Lena sat on one of the seats in the corridor, crying into her handkerchief, but her head shot up when she heard Sarah’s screams. It was such an agonising sound, one she’d heard many times during the war. She’d wailed like that when her husband had been killed. Poor Sarah, she thought. No woman should ever have to experience the agony of losing a child, and she was grateful George had been spared when the bomb had dropped.

The doors opened and Sarah emerged with George almost holding her up. She was weeping inconsolably, and, as her legs buckled, Lena rushed over to help.

‘We need to get her home, Mum,’ George said quietly over the top of Sarah’s head.

Lena agreed. She wished she had some words of comfort to offer Sarah, but knew nothing she could say would take away the girl’s pain. She’d heard it all herself before, the condolences and phrases such as ‘Time heals’, but none of it had helped her. She understood how lonely grief could be, and time hadn’t healed. She had just learned to live with her heartache.

They managed to get Sarah to George’s van, and Lena was pleased that she didn’t protest when they told her she’d be staying with them. The ride home seemed a long one, and was mostly driven in silence, apart from the noise of Sarah crying. She’d stop for a minute or two and seem to pull herself together, but then her face would scrunch and the tears flowed again.

Lena wanted to bawl herself; she loved the boy too and would miss him terribly, but she had to be strong. Her own anguish was nothing compared to Sarah’s. The poor girl was bereft, and this was just the beginning of a very long period of mourning.

Chapter 38

Sarah awoke the next morning, and when she opened her puffy eyes, it took her a moment to realise where she was. The sun was streaming through a crack in the curtains in George’s room, and she wondered what the time was.

Then she gasped as the shocking memory of Tommy’s death hit her again. Unaware of what she was doing, Sarah sat up and an unnatural howl escaped her lips, then she was crying out, ‘No … no … no.’

She was too fraught to hear the tap on her bedroom door, but then George was beside her, sitting on the edge of the bed, ‘It’s all right, Sarah, let it out,’ he said soothingly as he gently rubbed her back.

After a while, her tears subsided, but her voice was a croak as she said, ‘I can’t believe he’s gone, George. For a moment, when I first woke up, I’d forgotten. How could I forget? What sort of mother am I?’