Page 50 of The Light Between Worlds

I’m sorry, Evelyn. I’m so very sorry.

Packing doesn’t take long—I’ve barely got anything to my name. Goodbyes don’t take long, either—I know everyone, but haven’t let any of them get close enough that they deserve a face-to-face farewell. Besides, by the time I pull away from the Women’s Building in a bus, word’s got round that I’m leaving. I only told Professor A what’s going on so I wouldn’t have to bother with spreading my own news.

Fog drapes the New England woods, but melts away in the treeless streets of Queens. The plane taxis through clear air, roaring down the runway and taking off with that indescribable sensation of lift. It bears me up into a kingdom that seems strange even to me—a magic country of soft mountains and valleys, all touched by stark white light. Eventually, night descends, leaving the sky above brushed with stars.

I don’t sleep on the plane. I drink coffee instead, tired but wide-awake at the same time, and bluer than I like to be. The night sky isblue outside, I’m blue inside, even the upholstered seats are a faded shade of navy. It’s all a bit ridiculous.

I sit and look out the tiny window, forcibly not thinking of Evelyn, of where she might be or what she might be doing or—well. I don’t ponder the other what-if. That doesn’t bear thinking of, not even when I’m winging my way across the Atlantic, sleepless and melancholy and suspended between worlds.

Then, below us, the eastern sky greys. We’re flying over cloudless space, the sea stretching dark and restive from one horizon to the next. The grey goes crimson, goes salmon, goes gold, and a great trail of light gleams before us, sparking off the water. It’s so bright it hurts to look at.

I look anyway—a family trait. A sliver of sun slides up over the sea, and quite suddenly, the night has passed. The sun leaps triumphant into the sky, flooding the waves with fire and diamonds. When I turn back to the dim cabin of the plane, transcendent light still sparks across my vision.

As we land, I’m flush with all that brilliance, aching over the reason for my homecoming, and dizzy after a missed night of sleep. But ever since the Woodlands, I’ve learned to love the comfortable numbness that comes with teetering on the edge of exhaustion. I’m over the edge now, into a feelingless limbo, and drag my luggage out of the airport to where a cabbie takes over for me. He has a ready smile and lined brown skin, and speaks in a Londoner’s quick, offhand way. I realize, suddenly, how much I’ve missed this city.

The streets are a blur until I snap out of a doze to find the cab has stopped and the cabbie’s holding the door open, my thingssitting on the sidewalk outside the townhouse where my parents have always lived.

“Thank you.” I take out the fare and a tip. The cabbie taps the peak of his cap with one hand and smiles.

“Welcome, Miss. Get a bit of a kip if you can.”

I smile back, knowing it’s all glitter and shine, leftover sun spilling across the ocean, because inside, the knowledge that Ev’s missing has left a spreading bruise.

No one answers the door when I knock. I can’t imagine where they’ve all gone, but I take the spare key out from under the mat and let myself in. My bags will have to wait—I dump them in the narrow front hallway and traipse up the stairs to the room I shared with Evelyn. Sliding out of my shoes and pulling the covers up is as much as I can manage before I’m half conscious.

I drift off facing my sister’s bed, the empty space she’s left behind, the question mark she’s become.

Evelyn Hapwell, I always knew you’d break my heart. And I’d cry, but there’s nothing left in me to give. I’ve spent every last one of my tears on you already.

35

ONE MOMENT I’M LOOKING AT CERVUS AS RAINpatters onto the beach, and the next I’m in the damp, crowded confines of our bomb shelter, with Evelyn’s hand in mine.

“I am home,” Ev says to Cervus, but he’s already gone and I’ve never heard such despair in so few words. I don’t have time to be shocked or sick over how strange my thirteen-year-old body feels—over the suddenness of being torn from one life and thrown back into another as though no time has passed—because my sister blinks twice, like a startled fawn, and crumples to the ground.

“Jamie!” I call. His name comes out high and panicked, spoken in a child’s voice. He’s only two steps away, and between us we get Ev on her feet and onto the moldy cot. She curls up beside me, trembling so hard her teeth rattle. I put my arms around her as Jamie peers out the doorway, searching for our parents once again after all these years.

“Do you see them?” I ask just as another bomb goes off.

“Yes.” Jamie slumps against the wall in relief. “Yes, they’re coming out the door. Mum’s limping—she must have had a fall, but she looks alright.”

We’re silent, just looking at each other, and then “Philippa, did we—”

“Yes.”

“We can’t tell them. We can’t tell anyone. They’ll think it’s just that the shock of the bombing was too much for us.”

I glance down at Evelyn, and brush the fair hair from her forehead. “Evie, did you hear that?”

She nods once, but won’t meet my eyes.

Mum and Dad hurry into the shelter at last, Mum wincing as she sits on the edge of the cot.

“Twisted my ankle tripping over the ottoman,” she says in answer to looks from Jamie and me. “Silly, really. I’m so sorry we gave you all a fright. Is Evie not feeling well?”

I tighten my hold on Ev and she burrows into me. “No, but she’ll be fine.”

You will be in time, Evelyn, I promise. We belong to this world and all wars pass. You’ll be alright. I swear you’ll be alright.