The rising
sound of the air raid siren. The hurried rush to safety. The
startled look on his parents’ faces, as they are interrupted
mid-sentence. A morsel of food falling from a fork, and plopping
back down onto the dinner plate. Sam thought that he would have
been used to these upsets and interruptions by now. Yet each time,
there was something that made him feel uneasy. Sometimes, it was
something new. Sometimes, it was something he hadn’t noticed
before. Sometimes, it was an otherwise innocuous incident. Once it
was because he struggled to put his shoes on. It was a delay of
only a few extra seconds, yet it was enough to unsettle him. In
fact it did more than that, it downright terrified him. He could
feel his father’s disappointed gaze burning a hole into the side of
his head. He felt as if his clumsy fumbling had paralysed the
entire country.
Tonight it was
his mother’s indignant cry of “Another fine dinner ruined!” that
roused the butterflies in his stomach. She spat the words out
quickly as if her mouth was a misfiring machine gun. They descended
the steps down into the home-made shelter in the back of the
garden, and her heavy footfalls emphasised her words.
“Do they wait
until the whole street is sitting down to eat, before they show
themselves? Is blowing half the country to bits not enough for them
now?”
