And in the meantime, she’d best tidy up her counter so she wouldn’t have to stay late tonight. She gathered up the umbrella, the mackintosh, and Eileen’s coat and put them in the stockroom and then put the stockings her last customer had been looking at back in their box. She turned to put the box on the shelf.

And heard the air-raid siren begin its unmistakable up-and-down warble.

In all our long history we have never seen a greater day than this. Everyone, man or woman, has done their best.

WINSTON CHURCHILL,
VE-Day, 8 May 1945

London—7 May 1945

“DOUGLAS, THE DOOR’S CLOSING!” PAIGE SHOUTED FROM the platform.

“Hurry!” Reardon urged. “The train will leave—”

“I know,” she said, attempting to squeeze past the two Home Guards who were still singing “It’s a Long Way to Tipperary.” And forming a solid wall. She tried to go around, but dozens of people were trying to board the car and pushing her back away from the door. She shoved her way back to it.

The door was sliding shut. If she didn’t get off now, she’d lose them and never be able to find them again in these crowds of merrymakers. “Please, this is my stop!” she said, eeling her way between two very tipsy sailors to the door. There was scarcely enough room to slip through. She braced the door open with both elbows.

“Mind the gap, Douglas!” Paige shouted and held out her hand.

She grabbed for it and half stepped, half jumped off the train, and before her feet even touched the platform, the train was moving, disappearing into the tunnel.

“Thank goodness!” Paige said. “We were afraid we’d never see you again.”

You wouldn’t have, she thought.

“This way!” Reardon called gaily and started along the platform toward the exit, but the platform was just as jammed as the train had been. It took them a quarter of an hour to get off it and through the tunnel to the escalators, where things were no better. People were blowing tin whistles, cheering, leaning over the top throwing confetti on them as they rode up, and somewhere someone was banging on a bass drum.

Reardon, five steps above her, leaned back down to shout, “Before we get outside, we’d best settle on a meeting place! In case we get separated!”

“I thought we said Trafalgar Square,” Paige shouted.

“We did,” Reardon shouted, “but where in Trafalgar Square?”

“The lions?” Paige suggested. “What do you think, Douglas?”

That won’t work, Douglas thought. There are four lions and they’re right in the middle of the square, which will be jammed with thousands of people. Not only will we not be able to find the correct lion, but we won’t be able to see anything from there if we do.

They needed an elevated vantage point they could see the others from. “The National Gallery steps!” she shouted up to them.

Reardon nodded. “The National Gallery steps.”

“When?” Paige asked.

“Midnight,” Reardon said.