There was no sign of her, and no one else in sight to tell her where the nearest shelter was. Eileen ran back inside and along the corridor, looking for steps that would lead down to a cellar, but she couldn’t find any.

And these tenements collapse like matchsticks, she thought, panic washing over her. I must get out of here.

She ran outside and back along the street, searching for a shelter notice or an Anderson, but there were only smashed houses and head-high heaps of rubble. The planes would be here any moment. Eileen looked up at the sky, trying to spot the black dots of the approaching bombers, but she couldn’t see or hear anything.

There was a thump, followed by the slither of falling dirt, and Alf leaped down from the rubble and landed at her feet. “I thought I seen you,” he said. “What’re you doin’ ’ere?”

She was actually glad to see him. “Quick, Alf,” she said, grabbing his arm. “Where’s the nearest air-raid shelter?”

“What for?”

“Didn’t you hear the siren?”

“Siren?” he said. “I don’t ’ear no siren.”

“It stopped. Is there a surface shelter near here?”

“Are you sure you ’eard a siren?” he said. “I been out ’ere ages, and I ain’t ’eard nothin’, ’ave I?”

I take it back about being glad to see him, Eileen thought. “Yes, I’m certain I heard it. I was in there”—she pointed back at their tenement—“talking to Binnie—”

His eyes narrowed. “What about?”

“It doesn’t matter. Alf, we must get to a shelter now, before the raid—”

“You ain’t ’ere ’cause of Child Services, are you?”

Why on earth would she be here on behalf of Child Services? “No. Alf—” She tugged on his arm.

“We don’t need to go till the planes come,” he said maddeningly. “ ’Sides, me and Binnie ain’t afraid of a little raid. There was one last week what blew up a ’undred ’ouses. Ka-boom!” He flung his arms up to show her. “Bits of people all over. What did Binnie tell you?” he asked suspiciously.

We are going to be killed standing here, she thought desperately. “Alf, we can discuss all this later.”

“Wait,” he said as if he’d suddenly had an idea. “What did the siren sound like?”

“What do you mean, what did it sound like? An air-raid alert. Alf, we must—”

“Where was you when it went?”

“In the corridor outside your—Why?” she asked, suddenly suspicious.

“I’ll wager you ’eard Mrs. Bascombe.”

“Mrs. Bascombe?” What would Mrs. Bascombe be doing here in Whitechapel?

“Our parrot.”

A parrot.

“We taught ’er to do the alert and the all clear,” Alf said proudly. “And HEs. Blooey! Ka-blam!”

“You have a parrot that can imitate an air-raid alert?” Eileen said furiously, thinking, Of course they do. This is the Hodbins. Binnie had told it to do its siren imitation and then led her on a merry chase down the stairs and hid behind the tenement, where she no doubt still was, laughing her head off.