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Lily’s gaze swept downwards as pleasure unfurled inside her. “I think I’ve always been a bit shy.”
“Compared to some, perhaps.” She knew he was talking about Sophie. “But when it matters… I think you would not be. I think you would be bold. Brave.”
It was a compliment, but for some reason it didn’t feel right to say thank you. “What is your sister’s name?” she asked instead.
The slightest of pauses, like a held breath. “Gertie.”
“And she is back in America? In New York?”
“Not in New York. Only I went there.”
“When did you last see her?”
Another pause, this one slightly longer. “November 10th,” he finally said. “1938.”
She looked at him, startled. “Before you left for New York?”
“It took me a while to get there.”
“And you haven’t been back home?”
“No, alas. It was not possible, and then I enlisted in 1942.”
1942? Then why hadn’t he joined the regiment earlier? Lily knew she wouldn’t ask. She didn’t want to pry, and was afraid a question might reveal something she didn’t want to know. “You must miss her, then,” she said. She pictured a young girl, dark like Matthew, with quiet eyes and a playful smile.
“Yes. I miss all my family.”
“You haven’t seen any of them?”
“My father is dead, but, no, I have not seen the rest. Not my mother, not my sister, not my two little brothers.” He let out a little sigh, as if he were laying a burden down. “But one day, I hope I will. When we win this war.”
He wasn’t a spy, Lily thought with a rush of relieved conviction as she looked at him, saw the grief in his eyes, in the grim set of both his lips and shoulders. He couldn’t be. Not with the way he talked about his family, the war.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I can’t imagine not seeing my family for so long.”
“But you can, I think.” He smiled sadly at her. “I think you can imagine too much, perhaps.”
Lily stared at him, both moved and discomfited. It was as if he could see into her head, as if he knew all the terrible thoughts she had about the dead seamen she wrote about, how she pictured their deaths and their families and the lives that would now never go on, their little moments of joy, their last ones of agony. “How…” she began, and then couldn’t finish.
“You feel things,” Matthew said. “I see it in your eyes.” He let out a little, embarrassed laugh and shook his head. “I’m being sent up north in a few days,” he said. “Perhaps that is why I am allowing myself to say such sentimental things.”
“Up north?” She stared at him in surprise, even though it wasn’t unexpected.
“Yes. So we will not be able to take that walk, I am afraid.” He smiled wryly. “But perhaps I could walk you home?”
Lily stared at him, unable to make sense of the whole, strange evening. The pigeons… the message still in her pocket… Matthew’s smile. None of it made sense. A few minutes ago she’d had the absurd notion that if she followed him into this house he might actually hurt her. Now she was near tears at the thought he was leaving.
“Lily?” he prompted gently.
“Y-y—yes, of course.” She rose from the table. “Thank you, Sergeant.”
“Please, call me Matthew.”
“Yes, of course,” she said again. “Matthew.”
Lily waited while Matthew locked the house, and then they were walking in silence down Keildon Road, towards home. The street was near-empty, the only light from the sliver of moon. Neither of them spoke, but it didn’t matter.
Then, out of nowhere, the sound of the air-raid siren split the still air, rising in a familiar moan. Lily froze; she’d never been caught out on the street like this before. She’d always been at home, or at work, where everyone could pile in to the purpose-built shelter. A few times she’d been close to the Underground and gone there, but now they were in the middle of a residential street, with nowhere at all to hide. Lily met the panicked gaze of a woman across the road; she was holding the hand of a boy who couldn’t be more than six, both of them frozen in place.
