Like Mrs. Driscoll.

“But I’m not.” Mrs. Weatherford sighed, almost appearing saddened by it. Regardless, she offered no protest as Grace nudged her out the front door.

“You could have been.” Grace blew her whistle to the ARP wardens just coming onto their shift and directed them to clear out the area before the bomb removal unit arrived.

When at last they were several streets away, with a cup of lukewarm tea from a WVS sponsored canteen, Grace managed to quell her panic and leveled a gaze at Mrs. Weatherford. “I know life has been difficult.”

Mrs. Weatherford closed her eyes in a slow, painful blink.

“Please,” Grace pleaded, her voice thick. “I have seen some terrible sights. I’ve witnessed what these bombs can do to people.”

Mrs. Weatherford’s stare drifted to Grace’s coat, now exposed in the daylight to reveal the grit and blood.

Things Mrs. Weatherford had never noticed before.

Several other people lingering near the mobile canteen unit appeared in a similar state, volunteers as well as bomb victims.

“Do you know what it would do to me to find you in such a state?” Grace’s voice was hoarse with the strain of her whisper. “I can’t—” Tears stung her eyes.

Mrs. Weatherford touched a hand to her mouth. “Oh, Grace. Dear, I’m so sorry.”

They said nothing else in the hours that dragged on before the disposal unit could come to take the unexploded bomb safely away.

That night, however, when Grace had a night off from her ARP shift and was readying herself to join the queue at Farringdon Station’s entrance, Mrs. Weatherford wordlessly joined her with a small bundle of belongings packed at her side.

From that night on, Mrs. Weatherford slept in the tube station without argument.

As the month of October went on, the bombings continued, peaking midmonth when the moon was full and bright. A bomber’s moon, they called it. And aptly so.

By the brilliant lunar aura, the Thames was lit like a silver ribbon curling through London’s blackout, and the Germans could clearly make out their targets.

Hundreds were killed, far more injured, thousands were left homeless and so many fires raged within London that the ARP wardens were deployed to assist the firemen in their seemingly endless fight.

Despite London’s flesh being peeled back night after night to reveal more of her skeleton beneath, Churchill still sought to keep as much information from Germany as possible. This meant the casualty numbers listed on the broadcasts in the evening weren’t given a location. It meant stores that had been bombed could reopen in a new area, but not state where their previous location had been. Worse still, it meant the dead could not receive a proper obituary in a timely manner, but were listed at a delay and with simply the month of their death.