were the fingers on her right hand, but when she tried to move those on her left, pain shot through her all the way to her shoulder, making her gasp. She strained to remember where she was. Gradually it came back to her – the big meeting, the smaller impromptu one, walking along with Frank … Frank. Where was he?
She tried to call but nothing came out. Her throat was painful and dry. How long had she been trapped here? She coughed a little and had another go. ‘Frank,’ she managed to half-whisper. Then, more strongly, ‘Frank! Are you there? Are you all right?’
There was no reply. Slowly it came to her that there were faint low moans coming from different directions, and she had no way of telling if any of them came from Frank. She wondered how many people had been caught in the blast. They had been walking between tall buildings; they must have been full of Londoners going about their daily business. Now they were all caught in the ruins of what had been a normal street, full of normal workers and families.
She blinked and tried to cast her eyes towards the chink of light. Was it still daytime? Maybe that was the sun shining. Perhaps that meant rescue was at hand. She knew there would be teams assigned to each area, ready to spring into action on occasions such as this, just as there were in Bootle, where Pop played a part both in salvage operations and with the ARP. She would cling to that thought – that a London equivalent of Pop would come and find her. How she wished he were here now. He would save them all. In a flash of panic she wondered if she would ever see him or any of them ever again.
Stop it, she told herself. Panic won’t help. She had to stay in control. She would continue moving her toes and the fingers of one hand, to make sure her circulation kept flowing, but nothing more in case she dislodged any more bricks, or whatever it was that pinned her in place so firmly. Now she was more alert she realised she was being held down by a heavy weight and it was very uncomfortable. ‘Frank,’ she called again, trying to keep the desperation out of her voice. ‘Frank! Are you there?’
She shut her eyes tightly shut, forcing back a sob. Frank had to be still alive. She couldn’t bear it if he wasn’t. How stupid she had been, angry that he’d picked another Wren in preference to her for this trip, wasting time being cross when they’d had all day together yesterday on the train and today going round the city. They could have enjoyed each other’s company, talked properly, not pretended to be formal and indifferent.
Life wouldn’t be worth living if he wasn’t there too, she realised. He was everything she looked for. He was funny and clever, he was the best-looking man she knew, and yet he meant so much more than all of that. He made her body sing just to look at him, and on the few occasions when they touched, her skin reacted as if he’d lit it with a dusting of magic. She was drawn to him by something so fundamental she couldn’t put a name to it. If she was honest with herself, she would have to admit that she’d never felt like that with Elliott, even though she had been extremely fond of him and had begun to think of a future with him. She felt a connection with Frank on another level entirely. She’d known it for years, ever since they’d had that brief dance long ago. Up till then she’d still been like another one of his young sisters. He’d awoken something in her and then he’d had his accident and things had changed between them. Was she really never going to have the chance to put that right?
‘Frank,’ she said. ‘Frank, I’m sorry. I was angry with you and I shouldn’t have been. I just want you to be all right. Can you hear me?’
She strained her ears for any response, but all that came were the low moans, some close by, others further away. Somewhere there was a crumbling noise, as if the rubble was shifting. Would that be the rescuers arriving, or more buildings collapsing on top of them? No, she couldn’t think of that. It was too frightening. She had to stay calm. But where was he?
‘Frank!’ she called again, realising her voice was muffled by the weight of stone above and all around her. He might be just yards away and unable to hear her. ‘Frank!’ she called as loudly as she could, and another sharp jolt of pain shot through her left arm.
There was more silence. Then, faintly, she thought she heard a different noise. She wasn’t sure at first if she was imagining it. Then it came again. ‘Kitty.’