Letters from the Lighthouse by Emma Carroll

‘War isn’t fair, I’m afraid,’ Mum replied. I didn’t realise I was crying again until Mum touched my cheek. We’d already lost Dad, and half the time these days it felt like Mum wasn’t quite here. It was still going on, tearing great holes in people’s lives. Eighteen months ago when it started, everyone said it’d be over before Christmas, but they were wrong. I was fed up with this stupid, horrid war. My head was hurting again so I lay back against the pillows. I wondered if it was part of Mum being ill, this painting the world black when it was grey. It might be a day or two before we heard from Sukie, and worried though I was, I knew she could look after herself. After a big air raid the telephones were often down, letters got delayed, roads blocked. Perhaps if there’d been a coffin and a headstone and a vicar saying nice things, it would’ve seemed more real. I knew what she couldn’t say: sometimes if a body got blown apart there’d be nothing left to tie a name tag to.

‘Sometimes it’s difficult to identify someone after…’ Mum faltered. ‘But you can’t think she’s dead.’ I insisted.

Mum looked at me, at the nurse, at the bump on my head. ‘When she realised I’d followed her she was really furious about it.’ I saw her in the street talking to a man,’ I said. ‘That’s true, and I’ve spoken to the War Office: Sukie’s name isn’t on their list of dead or injured but-’ ‘Missing isn’t the same as dead,’ I pointed out. I glanced at Mum, who always took the opposite view in any argument. All you can do is keep hoping for the best.’ The nurse added rather unhelpfully: ‘We’ve had casualties from all over London. No one’s seen her since she was with you and Cliff last night. Sukie was a typist for an insurance company in Clerkenwell. ‘Your sister didn’t arrive at work today.’ Opening my eyes again, I swallowed nervously. ‘I need you to listen to me, and I need you to be brave.’

Letters from the Lighthouse by Emma Carroll