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Authors: Elizabeth Audrey Mills
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but we call him Donkey on account of
his strength. He's the strongest man I know; can pick up two hundredweight-sacks of flour
with one hand!"
Jacob looked to me like a jolly clown. His round, red face was warm, smiling and
friendly, and his fat body, clad all in white, completed the impression of someone who
was fun to know.
"Now then, Belinda. My conscience won't let me send you back out into the cold alone,
dressed like that. So I'm going to leave Donkey to manage without me for half an hour,"
he looked across to his partner, who nodded, "and I will take you up to my flat above the
shop, where my wife will fix you up with some warm clothes. Ok?"
At the mention of going to his flat, my mind filled with memories of being alone with
Grainger. I began to panic, and my face must have told him something was wrong.
"Hmmm, there's something you haven't told me, isn't there?"
I nodded.
"Do you want to tell me?"
He was perceptive, and so kind, I hated myself for being afraid of him; he was nothing
like Grainger. But the words would not form to tell him what had happened, my brain
refused to allow the memories to the surface. After a while, I managed to say "There was
a man. He touched me."
He looked shocked, and took a moment to consider his reply. When he spoke, it was
with a hoarseness, a kind of suppressed anger that made his lips tighten and his words
sound strained.
"I think I know what you are telling me, and I won't ask you to say any more, I can see it
is very difficult for you to talk about it." He paused again, looking down at his knees for a
few seconds, then he raised his eyes back to meet mine. "Wait here, I will ask my wife to
come down to meet you."
He stood and walked slowly towards the door leading through to the shop, deep in
thought.
Chapter 4
February 1953
Sanctuary
Jacob's wife was just like him - plump and pink and kind. Her name was Edith. She
came bustling into the bakery behind him when he returned, with a concerned smile on
her face. She chatted with me for a while, then asked me if I felt safe to go with her to the
flat. I agreed, and she led the way to the stairs. I turned and waved to the two men as I left,
and they each raised a hand in return.
"Jacob told me how you came to be here," she said, studying my face carefully. "You
don't have to tell me anything if you don't want to, but I want to help you, and I can do
that better if you tell me what you can. Is that ok?"
I nodded, looking down and shuffling my feet; Edith was nice, but I just wanted my
Gran.
"Don't worry," she continued, "you're not in any trouble. Now, have you had any
breakfast?"
"I had a cake and some cocoa with Jacob."
"Would you like a boiled egg and soldiers?"
I nodded again, happily; Gran often made me boiled egg for breakfast, it was my
favourite.
Edith seemed to have a constant supply of words bursting to pour out. She wittered on
the whole time she was cooking my egg, and continued while I ate it. I sat at the kitchen
table, swinging my legs as I dipped the toasted fingers of bread into the lush orange yolk,
while she told me all about life as a baker's wife.
When I had finished eating, I told her about my Gran and the guest house, and the flood.
She took my clean plate and stood at the sink, washing it with a few other things.
"I heard on the wireless that hundreds of people had to be rescued," she said over her
shoulder.
"Yes. Gran managed to get me out, but she was left behind; she's in hospital in Norwich,
but I don't know how she got there."
"What I don't understand," Edith continued, "is: how did you end up over this side of the
town?"
I was unprepared, and as I cast my mind back over the past 24 hours, memories of
Grainger and his vile hands immediately returned, flooding my mind with sickening
images, sounds, sensations and smells. It was as though it was happening all over again,
and I cried out, involuntarily. In a second she was at my side, crouching down and
touching my hand lightly with
his strength. He's the strongest man I know; can pick up two hundredweight-sacks of flour
with one hand!"
Jacob looked to me like a jolly clown. His round, red face was warm, smiling and
friendly, and his fat body, clad all in white, completed the impression of someone who
was fun to know.
"Now then, Belinda. My conscience won't let me send you back out into the cold alone,
dressed like that. So I'm going to leave Donkey to manage without me for half an hour,"
he looked across to his partner, who nodded, "and I will take you up to my flat above the
shop, where my wife will fix you up with some warm clothes. Ok?"
At the mention of going to his flat, my mind filled with memories of being alone with
Grainger. I began to panic, and my face must have told him something was wrong.
"Hmmm, there's something you haven't told me, isn't there?"
I nodded.
"Do you want to tell me?"
He was perceptive, and so kind, I hated myself for being afraid of him; he was nothing
like Grainger. But the words would not form to tell him what had happened, my brain
refused to allow the memories to the surface. After a while, I managed to say "There was
a man. He touched me."
He looked shocked, and took a moment to consider his reply. When he spoke, it was
with a hoarseness, a kind of suppressed anger that made his lips tighten and his words
sound strained.
"I think I know what you are telling me, and I won't ask you to say any more, I can see it
is very difficult for you to talk about it." He paused again, looking down at his knees for a
few seconds, then he raised his eyes back to meet mine. "Wait here, I will ask my wife to
come down to meet you."
He stood and walked slowly towards the door leading through to the shop, deep in
thought.
Chapter 4
February 1953
Sanctuary
Jacob's wife was just like him - plump and pink and kind. Her name was Edith. She
came bustling into the bakery behind him when he returned, with a concerned smile on
her face. She chatted with me for a while, then asked me if I felt safe to go with her to the
flat. I agreed, and she led the way to the stairs. I turned and waved to the two men as I left,
and they each raised a hand in return.
"Jacob told me how you came to be here," she said, studying my face carefully. "You
don't have to tell me anything if you don't want to, but I want to help you, and I can do
that better if you tell me what you can. Is that ok?"
I nodded, looking down and shuffling my feet; Edith was nice, but I just wanted my
Gran.
"Don't worry," she continued, "you're not in any trouble. Now, have you had any
breakfast?"
"I had a cake and some cocoa with Jacob."
"Would you like a boiled egg and soldiers?"
I nodded again, happily; Gran often made me boiled egg for breakfast, it was my
favourite.
Edith seemed to have a constant supply of words bursting to pour out. She wittered on
the whole time she was cooking my egg, and continued while I ate it. I sat at the kitchen
table, swinging my legs as I dipped the toasted fingers of bread into the lush orange yolk,
while she told me all about life as a baker's wife.
When I had finished eating, I told her about my Gran and the guest house, and the flood.
She took my clean plate and stood at the sink, washing it with a few other things.
"I heard on the wireless that hundreds of people had to be rescued," she said over her
shoulder.
"Yes. Gran managed to get me out, but she was left behind; she's in hospital in Norwich,
but I don't know how she got there."
"What I don't understand," Edith continued, "is: how did you end up over this side of the
town?"
I was unprepared, and as I cast my mind back over the past 24 hours, memories of
Grainger and his vile hands immediately returned, flooding my mind with sickening
images, sounds, sensations and smells. It was as though it was happening all over again,
and I cried out, involuntarily. In a second she was at my side, crouching down and
touching my hand lightly with
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