The Silver Ring by Jane Holland

Author:Jane Holland [Jane Holland]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Amazon: B09GP7R3B9
Publisher: Thimblerig Books
Published: 2023-03-29T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

North London, spring 1946

Celeste crumpled up the scrap of paper in her fist, tears in her eyes, her chest tight with emotion. The North London address that Danny had given her when he left the field hospital at Bayeux was no longer there.

The building where he had lived was a complete shell, three storeys destroyed by a German bomb, to judge by the tall, elegant houses still standing on either side. The war had been over nearly a year, but although rebuilding was starting to take place in the centre of London, the clean-up on the outskirts was taking forever. Almost every street was punctuated again and again by these grim, empty spaces, like a decayed mouth with hardly any teeth left.

She stared about the place, struggling not to cry. Danny’s house was a mess, like everywhere else these days. The burnt-out remains of an armchair lay on its side nearby, a broken toilet seat beside it balanced on a bed of rusty old springs and chinaware fragments. Rubble was strewn around these remnants, dust spiralling as a sharp wind blew through the London streets, lifting tattered shreds of wallpaper and lacy nets on window frames no longer attached to a house…

Celeste shivered and drew her coat closer. She stared into the remains of Number Seventeen, barely able to breathe, her spirits were plunged into such turmoil.

For weeks now, since first deciding to take Danny up on his offer and visit his London home, she had been struggling against indecision, unsure whether to take a chance on the one man she had ever found truly interesting, knowing she could never tell him who she really was.

Now, she'd finally galvanised herself to visit him, and this was what she had found. Emptiness and ruination…

‘You all right, love?’

A wizened old woman in a shapeless frock had paused as she pushed a filthy pram full of bricks down the street and was looking across at Celeste in curious sympathy.

‘I’m looking for Mr Danny Ffoulds. He was a Private in the war but came home wounded.’ Celeste turned away from the ruined house and smoothed out the crumpled paper, showing the address to the woman. ‘He used to live here. At Number Seventeen. But, as you can see, there’s nothing much left of…’

Her voice broke on the horrible words, and she swallowed against a lump in her throat, almost too afraid to ask the obvious question, in case what she heard broke her heart. But she had no choice. Not now she had come all this way in search of him.

‘Do… Do you know what happened to the family?’

‘Course I do, dearie.’ The old woman gave her an encouraging smile and turned, nodding further along the street. ‘They got took in at Number Twelve, Railway Terrace, didn’t they? Not far to walk, just a few blocks east.’ Helpfully, she pointed the way. ‘The widow and one of her sons, that’s all that was left of the family when the bomb fell. Don’t know his name.

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