Page 44 of Strangers in Time

“I’m no good, Charlie. I know that. I… I used to be before… the war. Me mum, she was nice, did her best. And when me dad got inthe damn pints and took off ’is belt to beat me, she wouldn’t let ’im. And then the war took ’im. And then Mum…” He looked back down at the ground. “I don’t want yer money, Charlie. Give it to yer gran.”

“But then what will you do?”

“I’ll think ’a somethin’. I always think ’a somethin’, even without Eddie round. ’e was a good bloke. ’e had it worse’n me. ’e really did. At the orphanage and all. What blokes done to him ’cause ’e was little.”

“Right,” said Charlie.

“Might join up. Fight the Jerries. I looks old enough.” He put out his hand. “Good luck to you, Charlie.”

Charlie shook his hand and then Lonzo was gone.

Charlie passed by the wreckage of a Dornier aircraft, its severed snout resting half inside an abandoned building and its shattered tail with the German Cross on it lying a dozen feet away. An RAF sergeant had guarded it for a bit after the plane had first come down. But once it was stripped of everything, the sergeant no longer came. Folks would take pictures in front of it or throw rocks at the ruined hull. He studied it for a bit, imagining the airmen inside it plotting their bombings. Charlie was glad they were dead.

Two corners over he received a shilling from a man in return for shoveling dead rats from a building that was beingrehabilitated, or so the man said. Charlie didn’t know what that meant, but he scooped skinny gray carcasses and earned his money. Charlie didn’t know what the man had used to kill all those rats, but he could smell something strong that might have managed it. It was actually making his belly feel funny.

After he was done shoveling and got his coin, he had rushed to the river and thrown up the bile in his stomach, as did four other boys who had scooped rats with him. The man with the shillings had never ventured into the building. He had stayed well away smoking his pipe.

In the blissful peace of the cluster of hours caught betweendarkness and true dawn, Charlie stared at the black ribbon of the winding Thames. A great city lay half in ruins. The hearts of the survivors were just as damaged. Millions of men had fallen on battlefields all around the world, and the clash of countries was far from over. He wondered what they would call the next world war other than number three.

He tossed a flat stone into the dark water but was unable to see the ripples.

I really can’t see me, either, but I’m here, for now. Until maybe they hang me for Eddie and the copper. Or a bomb does the job.

He made his way along the river, heading west.

He liked to keep moving. For lads like Charlie, it was always a good idea.

MOTHERWAKEFIELD

MRS. PRIDE WAS STILLunder her bedcovers when a fully dressed Molly had marched down the hall and opened the door of her parents’ bedroom without bothering first to knock.

As had been the case since she had arrived home, there was no one there and the bed was untouched. Molly had previously placed one of her gloves under the sheet and then smoothed everything back over. If her father had slept in the bed, he would have surely noticed that and removed the glove.

She found the glove exactly where she had placed it.

Next, she opened the door to the bathroom. The bathtub had not one smidgen of stain; there was no bar of soap. A towel lay over its holder, but it was dry to the touch and Molly was convinced it had not touched human skin in a very long time.

She walked down the steps to the main floor and surveyed the space. Hat and stick by the door. No clink of the latchkey, no creak of the door the previous night. Or any other night.

Molly went into the kitchen. There was not a whiff of recently cooked food. Not a plate or cup was out of place; the sink and stove were scrubbed clean, and the kitchen’s wooden worktable waspristine. No one had obviously set foot in here since she and Mrs. Pride had taken their final meal last night and Molly had helped her nanny to clean up.

That meant her father could have partaken of no food or drink, even on the off chance that he had slept in a bed with his daughter’s glove under his backside, and washed up in a bathroom while leaving no signs of having done so. She stepped outside to the garage and saw through the dreary window the Singer parked there. Using her latchkey, she unlocked the door, went inside, and ran her finger over the Singer’s bonnet. Her finger came away covered in grime. She opened the car door and was immediately hit with the musty odor of a long-enclosed space.

She went back inside just in time to see Mrs. Pride clatter down the back stairs from her small apartment that was directly over the kitchen. Her old nanny was just securing an apron around her waist when she saw Molly and came up short. “Molly! My, you’re up early. Couldn’t you sleep?”

“I slept,” said Molly tersely. “Just not well.”

Mrs. Pride pushed a strand of her hair back into place. “I believe that your father—”

“He’s not here,” interrupted Molly. “In fact, I know that he never came home last night.”

“Well, I don’t know about that, dear. I really couldn’t say.”

“Icansay. His bed hasn’t been slept in. Last night after you were asleep, I also checked the laundry. None of his clothes were there, and all his clean clothes are still hanging in his closet. So, unless he has gotten into the habit of leaving the house without wearing clothes, something surely is amiss. And nothing in the kitchen has been disturbed. His bathroom looks untouched. Why would a person bother to come home if not to eat, sleep, make his toilet, and dress? And the Singer has clearly not been driven in a very long time.”

Mrs. Pride gave a tremulous smile in response to all this. “Well, surely you must be mistaken, dear.”

“I am not mistaken. And I listened for him until three in the morning.”

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