“She can’t hear us,” Polly said.

She crossed over to the side aisle, as if headed for the ladies’ lounge, and then sprinted up the steps, flashed her ticket and program at the usher standing at the head of the staircase, and sped up and into the balcony, Mike keeping pace with her somehow in spite of his limp.

Eileen was four seats from the end of the row, past a governess and three little girls, two of whom were hanging over the edge of the balcony tearing their programs to bits and dropping them on the heads of the people below while the governess remonstrated uselessly with them. “Girls, don’t! You’ll fall! You’re both being very naughty.”

Eileen still didn’t see Polly and Mike. “Eileen!” Polly called to her across the girls and the governess, who was blocking her view.

“Pauline! No, no, you mustn’t stand on the seat! You’ll tear the cloth. Violet!” the governess cried as one of the paper droppers threatened to topple over the edge.

Eileen made a grab for Violet’s dress and hauled her back to safety.

“Oh, thank you,” the governess said.

“You’re wel—” Eileen said, and finally saw them standing there. “Mike! Polly! What are you doing here? Thank heavens you’re all right, Mike. We’ve been so worried! Did you—” She went suddenly pale. “You’ve found the retrieval team,” she breathed.

“No,” Mike said, “but we’ve found a way out.”

Polly looked nervously at the governess, wondering what she was making of this, but she was still attempting to persuade the little girls to sit down. “Oh, Henrietta, do be a good girl,” she said helplessly.

“We’ve got to hurry,” Mike was saying.

“But …,” Eileen said, “I promised Theodore—”

“It can’t be helped. We’ve only got a few hours.”

Eileen stood up, pulled her coat on, and reached for Theodore’s coat. “I’m afraid we can’t stay for the pantomime, Theodore,” she said, holding his coat out to him. “We must go home now.” She put his arm in his sleeve.

“No!” Theodore cried in a piercing, siren-like wail that was audible all over the theater. “I don’t want to go home!”

In war, time is all important.

—SIR WALTER THOMAS LAYTON,
MINISTRY OF SUPPLY,
1940

London—29 December 1940

“I DON’T WANT TO GO HOME!” THEODORE SHRIEKED. “I WANT to see the pantomime!”

“We can’t,” Eileen said, trying to put his wildly flailing arms into the sleeves of his coat. “We must go.”

“Why?” Theodore wailed.

“Here, let me take him,” Mike said, edging past the nanny and the three little girls to pick him up.

“Oh, don’t—” Eileen said, but Theodore had already kicked him. Mike let go of him with a grunt.

“Sorry. I should have warned you.” She turned sternly to Theodore. “No kicking. Now put your coat on, there’s a good boy—”

“No! I don’t want to go!” he shrieked, and every child and adult in the audience turned to look disapprovingly at him.

“Here, what’s all this then?” the balcony usher said, coming up followed by—oh, no—the one who’d refused to allow them in without tickets. “We can’t have this sort of disruption. The performance is about to begin.”