Grace hesitated. She hadn’t thought of it, truly. After all, it was the East End that the Germans seemed to target. And the odds of her being hit by a bomb seemed far too slim to genuinely consider.

“I don’t like it, Miss Bennett.” Color blossomed in his face. “I think you ought to resign from your post with the ARP.”

A customer entered the store, setting the bell ringing. Grace glanced over her shoulder and recognized the woman as one of their regulars, one who seldom required assistance.

“The ARP needs me now more than ever,” Grace replied in a low voice.

“So does the store.” Mr. Evans snatched up his ledger, sending the pencil flying from its spine, and strode toward the rear of the shop without another word.

Hopelessness welled in Grace, exacerbated by the tired fog clouding her mind. Mr. Evans was evidently worried she would be sacrificing her focus on the store for her efforts with the ARP.

She was determined to prove him wrong.

By the time the shop was set to close that night, she’d designed several new slogans with a couple already neatly printed on pasteboard. Liven up your shelter with a new book and Let a book keep you company during the air raids. They weren’t ideal, but they were a start.

Regardless, Mr. Evans had scarcely said more than two words to her and merely offered a grunt at the new adverts.

She had little time to worry over his demeanor, however, for when she went home, she fell into a deep slumber. One that was rudely interrupted around eight that evening by the wail of yet another air raid. She dragged herself to the shelter along with Mrs. Weatherford where the sleep she so desperately needed eluded her.

The attack continued through the night, the same as the prior evening when she’d been outside helping the people in her sector. Only this time, she was locked in the darkened cocoon of the Anderson shelter, unable to see what was happening. But she could hear it.

The blasts of the ack-ack guns rattled the steel frame and bombs detonated so close, the whole structure shuddered as though it was going to cave in. Once it even seemed to lift off the ground before crashing back into place.

The whistles were sharp and loud just before going silent, followed by a boom so ferocious that the ground trembled. The all clear didn’t come again until the following morning, and the women resolved to layer the hard benches with bedding to at least make them more comfortable for sleep. Already they’d cleared away the gardening tools to restore it to a proper shelter.

After all, it was beginning to look like the Germans were intent on bombing London every night.