“You and the greengrocer and the off-license,” the woman said scornfully. “Owes me four weeks’ rent, she does. And ten bob for the window in my parlor. As if ’Itler wasn’t breakin’ ’alf the windows in England, Alf ’Odbin’s got to smash the few we’ve got left. Threw a rock at it, ’e did, and when I get my ’ands on ’im and that sister of ’is …”

It’s like being back in Backbury, Eileen thought. She’d had conversations just like this one with irate farmers at least a dozen times. But at least Alf and Binnie were all right, and apparently undaunted by the Blitz.

“Them two’ll end up ’anged, you see if they don’t,” the woman said, “just like Crippen and—”

“Mum!” a child’s voice called from inside the flat.

“Shut it!” the woman shouted over her shoulder. “If you find ’em,” she said to Eileen, “you tell ’em to tell their mother either she pays me what she owes, or all three of ’em’ll be out on the street—”

“Mum!” the child called again, shriller this time.

“I said, shut it!” The woman stormed into the flat and slammed the door behind her. There was a smack and then a wail.

Eileen hesitated. It was clear Mrs. Hodbin wasn’t at home and there was no point in going up, but the thought of having to come all the way back here again made her determined to at least knock on the door. And she’d best do it before the woman reappeared with her mop.

She ran up the stairs to their flat and knocked on their door, but there was no response. “Mrs. Hodbin?” she called, and knocked again.

Silence. “Mrs. Hodbin, it’s Miss O’Reilly. I brought Alf and Binnie home from Warwickshire.” She thought she heard a noise from inside. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I need to speak with you about something.”

More muffled sounds, and then a “Shh!” that sounded suspiciously like Binnie.

“Binnie? Are you in there?”

Silence. “It’s Eileen. Let me in.”

“Eileen? Wot’s she doin’ ’ere?” she heard Alf whisper, followed by an even fiercer “Shh!”

“Alf, Binnie, I know you’re in there.” She took hold of the doorknob and rattled it. “Open this door at once.”

More muffled voices, as if an argument was taking place, then a scraping sound, and a moment later the door opened a few inches and Binnie stuck her head out. “ ’Ullo, Eileen,” she said innocently. “What are you doin’ ’ere?”

She was wearing the same summer dress she’d worn on the train, with a holey cardigan over it, and the same draggled hair ribbon, the same falling-down stockings. Her hair looked like it hadn’t been combed in days, and Eileen felt a pang of sympathy for her.

She suppressed it. “I need to speak—”

“You ain’t ’ere to evacuate us again, are you?” Binnie asked suspiciously.

“No,” Eileen said. “I need to speak with Alf.”

“ ’E ain’t here,” Binnie said. “ ’E’s in school.”