Chapter 29

Helen slouched in front of the living room grate until the last remnants of the wooden stool she had found earlier in the eaves were little more than cool cinders. She didn't think she had ever understood how true loneliness felt before losing her aunt.

Helen shivered and looked up at the photo on the mantelpiece of Aunt Sylvia and her husband.She struggled to believe her aunt had been gone now for over half a year, and the effort of having to be strong for Bobby continued to be exhausting. All Helen wanted to do was lie in her bed with the curtains drawn and cry.

‘Who will I reminisce with now, Aunty?' she asked, staring at the photo of the happy couple so clearly in love. ‘Why didn't I ask you all the practical questions I need answers to?' She had been too busy refusing to acknowledge that her aunt was extremely unwell despite the proof being in front of her eyes.

Helen wasn't sure what would happen to her aunt's home now Sylvia was no longer there. Would she and Bobby be allowed to keep living here?

The thought of going anywhere else unsettled her further. It was wartime, she reasoned. Aunt Sylvia had welcomed her and Bobby into her home and she would stay until she was told otherwise.

Feeling a little calmer, Helen knew she should finally do something about her aunt's possessions. But, looking at the photos displayed in the living room, she decided to leave things as they were. Although her aunt was no longer in the house, Helen still felt her presence. In the first weeks after her death she had treasured the wafts of Shalimar, her aunt's favourite perfume, which filled her senses whenever she plumped the cushion on her Sylvia's favourite armchair. And breathing in the delicate scent of roses and jasmine with a hint of sandalwood whenever she brushed against her Sylvia's coat, still hanging in the hallway, soothed her and allowed her to believe for a few precious seconds that she was still alive. She had looked forward to these sensory treats, but they'd long since faded.

Later, Helen was halfway up the stairs on her way to bed, when a loud banging on the front door startled her. She heard Bobby cry out from their bedroom and gritted her teeth in irritation. It had taken her almost an hour to settle him, and she had been hoping to enjoy a reasonable night's sleep for once.

There was another bang and a German accent ordered her to open the front door at once. Helen's breath caught in her throat and her heart raced as she grabbed the banister to steady herself.

Hearing them shout once again, Helen forced her feet to move. She reached the front door and turned the key with trembling fingers. She opened the door to find two German officers standing on her step glaring at her.

They walked in without any pleasantries, forcing her to step aside. Bobby began crying noisily, no doubt terrified by the loud noises.

‘You've woken my baby,' she snapped, her motherly instinct to protect her son making her forget who she was addressing for a moment. ‘I need to fetch him.'

They seemed taken aback by her cheek, then the shorter of the two nodded. ‘We will wait.'

She ran up the stairs needing to comfort her sobbing toddler. Wait for what? she wondered. Why were they here, and at this time of night? Gripped with fear about what she was about to face, Helen went to placate her sobbing child.