(Margaret enters Alfred's makeshift bedroom in the attic.)

MARGARET PORTER
Here. I hope you like cocoa. I should have asked you.

ALFRED POWNER
I have it at home.

MARGARET
Oh. Well, where's home?

ALFRED
Where I told your dad.

MARGARET
Yes, but home isn't just a place, a town, is it? It's people...and your mother and father.

ALFRED
(holding a pair of pyjamas)
Have I to put these on?

MARGARET
Yes. They're Robert's. He's my brother.

(Alfred says nothing in response and looks dejected.)

MARGARET
How old are you, Alfred?

ALFRED
Thirteen and a bit.

MARGARET
But why won't you tell us where your parents are?

ALFRED
(suddenly showing interest)
You're going to have a baby, aren't you, miss? Your belly's fat.

MARGARET
(laughing)
Now, don't be cheeky.

ALFRED
Are you having a boy or a girl?

MARGARET
Oh, I'm just taking pot-luck. Now, here, drink your cocoa.

(She hands him the cup.)

ALFRED
Have you got a chap?

MARGARET
Well, of course I've got a chap.

ALFRED
Is he in the navy?

MARGARET
No, he was a soldier.

ALFRED
Is he dead?

MARGARET
(stung by the painful question)
Dead...?

ALFRED
Did the Germans stick a bayonet in him?

(Margaret starts to cry, and Alfred realises that he has said something wrong. Just then, an air-raid siren begins to wail. Margaret picks up an old, stuffed-toy bear and sobs for her missing husband.)

JEAN ASHTON
(heard shouting from downstairs)
Margaret! Will you come downstairs, love?

MARGARET
(still crying)
Yes. Yes, all right.

(She tries to take Alfred with her to safety, but he resists.)

MARGARET
Come on. Come downstairs.

ALFRED
I don't want to.

MARGARET
(becoming desperate)
Please!

ALFRED
I want to stay here.

(Bombers are heard overhead, and the sound of explosions grows louder.)

MARGARET
Now, please! Listen, it's dangerous!

EDWIN ASHTON
(heard shouting from downstairs)
Margaret!

(Margaret cries helplessly.)

ALFRED
You're frightened, aren't you?

MARGARET
Yes.

ALFRED
Is that why you want me to come down?

MARGARET
Yes!

ALFRED
All right, then.

(He climbs off the bed and begins to come with her.)

ALFRED
I'm sorry I made you cry.

MARGARET
It's all right.

ALFRED
(handing her a cloth)
Here. Wipe your eyes.

EDWIN
(heard shouting from downstairs)
Margaret! Will you come down?!!

MARGARET
(wiping her eyes)
Yes! Yes, all right. We're coming.

(As the bombs continue to fall, Margaret and Alfred walk out of the attic and down the stairs, the stuffed bear still in her hands.)

 

(from "The Night They Hit No. 8" by John Finch)