The Edge of the Fall by Kate Williams Page B

feel the same black hole too and think that spending time with her, any girl, might stop it.
    Upstairs, she unlocked the door to her room, went in, flung herself against the bed. Her head was still pacing. Outside, on the Strand, she could hear the shouts of people celebrating, men singing ‘Tipperary’, women shouting. Everywhere, she thought, everywhere there must be men looking for women, company on Peace Night.
    She lay on her bed, head turning, staring at the ceiling. ‘We’re alive!’ they might as well be saying outside, as they laughed. ‘We’ve survived.’ They were together, hands clasped, arms around each other, alive .
    She was alone.

FOUR

    London, August 1919
    Celia
    Celia tried everything to stay in London. She told Emmeline that she’d surely need help with the twins, talked about what she could do for them. But Mr Janus was insistent: Celia had to leave again.
    The hotel manager had hurried them out of the Savoy two days after the birth. ‘It’s not a place for children,’ he said. ‘So many people.’ They’d packed up their things and struggled into two cabs to the flat in Bloomsbury. It wasn’t ready for the babies at all.
    Verena and Celia busied themselves with the washing and the tidying. Then Mr Janus burst in, back from his secretive work. Celia made him some tea and he held the twins, fast asleep. After an hour, he asked when they were going to leave.
    Celia begged to stay. ‘Emmeline needs the help.’
    â€˜Sorry, Celia,’ Mr Janus said, ‘but we have meetings. You’d be in the way.’
    â€˜I could help with the meetings,’ she said. ‘I could take notes.’ She had done, once or twice, in the old days, when she’d stayed with Mr Janus and Emmeline during the war. His friends Mr Sparks and Jemima had been there regularly, talking about how they’d bring in the revolution, change the world, see men and women equal, wealth shared, poor people living as long as the rich.
    But Mr Sparks didn’t come any more and Jemima was living with her elderly parents in Norfolk.
    â€˜It’s different this time,’ Emmeline told her quietly. ‘There’s more anger. People were promised things if they fought. So what Samuel is doing is really important. And more dangerous.’
    â€˜I know that’s what they say! I’ve heard them.’ Celia knew she was too easily annoyed by Emmeline playing the older sister, but she still rose to it. ‘I just think it is as pointless as it always is. All talk. People don’t want a revolution.’
    Emmeline had shrugged. ‘We’ll see. And you have to listen to Samuel. You can’t stay. At the end of the week, you’ll go back to Stoneythorpe.’
    Emmeline was right about Mr Janus – things were different this time. It wasn’t the old talk of plans, the stuff that Celia sometimes thought was pie-in-the-sky. It was discussions of demonstrations, fighting. In the three nights she stayed before Emmeline finally sent her away, Mr Janus went out two nights, and the third he had the men over. Emmeline was asleep, but Celia listened at the door. They were talking about an armed demonstration, how they might have to fight the police.
    Aren’t you worried?’ she said to Emmeline, the day before she left. ‘Aren’t you worried about him? They’re talking of fighting.’
    Emmeline was feeding Albert. It was amazing, thought Celia, how they had tiny characters already. Albert, bigger and stronger, cried out for food all the time. ‘He’s a fighter,’ said Mr Janus, holding him up. And he was, a strong child, trying to lift his head already, and he fought everything, the mat you put him down on, the bed, even Emmeline when she took him to feed – and he’d need to empty both sides of her before he’d stop crying for more. ‘He doesn’t trust the world,’ said Mr Janus.