The Windmill Girls

‘How do you know?’ Dawn asked waspishly. It sounded as though her boyfriend was admitting to using prostitutes.

‘The lads in the barracks are always moaning about that sort of girl emptying their wallets.’ Bill stuck the cigarette back between his lips.

Dawn squinted through the half-light at Tina’s profile. She was undeniably pretty: petite and with shoulder-length dark brown hair, but done up to the nines with cosmetics. Her lips were a ruby red bow and her complexion chalky with powder; but done up or not it couldn’t conceal the fact that Tina was young, perhaps not even Rosie Gardiner’s age.

‘Your friend should watch himself; she could be underage …’ Dawn frowned, thinking she didn’t like Glenn Rafferty very much.

‘It’s up to him what he does.’ Bill ground out his cigarette and shook another from the pack. ‘He’s not the sort of bloke who’ll worry if her father, or her husband for that matter, comes after him. Glenn’s an East End boy and can look after himself.’

‘You make him sound a callous so and so …’

‘Oh, he’ll go for the jugular. He’s shot down twenty enemy aircraft – that’s why he’s a squadron leader and I’m a lowly flying officer.’

Dawn took Bill’s hands in hers and gave them a fond squeeze. ‘You stay safe … all the time, stay safe and don’t take stupid risks. I don’t want to be left with just a photograph to kiss because you tried to rival your pal’s kills.’ Dawn glanced at Glenn and saw that he was watching them. For a moment their eyes locked, as though he knew she was talking about him. ‘He does seem callous,’ Dawn said, tearing her eyes away from a mocking gaze.

‘Unlike me, who would lay down his life for a fair maiden,’ Bill teased and leaned forward to kiss Dawn. ‘I blame him for our moonshine drying up too,’ Bill added, still nuzzling at Dawn’s lips.

Dawn drew back an inch, smiling uncertainly. ‘What did he do?’

‘Glenn’s in with the top brass and on their say so’s on the lookout for illegal stills.’ Bill sat back with an easy shrug when Dawn seemed more interested in talking than smooching.

Bill’s comment about his friend made Glenn seem a bit of a nark, yet Rafferty appeared anything but. Dawn wouldn’t have been surprised to learn he was a barrow boy who did a bit of ducking and diving himself! They’d only exchanged a few words but she’d noticed Glenn had a pronounced London accent, as did she. Bill on the other hand sounded as though he might have recently come down from Harrow. Dawn let Bill light her a cigarette, although she didn’t really want it, having just put one out.

‘Shall we make tracks and find a hotel?’ Bill stared at Dawn through the smoky mist he’d exhaled.

‘I’m ready to go … but straight home. I’m all in.’ Dawn gave him a winning smile, but it did little to erase the annoyance pinching his features.

‘Right … I’ll fetch your coat,’ Bill said distantly.

As he strode away, Dawn watched him, biting her lip. She squashed the unsmoked cigarette in the ashtray, sorry they’d bumped into Glenn and Tina. Bill had been in a better mood when they’d been on their own. She wished they’d gone to the pictures as they’d planned, then for a bite to eat in a cosy café, rather than heading towards a sophisticated nightclub. She knew Bill had only a forty-eight hour pass and needed to relax and forget just for a short while that he was a Spitfire pilot. But she wasn’t sure yet whether infatuation or true love was drawing her to Bill. Before taking that leap into the unknown and spending the night with a man she wanted to be certain of the depth of her feelings.

Bill had not offered to use a rubber, and Dawn had not wanted to vulgarly bring the subject up because it would seem teasing if she then again said no. The idea of having a baby and perhaps raising it alone was terrifying. Her mother had had George out of wedlock and the upset surrounding the dreadful episode had started Eliza’s alcoholism and brought about the end of Dawn’s childhood.

‘Another drink somewhere else?’ Bill suggested as they exited the Kitkat Club. Despite there being a war on the West End was thriving. As they started strolling along Regent Street they were jostled and bumped by boisterous people – civilians and servicemen and women – intent on having a good time.

They stepped around some fresh-faced sailors squatting close to a wall playing dice, roll-ups dangling between their lips. They were just boys, Dawn realised, possibly no more than five years older than her own brother.

A tout approached Bill and shoved a flyer for an illegal bottle party at him before sidling away to a group of soldiers chatting up girls. The lads eagerly took the invitations promising them a good time.

Bill stuffed the paper in a pocket and tightened his arm about Dawn. ‘Do you fancy another drink?’ he repeated.

‘Sorry … daydreaming … no thanks, not tonight, but I’d love it if you took me to the Café de Paris when you’re next on leave.’

‘It’s pricey,’ Bill said. ‘Have you been there before?’

‘No …’ Dawn murmured. ‘I’ve heard the girls at work talking about it though. Lorna thinks she might meet a toff there who’ll carry her off and give her a life of leisure.’

An army corporal, showing off to his friends while pretending to use a machine gun, bumped into Dawn, making Bill scowl and shove him in the shoulder.

Dawn dragged him on. ‘He’s had a few too many, that’s all,’ she said, smoothing over the situation. She didn’t fancy Bill getting involved in a fight with a bunch of soldiers over something so trivial.

‘So you like a shindig with the girls when I’m not around, do you?’ Bill resumed their conversation and slung a possessive arm about Dawn’s shoulders again.

‘Sal and me sometimes go the pictures then have supper in a corner house, but since we met I only go to dances with you.’ Dawn snuggled up to him.

She looked up at the stars. She was glad that the war hadn’t frightened people into huddling indoors behind blackout curtains. ‘Two fingers up to Hitler,’ she murmured tipsily to herself with a smile. ‘Up there it’s been a quiet night; please God it stays that way.’

‘I’ll drink to that …’ Bill drew her arm through his and they strolled on. ‘Sure you don’t fancy another bevy? The night’s still young.’

Dawn kissed his cheek in thanks. ‘No … sleepy …’ She hugged into him again.

Suddenly Bill backed Dawn against a wall and kissed her tenderly. ‘I really want you to wait for me, you know. When this bloody war’s over I’ve got important things to say to you, sweetheart. But I don’t want to promise you anything now when I don’t know if I’ll be around next week, let alone next year.’

‘Don’t say that!’ Dawn whispered, touching a finger to his lips. ‘I pray for your safe return every day … and the war might soon fizzle out …’ She gave a wry smile. ‘Not much chance of that happening, eh?’

Bill caressed her cheek with a finger. ‘Let’s go and find a hotel … please. I need you so much …’

‘I can’t, Bill!’ Dawn said softly. ‘It’s not that I don’t want to …’ She put a hand to her forehead. ‘Oh, I don’t know what I want …’

‘Well let me show you,’ he urged huskily. ‘I swear I won’t ever hurt you; I know I’ve fallen for you, Dawn, in a big way …’ He kissed her again with passionate pressure.

‘I feel the same about you but …’ Dawn frowned, feeling warm and cosy from his closeness and the brandy cocktails she’d had in the Kitkat Club. She was swayed to agree to go with him just so she could revel a while longer in the lovely muzzy sensation in her head. The word yes froze on her lips and Dawn almost jumped out of her skin. Usually she was primed for that eerie sound but tonight, submerged in a sensual daze, it had come as a complete surprise. She heard Bill curse beneath his breath as they gazed at the skies, listening. Bill grabbed her hand and tugged her into a run towards Oxford Circus underground station as the drone of aeroplane engines became louder.

About to descend the steps Bill pulled Dawn around to face him. ‘Saved by the siren?’ he asked, his vivid eyes demanding an honest answer from her.

Dawn smiled and went ahead of him, merging into the throng of people.

‘Got a mo, Dawn?’

‘Yes … of course … how are you, Gertie?’

‘So-so,’ Gertie said evasively.

Dawn had just arrived at the Windmill Theatre and had been stopped by the cleaner at the top of the stairs leading to the basement dressing rooms. Dawn hadn’t seen Gertie for a while, and she realised that the older woman didn’t seem her usual cheerful self. Gertie had been off work nursing a sick child who’d gone down with bronchitis, so she’d heard. Dawn had her own ideas on what else might have been keeping Gertie occupied at home: the woman had found out her brother was a deserter and a suspected murderer. To cap it all, Rufus might have owned up to his wife that he’d been going looting with his brother-in-law, and an almighty row had probably erupted.

Poor Gertie! Dawn realised the men in Gertie’s family must be a constant burden on her. Then she had the four little boys to deal with too!

Dawn drew aside to let a couple of dancers wearing exercise shorts and shirts pass by and clatter down the stairs towards the dressing room. She sensed that Gertie wouldn’t want their conversation overheard.

‘Last time I saw you, you said you’d seen my brother Michael,’ Gertie began as soon as the chorus girls had disappeared.

‘I couldn’t be absolutely sure it was him ’cos I don’t really know him,’ Dawn said neutrally.

‘I think you know now you did see him,’ Gertie replied. ‘And so do I, ’cos I asked Rufus about it and he owned up to Midge being around. I’ve not seen me brother in months,’ she added quickly. ‘But you have. You saw ’em at work, didn’t you.’ Gertie slid a look at Dawn from beneath her lashes. ‘Yeah … I do know what me husband gets up to – but I ain’t his keeper,’ she added defensively. ‘Not saying it’s right to go bomb-chasing … but it’s wartime, ain’t it, and people don’t always act normal. They just get by.’ Gertie suddenly clammed up on that front.

‘But … what about your brother deserting?’ Dawn asked; she understood some of Gertie’s blunt philosophy, but not all of it.

‘Don’t know nothing about it, as I said, ain’t seen Midge in ages. But yesterday we had some Navy bigwigs come round looking for him, so he’s gone AWOL alright.’ Gertie’s head dropped close to her chest. ‘Really bad thing about it is, seems a sailor by the name of Jack Chivers was found dead about the same time Michael disappeared.’ Gertie wiped her moist eyes with the back of her hand. ‘’Course me and Rufus had to lie and tell them we thought he’d sailed ’cos it wouldn’t be right if he was arrested on a murder charge. He might be a deserter but he’s no killer! Stake me life on it!’ Gertie shook her head. ‘Wouldn’t hurt a fly …’ She knew that was stretching the truth so shut up.