“It’s flooded.” Grace shook her damp shoe to little effect. “We’ll have to go to Farringdon Station until the Andy has dried out.” She made her way back to the house, one foot weighty and sodden from the soaking, issuing a derisive squish with every step.

Mrs. Weatherford rushed behind her, but didn’t set about to prepare to go to the tube station.

“If we hurry, we might still manage a decent spot,” Grace said by way of politely trying to rush Mrs. Weatherford.

Already it was past eight, which was usually when the Germans began their nightly raids. Most likely they had been put off by the inclement weather. But that also meant the tube station would be packed with people like sardines in a tin by now. Grace had seen it on her nights as warden. People lay side by side wherever they might find the space to do so, strangers nestled as closely as families. Not only on the floor of the platform, but up the stairs and escalators and even some brave souls who slept beside the tracks.

Mrs. Weatherford sat at the kitchen table and poured herself a cup of tea from the Thermos.

“There isn’t time for all that.” Grace’s nerves scrabbled with an anxiety she could no longer temper. “We must be going.”

Mrs. Weatherford offered a little sigh and set aside her cup. “I’m not going, Grace. I only go in the Andy to soothe your mind, but I confess, I never seek shelter during the day when you aren’t here.” She blinked, slow and tired. “I’ll not go to the tube station.”

The ire deflated from Grace, replaced instead with a heavy ache. “But it won’t be safe.” Her protest was weak. She already knew there was scarcely any point in arguing.

Mrs. Weatherford didn’t bother replying and merely stared dejectedly at the floor. Her face was lined with anguish where she sat in the white-and-yellow kitchen, a place that had once felt so cheerful and now seemed dull and stark. While she had once again begun to have a care with her appearance, she wore only dark clothes in place of her floral housedresses, each one belted tighter and tighter on her frame as she lost more and more weight.

There were no more WVS meetings or elaborate meals or anything to show she was doing more than simply surviving, as if life was a book full of blank pages to be turned. Uneventful. Holding no purpose but to get to the back cover and be done.

Grace remained in the townhouse with Mrs. Weatherford that night, resolved to find some way to encourage the older woman to join her at the tube station going forward. Each attempt afterward, however, was met with the same refusal and once, a sobbing confession for a wish to join Colin. Grace could not argue against something as powerful as grief.