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8

Snowfall

BLACKPOOL, FEBRUARY 1948

Henry

By the time Henry and Francine emerge from the Winter Gardens, only the coat tails of the afternoon remain. The sky shivers as rowdy swirls of snow begin to fall in dense, persistent flurries. Flakes gather in the grooves of Henry’s cap and along the shoulders of his uniform jacket. They nestle deep in the folds of Francine’s coat, and dust her hair with a riot of glistening white. She pulls a flimsy scarf edged with cornflowers from her handbag, and with fingers red-tipped and stiff with cold, she secures it in a casual loop around her head.

Henry gazes up and down the pavement, unsure what to do. The last train back to his billet doesn’t leave until just before midnight. They have hours together yet, and they can’t keep wandering around in this; they need shelter, or a temporary stopgap at least.