Grace checked her watch, the luminescent paint flecks on the small ticking hands, once so integral to her former position as an ARP warden, were a greenish white in the daylight. At night, however, it had served her well through many air raids.

Five minutes until three.

That fateful night when Primrose Hill Books had fallen and Evans & Bennett rose from her ashes was the last of the Blitz on London. Bombings still had happened from time to time through the next four years until finally just last month on May 8, 1945, when the war came to an end.

The celebration had been tremendous. Couples danced in the streets, people pushed up their trousers and held up skirts to splash through fountains, grocers spilled open their reserves of sugar and bacon, neighbors came together to enjoy a feast they hadn’t seen in years and the anti-aircraft spotlights, which once hunted their enemy in the skies, now swirled over the clouds in victory.

Grace and Mrs. Weatherford took Jimmy and Sarah to Whitehall amid a press of eager crowds to witness Churchill’s speech touting their success in defeating Germany. The king and queen appeared on the balcony, resplendent and regal to show their appreciation for the people and their pride for such triumph. The princess wore her ATS uniform, which had made Grace cheer all the louder, if such a thing were possible.

Britain had taken it and come out a hero.

At the tube station, Grace checked her watch again. As three o’clock ticked closer, the group on the station platform increased in number until the air practically hummed with anticipation.

Soldiers were coming home now with frequency, those who had been conscripted among the first to arrive, nearly all of whom were women. Without the war on, their efforts, which had been required to win, were no longer required. This was not met with enthusiasm by all, especially those like Viv, who had poured everything they had into their jobs.

She had been part of the first mixed battery of men and women manning the anti-aircraft guns, stationed in London these last four years in the East End where she was billeted with several other women in her unit.

At least until she’d been given notice that her service was unnecessary. The telegraph from Viv had been brief, stating only the time of her arrival at Farringdon Station and asking Grace to meet her.

Viv would be coming home.

The telegraph was all Grace needed to know Viv was not happy with her abrupt departure from the ATS. They had seen one another on many occasions with Viv’s day passes, but never once had she asked Grace to meet her.