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was going to have a difficult enough time persuading him that Padgett’s five fatalities weren’t a discrepancy, let alone having to convince him that Eileen hadn’t saved the Hodbins’ lives by withholding the letter.
    There were lots of ships to America they might have gone on. Or the Evacuation Committee might have decided to send them to Australia instead, or to Scotland. And even if they had been assigned to the
City of Benares
, they might not have gone. Their train might have been delayed, or—if they were as dreadful as Eileen said—they might have been thrown off the ship for painting blackout stripes on the deck chairs or setting them on fire.
    But she doubted Mike would be convinced by her arguments, especially if he’d found out about Padgett’s. He’d go into a tailspin, certain he’d lost the war, and nothing short of telling him about VE-Day would persuade him otherwise. But telling him meant their finding out about her deadline, and the rest of it. Which would give them even more to worry about, and now, with this discrepancy …
    I
must
find out about those fatalities before he does
, Polly thought. “Don’t bring up the subject of Alf and Binnie to Mike,” she said to Eileen. “He needn’t know about the letter. And there’s no need to tell him you didn’t write and tell them your address.”
    “But perhaps I
should
write to them. To tell them Whitechapel’s dangerous.”
    I should imagine they already know that
. “I thought you didn’t want them to know where you are.”
    “But I’m the one responsible for them being there instead of in Canada. And Binnie’s still not completely well from the measles. She nearly died, and—”
    “You didn’t tell me that,” Polly said.
    “Yes, she had a horribly high fever, and I didn’t know what to do. I gave her aspirin—”
    And thank goodness Mike hadn’t heard that either.
    “If Alf and Binnie are in danger,” Eileen said, “it’s my fault. I—”
    “Shh,” Polly said. “Someone’s coming.”
    They listened. Far below them a door shut and footsteps began to ascend the iron steps.
    “Eileen? Polly? Are you up there?”
    “It’s Mike,” Eileen said, and ran down to meet him. “Where
were
you?”
    “I went to the morgue,” Mike said.
    Oh, no, I’m too late
, Polly thought.
He’s already found out about the five fatalities
.
    But when he came up the stairs, he said cheerfully, “I found a bunch of airfield names, and I’ve got a job, so we don’t have to live on just Polly’s wages.”
    “A job?” Eileen said. “But if you’re working, how will you be able to go look for Gerald?”
    “I’ve been hired as a stringer for the
Daily Express
, which means I go out and find news stories—including at airfields—and get paid by the story. I didn’t have any luck finding a map, so I went to the
Express
’s morgue to look through their back issues for mentions of airfields—”
    The
newspaper
morgue
, Polly thought,
not the actual morgue
.
    “And when I told them I was a reporter who’d been at Dunkirk, they hired me on the spot. Best of all, they gave me a press pass, which will give me access at the airfield. So now all we need is to figure out which one it is.” He pulled a list from his pocket. “What about Digby? Or Dunkeswell?”
    “No, it was two words … I think,” Eileen said.
    “Great Dunmow?”
    “No. I’ve been thinking. It might have begun with a B instead of a D.”
    Which means she has no idea what letter it began with
, Polly thought. “Boxted,” she said.
    “No,” Eileen said.
    “B,” Mike murmured, going down the list. “Bentley Priory?”
    Eileen frowned. “That sounds a bit like it, but—”
    “Bury St. Edmunds?”
    “No, though that might … oh, I don’t know!” She threw her hands up in frustration. “I’m sorry.”
    “Don’t worry, we’ll find it,” Mike said, wadding up his list. “There are lots more airfields.”
    “Can you remember anything else Gerald