The Dreaming Suburb (69 page)

Sydney's thoughts did not take him back to the Avenue that night. He was playing snooker in the officers' mess, with an Australian Wireless-Operator Air-Gunner, a real Flight-lieutenant. It was good to be here, in a nice, cosy mess, among gentlemen who treated one as an equal. He wished now that he had joined the Service before the war and taken a short-service commission. If he had done he would have been well on the road to becoming a Squadron-Leader.

The Australian watched him shoot. “You haven't played much snooker, cobber?”

“No,” said Sydney apologetically, “I'm ... er ... I'm a golf man really ... that, and squash, of course!”

The Australian said “Huh!”, and neatly pocketed the red.

Judy Carver was thinking about the Avenue, as she undressed, and climbed into her bunk, after an exhausting eight-hour plotting spell at headquarters. She was wondering about Louise, and whether any of them would be able to persuade Louise and her bovine Jack to leave the Avenue if things became too bad. She doubted it, knowing Louise for a creature of habit. As long as Jim stayed Louise would stay.

Then she said a little prayer. “Please God,” she said, “look after Louise; she's earned so much more luck than any of us!”

AC2 Esme Fraser, detailed for decontamination squad that night, was sitting on a gas-cap in the drying room of what had once been a Corporation Swimming Baths, and thus had all the leisure he needed to think about the Avenue.

He had been thinking about it all day, ever since he had opened Elaine's last letter, the one that had begun
“Dear Esme”,
and ended
“Love, Elaine”.
It reminded him, a little painfully, of that other letter she had sent him, the one arranging the meeting in the Tate Gallery, but this time the corner was not turned back to conceal a small cross, in fact, today's letter might have been written by a maiden aunt, in a hurry to catch a train.

Was there anything more he could do or say to put new life into their relationship? Would a prolonged separation do
it, supposing he volunteered for overseas service? That was something he must consider the moment he was posted. It might work, it sometimes worked in books. But he had very little faith in books nowadays. It was strange that Elaine looked so much like a book heroine but so rarely and fleetingly acted like one.

Back in the Avenue Grandpa Barnmeade was swallowing a slight disappointment. The light he had spotted had gone out, before he could reach it, and now he was not even sure which house had hid the culprit—was it Number Fifty-Seven, Number Fifty-Nine, or Number Sixty-One? He flicked off his torch and stumped off muttering, towards the A.R.P. Centre in Shirley Rise, finding no gleam of light on the way. Just as he reached the corner the siren wailed the “All Clear”, and the people of the Avenue began to reverse their routine, and drift off to bed.

The night breeze came singing in from the woods, and the moon sailed over the odd numbers, until it seemed to float midway between the rows, flooding the whole crescent with silver light.

The houses looked very small, and very still from above, absurdly still for an Avenue at War.