The Light Over London(93)

“She died knowing that you loved her and that Granddad did too. I have no doubt about that.” And as she said it, Cara found that she believed every word of her reassurances.

“I just can’t help but wonder—”

“Don’t,” said Cara. “I’ve spent too much time worrying about whether I made the right decisions or not. I’m learning it’s time to move forward.”

Gran nodded toward the kitchen with a smile. “Is that what you’re doing?”

Cara smiled. “Yes. In more ways than one.”

Gran laughed. “Was the hotel snowed in?”

“No snow needed.”

Gran covered Cara’s hand with hers, the gold of her wedding ring catching the light. “The one thing I wish for you more than anything else is that when you love again, you’ll love with your whole heart.”

“If you’d asked me to do that a few months ago, I don’t think I would’ve believed you that it was possible. But now . . .”

Gran smiled. “Then that’s a start.”

“I love you to the moon, Gran.”

“And back.”



Cara was quiet during the final car ride home, happy to let Liam drive. The roller coaster of a weekend had left her drained, and now the real world would close in around them.

He parked in her drive, and they climbed out and retrieved their bags. He handed her back her keys and hesitated before kissing her on the cheek.

“Get some rest,” he said.

Then he turned and retreated to his house, Rufus barking at the sound of his steps.

Inside her cottage, Cara dropped her overnight bag and purse in the hallway and went straight to the kitchen to put on the kettle. She prepared tea, glancing out the window as lights came on in Liam’s house. The kettle clicked off just as music began to pour from his windows. It was loud and guitar-filled, and thinking how Mrs. Wasserman down the road would hate it made her smile.

She poured the hot water over the leaves in her teapot and pulled down a mug. The music switched now. Jazz maybe, with a saxophone hitting a series of high notes. She listened closely, trying to catch the tune, but couldn’t.

There was so much to do before the workweek. She should get a load of laundry on—neglecting to do that before leaving had been a mistake. She’d all but ignored her email, and she still owed Nicole a call. But as she went to pull out her phone, she realized there was only one person she wanted to talk to that night.

Pulling down another mug, she poured out the tea with a dash of milk and carefully opened her front door. She picked her way down her front path and around to his. With the toe of her shoe, she rapped low on the front door, sending Rufus into a spurt of barking.

She stood there, knuckles turning red from the heat, for nearly thirty seconds before Liam ripped open the door.

“I brought you tea,” she said, holding the mugs up.

He rubbed a hand over his face, and she thought for a moment that she’d miscalculated things in her own excitement. But then he said, “Thank God. I was worried I’d screwed it all up.”

“How?” she asked.

He took the mugs and set them down on the ground. Then he pulled her to him, his hands framing her face. “By not doing this.”

He kissed her, her entire body going weak as he slid his lips along hers, drinking her in. All of the passion and comfort of the weekend was back. But this time they were standing on his front doorstep, not in a hotel far away, and somehow that made it matter more.

“I didn’t want this weekend to end because I didn’t want this to end,” he whispered against her mouth.

“Then let’s not let it. I’m tired of being cautious and waiting to start my life over again. I want it now, with you,” she said. What she’d told Gran was true. She was moving on, and she’d do it just as Louise had: without regrets.

“Me too, Cara. Me too. Do you want to come inside before we shock half of Elm Road?”

“Yes,” she said, glancing down. “And we might need more tea. It looks like Rufus got to ours.”

He laughed as the dog stared up at them, tea dripping down his chin. “Come on. I’ll make you another cup.”

It would be, she knew, the first of many.





Author’s Note


To live in London is to always have the memory of World War II with you, a whispered reminder of the unfathomable destruction and incredible bravery that was seen on the streets of this great city. And to be from a family that hails from England is to have some part of familial lore wrapped up in the war.

I learned more about both of these things when I moved to London in the spring of 2017 to join my parents, sister, and brother-in-law. Being physically closer to my family meant that I had the chance to spend countless afternoons listening to my British mother’s stories over strong cups of tea while curled into the corner of the sofa. And the more I listened, the more I learned.

Though the true spark for The Light Over London came from a book about the gunner girls, it wouldn’t have burned as bright as it did if I hadn’t discovered my own family’s World War II story. My grandfather worked as a printer before the war, which was designated a reserved occupation. This meant he was not conscripted into the military, but was required to go wherever the government deemed him necessary. My mother believes he signed the Official Secrets Act; however, like many of his generation, he rarely spoke about his war work, so we can’t be entirely sure. What we do know is that he was sent down south to print highly sensitive maps and charts for the military. Family lore says that he printed some of the D-day landing maps, which were so sensitive that he and the other men from his print shop were locked inside for the few days before the landing and had to sleep under the machines to keep the invasion a secret. As for my grandmother, she stayed in Liverpool with their two youngest children, while the three eldest were evacuated to the safety of the countryside. Legend has it that my uncle Nick was famously born as the Germans dropped bombs in an air raid during the Liverpool Blitz.