Free After the Cabaret by Hilary Bailey

hell,” and we scrambled through the skylight into the attic, through Sally’s cluttered room and down the ladder to the upper floor of the flat. Then we fled into the shop below.
    â€˜There was a cellar door set into the wall beside the back door and Pym hammered on this as the bombers droned overhead. There was an explosion that seemed near us, though it was perhaps a quarter of a mile away. Later we were to think of such a hit as distant.
    â€˜â€œLouisa! Anne!” Pym was shouting. “Let us in!” These were the names of the two gentlewomen who ran the cake shop downstairs. But they had bolted themselves in and it was some time before they opened up, as if they thought the Gestapo was already there. When Louisa pulled back the bolts Anne was sitting on a crate, wearing her gas mask, just in case.
    â€˜I was surprised to see Briggs already there, sitting on the dirt floor, leaning against the wall at the back, smoking a cigarette. “I strolled back to get a clean shirt,” he told Pym. “Otherwise I’d be safe and sound in our secret bunker miles below the earth.” This was the coal cellar of their offices in Baker Street. “It’s opening night at La Vie,” he added gloomily. “I was rather looking forward to it. You didn’t think to bring anything to drink, did you? The sirens went off just as I was opening the front door.”
    â€˜â€œIs that all you can think of?” cried Louisa. “We’ve nothing – no food, no water – we could be here for days. We could all be killed.”
    â€˜â€œBetter to be drunk, then,” observed Pym.
    â€˜A bomb whistled down outside. There was a great thump, some dust rose from the floor, some plaster came off the walls, the overhead bulb flickered but did not go out.
    â€˜To me it sounded very close, but I couldn’t place where it was. Later we would learn how near, and where a bomb had landed and say, “There goes the post office.” But at that moment my fear of the unaccustomed bombardment was less than the fear of a German victory, invasion, my own capture and death. These seemed suddenly much closer. My freedom in Britain had always been conditional. I saw the prison gates, the grave.
    â€˜â€œIf this is going to happen very often,” Briggs said looking round, “we’ll have to do something about this place.” Pym looked a little tense, but Briggs showed no fear. Anne began to cry and had to take off her gas mask to wipe her eyes. Louisa tried to comfort her. The noise went on. The worst was not knowing what was happening outside. We sat there for about fifteen minutes until in a lull Pym said, “Sod it. I’m going out to see what’s happening.”
    â€˜â€œDon’t do it,” Anne cried.
    â€˜But Pym ducked out of the low door, straightened up outside in the dark and said, “Christ!”
    â€˜â€œWhat’s the matter?” one of the women said in alarm.
    â€˜Briggs stood up quickly and went out. I followed him. And there was Sally, standing in the yard in a tin hat, with a raincoat over her filthy evening dress, a blue number, but now dirty and torn. Her face was streaked black. Something was struggling in a grey blanket in her arms.
    â€˜â€œWhere
have
you been?” Briggs asked her.
    â€˜It seemed she’d been in Kennington with her friends when the raid began. They were right under the path the planes were taking to the Thames. Bombs were already dropping.
    â€˜All three had been bombed in Madrid, you see,’ Bruno said, signalling for the bill. ‘So apparently they dashed out of the house, got on their bikes – Sally borrowed one – and rode under the bombers down into the East End. There, they helped the rescuers. Someone said later they’d seen Sally, illuminated by the flames of a warehouse, digging frantically in the steaming rubble of a house.
    â€˜She said, “It’s