Inside the small and practical kitchen, the landlady rolled up her sleeves and grabbed the heavy wicker basket. Her plump fingers curled around the handle as though lifting the weight of the world. By the sound of a loud sigh, there's a clear indication that she understood that the world did not care as she lifted it.
"Well, girl, you've brought the blankets, haven't you?" she asked. Her voice was brisk, almost demanding. Alice, her tenant, stood by the kitchen door, her fingers playing with the hem of her wool cardigan.
"Yes, they're in the basement already," Her wide eyes darted toward the shuttered window as if she expected the world to shatter at any moment.
"Good." The landlady peered over her glasses, ignoring the obvious. "And you didn't forget the water jugs?"
"Filled and placed downstairs."
The two women seemed an odd couple at first glance, but the need for money and a place to stay had made it happen.
Margaret, who was at the age when it was considered rude to ask, had been shaped by years of managing a household alone. She had a rounded figure and, to those in the neighbourhood, was an unimpressive spinster. Alice, on the other hand, was the epitome of softness, and most of that softness seemed to be in her head.
It was a shame. The girl looked so breakable in a city hardened by war; it was a surprise that she even managed to hold down a job. This cowardly slip of a girl should be in the countryside and not hiding in a London basement, but if the world were fair, there wouldn't be a second world war.
The women carried the last of their preparations down the narrow staircase to the basement. A single oil lamp lighted the makeshift shelter. Unlike the house above them, this place did not have the luxury of comfort. It was a room that stored items, mostly covered in dust and nothing more.
"Do you truly think we're safe?" a rather hesitant Alice turned to face her landlady. Her expression was searching.
"These walls have stood for decades. They'll stand for one more night." Margaret's lips twitched into something resembling a smile. Sometimes, a lie could be an act of kindness.
"It's safe enough," she added, though her gaze lingered on Alice a moment longer than necessary, causing the young tenant to become somewhat nervous. The women worked in silence, laying out the bedding on the cold stone ground.
Clearly, there would not be a comfortable night's sleep in this makeshift bomb shelter, but it was better than being dead in a comfortable bed. Alice's hands fumbled with the straightening of a quilt, and Margaret reached over to correct the mistake. Their fingers brushed briefly.
Alice averted her eyes from the touch, concentrating deeply on the smoothing of fabric beneath her fingers. A peculiar flush crept across her cheeks, almost travelling down into her chest. Margaret's expression softened as she watched the younger woman.
"You've done well today,"
"Thank you,"
"I don't think I'd manage any of this without you." Margaret lied, and even Alice could hear it. Her landlady could have easily handled this alone.
The older woman busied herself with arranging the pillows, thinking of the next words to say. When Margaret finally spoke, her tone had returned to its usual no-nonsense manner.
"We all manage. It's what we do."
Alice sank down onto the makeshift bed, hugging herself and looking quite small as she did so.
"I don't understand any of this," she said. "Why can't it just stop?"
"It won't," Margaret lowered herself beside Alice. "And war doesn't care about being understood. It is an unstoppable force, and if you understood every detail, you just be more scared."
"But you're not scared, are you?" Alice's features were ruined by tears, and this caused Margaret to hesitate.
"Of course I am," she admitted through gritted teeth. "But fear's a luxury we can't afford. So, I tuck it away and focus on what needs to be done, as should you."
Alice leaned her head against Margaret's shoulder, seeking something among the tears. The landlady stiffened for a moment, then relaxed, allowing the younger woman to remain.
"No point crying over it now," she said softly. "You would do a much better job telling those planes to bugger off."
"Margaret!" With a gasp, Alice's emotions momentarily gave way to a tidal wave of decorum. For now, as they laughed, the war was kept at bay by the thick brick walls of the basement and a firm buggering off.
However, much later, the wail of an air raid siren came, and the women knew that it would be a long night in their makeshift beds. Alice stared at the ceiling above as the world rattled outside. Beside her, Margaret was reading a book by the light of the lamp.
It was almost beyond comprehension that someone would do something like that, especially in such a moment. Yet, her landlady seemed to be doing it. Margaret appeared unfussed by the sounds of the siren.
Alice shifted slightly within her blanket; the cold floor could still be felt through the fabric. The rumble of distance outside made her flinch. Margaret turned a page as a soft tut escaped her lips.
"How can you read at a time like this?"
Margaret's eyes flicked up briefly, clearly bothered by Alice's question.
"It's better than staring at the ceiling, waiting for it to collapse."
"I don't think I could concentrate." Alice battled the growing dryness in her throat.
"You could try," Margaret suggested, tapping her book with a lazy finger. "Worrying won't change a thing. If the bombs fall, they fall. But until they do, we're still here. Best to act like it."
"I need a drink," Alice muttered out loud, hoping Margaret would take the hint. It was understood. There was a rustle of paper as Margaret marked her place in her book.
"Water?"
Without waiting for an answer, a jug beside their makeshift bed was grabbed and held out to Alice. She winced slightly at how cold the water felt against her teeth. The long swig was interrupted by an explosion. It felt close.
The water jug was dropped and landed on the front of Alice's nightgown. The cold water spread over her, much like the fear within her body. She yelped at the invading feeling and sprang up from the blankets. The damp nightgown was now glued to her body.
As Alice looked down at the mess, she noticed the outline of her nipples protruding through the soaked fabric. She crossed her arms, hugging herself tightly, trying to cover up. Margaret was staring at her, eyes wide and, for once, shocked.
"I-I didn't mean to," Alice stuttered out, and it seemed to break the strange look on Margaret's features.
"You silly girl," Margaret hissed, shaking her head. She stood up sharply after placing her book down with a thump.
Her hands were on Alice's arms, pushing them away from the younger woman's body. Alice flinched back, trying to hide the lewdness. Hands continued to pull the fabric of Alice's nightgown upwards, revealing a more embarrassing place than Alice's breasts.
Between her legs was white and sensible underwear; it barely contained the mass of hair.
"You'll get a cold," The wet nightgown slid further up Alice's body, passing her hips. A small and weak noise passed Alice's lips. The hands stopped.
"You are hopeless. It isn't no shame between women." Margert, without another word, began to undress. Her hands move with ease, unfastening buttons and pulling fabric away to reveal her figure. Alice felt a strange tightness at the sight.
Her landlady looked beautiful. Without a sane thought, Alice's eyes drifted downward, taking in the sight of Margaret's breasts. They were fuller than Alice's own, maybe made larger by the fatness of the body.
Her eyes fell further down. Margaret's hair was nearly hidden by her plump thighs and soft stomach; the colour almost matched the hair on her head. A heat crept onto Alice's cheek as she realised where her eyes had wandered.
Margaret was talking, clearly oblivious to the younger woman's current actions.
"Come on now, get undressed before you catch your death."
