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Back When We Meet Again
Chapters (57)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. Epigraph
  4. Prologue
  5. One
  6. Two
  7. Three
  8. Four
  9. Five
  10. Six
  11. Seven
  12. Eight
  13. Nine
  14. Ten
  15. Eleven
  16. Twelve
  17. Thirteen
  18. Fourteen
  19. Fifteen
  20. Sixteen
  21. Seventeen
  22. Eighteen
  23. Nineteen
  24. Twenty
  25. Twenty-one
  26. Twenty-two
  27. Twenty-three
  28. Twenty-four
  29. Twenty-five
  30. Twenty-six
  31. Twenty-seven
  32. Twenty-eight
  33. Twenty-nine
  34. Thirty
  35. Thirty-one
  36. Thirty-two
  37. Thirty-three
  38. Thirty-four
  39. Thirty-five
  40. Thirty-six
  41. Thirty-seven
  42. Thirty-eight
  43. Thirty-nine
  44. Forty
  45. Forty-one
  46. Forty-two
  47. Forty-three
  48. Forty-four
  49. Forty-five
  50. AUTHOR’S NOTE
  51. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  52. POPULAR BOOKS FROM THE ERA
  53. When We Meet Again
  54. A Conversation with Caroline Beecham about When We Meet Again
  55. Discussion Guide
  56. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  57. What’s next onyour reading list?

She continued to watch the show from the bench—Peggy’s conceited stroll up and down the ramp, drawing herself up, and the younger creatures braying—only the penguins’ meal of dead fish enough to spoil the memory that she was trying to preserve. Her journal lay open across her lap, almost full, as she added the finishing touches, coloring the tip of Peggy’s wing. They were her favorite animal, and their play-fighting with the polar bears had brought them to the attention of the London papers, which wrote about their show, commending it to the capital’s visitors as an antidote to the “jitters.” But this evening the polar bears had gone indoors, and the solitary column of penguins marched across the rock as though they were characters from a children’s storybook and needed the accompaniment of a military marching band. Alice placed her hands across her belly and whispered, “I can’t wait to bring you here,” before deciding it was time to leave.

Alice woke to a high-pitched whistle and the thudding of slammed doors. It was dark, and she hurriedly grabbed her bags and stepped onto the platform just as the train moved off, the backdraft lifting her coat as it howled through North Dulwich Station. With relief she watched it gather speed; fewer services ran now that most civilian machinery was deployed for war, and she’d have been stuck for ages if she’d missed her stop. Commuters overtook her as they headed for the covered stairway to the street-level exit, but she didn’t even try to hurry, too emotional and exhausted. An easterly swirled dust and autumn leaves, and she had to lean into it, her clothes plastered against her as she forged ahead.

The five-minute walk home took the rest of her energy, and she was glad to reach the Victorian terrace house she shared with her mother. The family had moved there when her father had fallen ill before he died, and although that had been nearly eight years ago she still missed their old home in Primrose Hill; Dulwich felt a million miles away from her best friend, Penny.

“Hello?” Alice called as she clicked the front door shut behind her.