Shattered Hopes

Day 2

Tom blinked in the gloom. There were still a few echoing snores rebounding off the damp walls of the cavern. The trap door was open and light was streaming in. Outside were the sounds of birds singing and children laughing. Good sounds.

Tom climbed the ladder to the surface and gazed around. The garden was empty. He walked through the house to the kitchen. It was only an adult.

"You missed breakfast, Tom," She said, "But everyone had a lie-in so it was just bread and butter. I could-"

Tom ignored her. The laughter was getting closer; it was intermixed with squeals of delight. Tom went out the front entrance.

In the middle of the street was a group of children. Not just the Vauxhall road Orphans but some of the locals as well. Beth was standing a little away from the rest holding an old skipping rope. Why became apparent when she asked if the group were ready. After a chorus of "Yes", Beth bent down and began to spin very quickly on the spot, dragging the rope with her. Every time it threatened to hit a child, they jumped. The radius of the game was so big it blocked the entire street. Beth kept spinning. Faster and faster. The children kept jumping. Until the rope stopped.

Beth grinned. "Ah, h-"

She froze.

The old skipping rope had hit the foot of a stern looking woman in a uniform. Her hair was tied up in a formal fashion underneath her hat. It was all quite imposing and Beth, who had only been at Vauxhall road for a couple of years, was somewhat perplexed. David, however, was overjoyed.

"Emma!"

Every other child who'd been in the Orphanage since before the war gaped.

"No way!"

"Really?"

"It can't be."

"Yer jokin'."

Emma whipped off her hat and tucked it under her arm.

"Hello chaps."

Tom almost laughed with pure happiness. Emma was back.

Emma had left to be a driver as soon as the war had started. She'd wanted to 'serve her bit' she'd said. Emma had been Tom's favourite person at Vauxhall Road before he had gone to Hogwarts. She'd taught him that you couldn't just sit back during chaos. You always had to do something to make your mark, or life wasn't worth living. She'd sat up at night and told him the stories of the Greeks and the great empires of Rome. She'd taught him that the smallest person could do the greatest things. Even though she was five years older than him she'd seen his potential. He'd make great omelettes she'd said, even if he had to break a few eggs to get there. Tom remembered one day when he was nine years old. He'd been beaten for reading his book in class. Emma had gone wild and marched straight down to the school. She claimed she'd given the teacher a good talking to. Rumour had it she'd punched him in the face. Either way, Tom was never beaten again.

"What are you grinning about?"

Tom blinked. The group was staring at him.

"Oh just the thought of Emma punching Mister Jones."

The group turned back to Emma, mouths hanging open. Emma blushed.

"I did not punch him."

"I 'eard yer did," David offered.

"Yeah, me too."

Emma smiled. "I may," she shrugged nonchalantly, "Have poked him a bit."

The children cheered and burst in to applause. Emma bowed and blew kisses theatrically.

"So then chaps," she said, "Are you still stealing?"

Tom would have been shocked if he hadn't long ago learnt to expect anything from Emma. They hadn't been thieving before the war, there wasn't any need.

"No!" he exclaimed, "Of course not!"

"I am!" cried Clara, bouncing on the sofa. "I'm Clara. I think I only came a few weeks after yer left. I've 'eard all about ya."

"Really? Well none of it's true."

Clara's face fell. "Oh," she moaned, "Not even the story about you, the bishop, the melon, the umbrella and the-"

"Does anyone want a drink?" Rosy interrupted. She had known Emma before the war.

"Tea please," said Emma, with a mischievous twinkle in her eye.

"So what brings you back here?" Freda asked.

"To see old Tommy again of course," replied Emma, ruffling Tom's hair.

He didn't bother to sort it out. It always got scuffed up now a days. He didn't really mind.

"You've gotta call 'im Lord Voldemort now," Clara told her, " 'cos that's 'is nick name yer see."

"Oh really?" said Emma, raising an eyebrow at Tom.

"It's an anagram of my full name," he explained.

"Well we cannot call you that can we? Or we'd have to call Paulie here 'Pull a Winki'"

The group laughed. That's what Tom would always remember about her afterwards. She could always make them laugh.

Emma went on to explain the real reason she'd returned. That she was the driver for 'The general'. That she had been specially chosen after Amelia's father had discovered that she'd lived at Vauxhall Road. She told them all about the job she'd had before that, working with a police inspector. She told them about a case she'd seen where a dead man had been found in the ruins of a raided house, killed by a stab in the chest only moments before the house was hit. That it turned out he'd been killed because a local man had misheard the killer's question for directions and had sent him to the wrong house. She answered innumerable questions on the sorts of dead bodies she's seen. She asked them how come they could be so morbid in their situation. And she'd made them laugh. She could always make them laugh.

"It was nice to see Emma again, wasn't it?"

Freda and Tom were sitting in the debating room chatting while the adults talked serious talk in one corner, the younger children played trains on the floor and the other orphans listened to the wireless in the other room.

"Yes," Tom replied, "Life was much more fun before she left."

"Ha!" Freda cried, "Fun. It was pure heaven as far as I'm concerned. She did leave just as war broke out. What with my brother gallivanting off to be a hero. Fool."

"It's my birthday tomorrow," Sally suddenly decided to declare to the room. "D'you think they'll stop fighting 'cos it's special. Mummy used to call it the most special day in the year."

Had anyone older have said that then Freda would have burst out laughing. But this was Sally, and she was six.

Freda smiled. "I'm afraid not, Sally," she said, "They don't even stop for Christmas."

Sally looked horrified. "No Christmas!"

The other little children gasped. Oliver looked about ready to burst in to tears.

"No," said Freda.

"Never?!"

"Well," said Freda, "They did once. Do you want to hear about it?"

Sally nodded eagerly. Freda lifted the little girl up on to her knee and put her arm around her.

"It was in the first world war. The war to end all wars they called it. 1914. The soldiers had been fighting each other for months. Then, on Christmas day, the English soldiers heard the Germans singing carols. And they called out 'It's Christmas. We don't want to fight today'. So they all got out of their trenches and they played football and shared cigarettes and they talked with each other. And for one special Christmas day, there was peace. Do you want to know what the German's sang?"

Sally nodded. Not so eagerly, more dreamily. Freda began to sing softly.

"Stille nacht, heilige nacht

alles schläft, einsam wacht

nur das traute hochheilige Paar

holder Knabe im lockigen Haar

schlaf in himmlischer Ruh'

schlaf in himmlischer Ruh'"

As Freda hummed the next verse she gently rocked Sally back and forth. Tom felt entranced. Although he had never had a mother, he could almost feel what it was like to have one in that moment. Her singing gently rocked him to sleep and as he closed his eyes he could almost hear the words,

"Call him Tom, after his father. And Marvolo, after mine."

Tom opened his eyes. All the children had vanished. Only Freda was left still rocking a sleeping Sally gently. Freda put her finger to her lips and indicated for Tom to help her carry Sally to her bedroom. After they had tucked the little girl in bed, Freda smiled down at Sally and whispered,

"You know, Tom. If there isn't a raid, she might just sleep soundly tonight."

"There won't be a raid tonight," Tom assured her.

Freda turned back to Tom, concerned.

"I wish I could believe you Tom. I wish I really could."

There wasn't a raid that night.