The Windmill Girls. Kay Brellend
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Most of the stolen merchandise went straight to the fences, or to Loot Alley, to be sold and the proceeds were then split between the gang members. Gertie had moaned at Rufus that she deserved a little dip in before the stuff was spirited away, but her husband was charier of Pop than he was of her. That annoyed Gertie because she’d got used to being the person pulling her husband’s strings.
When Rufus had his cut of the proceeds in his pocket, that’s where it stayed. His ‘bunce’, as he called it, was his alone. And Gertie knew where his money went: booze, gambling and prostitutes. There might be a war on, but there was still a thriving market in every sort of vice in London, if you knew where to look.
‘No point sulking over it, Gertie,’ Rufus lilted in a conciliatory way. He never fell out with his wife for too long; she was too useful to him to upset. ‘Tell you what, gel, we’ve got our sights on a tobacconist next ’cos Pop wants a nice briar pipe. See if I can get you a few packs of Players, shall I?’
‘Reckon you can do that, do you?’ Gertie muttered sourly.
Rufus came up behind her, nudging her buttocks with his groin. ‘Do anything for you, gel, you know that …’
Gertie gave a smile, unseen by Rufus. He always came round when he was feeling horny … which was most of the time. She let him open her blouse and slide a hand inside to squeeze her warm breasts.
‘Nip upstairs, shall we?’ Rufus breathed against her cheek. ‘The boys ain’t due in from school for a while. Stick Harry back in his pram; only be five minutes, won’t we …’
‘No fear!’ Gertie pushed him away. ‘I reckon it’s the wrong time of the month for me and I don’t want another kid filling that there …’ she pointed at the pram ‘… before I’ve even turfed Harold out of it and onto his feet.’ She turned to confront Rufus, hands planted on her hips. ‘I’ve got enough kids running round me ankles, Rufus, and I don’t want no more.’
He looked sullen, avoiding her eye. They’d had this conversation before and he always got moody when she mentioned visiting the Marie Stopes clinic. Like most men he thought women who used birth control were sordid, yet he wasn’t prepared to spoil his own pleasure by using a Johnny instead so they could limit the number of mouths they had to feed.
‘Please yourself,’ Rufus muttered, shrugging himself away from her. He began gathering pages of the newspaper scattered on the floor. ‘Probably won’t be able to get you no fags on the sly anyhow when we do the tobacconist.’
Gertie knew his game; it was always the same one – she was nice to him and he was nice to her. She put little Harry back in his pram and sat next to her husband at the table. He had his elbows planted on the open newspaper and his chin cupped in his palms, continuing to ignore her.
Gertie’s fingers crept to undo the buttons of his fly. He was hot and hard … as usual. It didn’t matter what time of the day or night it was, Rufus was ready for action. In a way, Gertie felt quite sorry for him and his affliction.
‘Could do with a lighter as well as some fags,’ she murmured as her fingers started to pump beneath the table. ‘Silver’s nice … if you spot one like that …’
Dawn bobbed to and fro on the station platform looking for a tall figure dressed in smart blue uniform. Suddenly she spotted him, and dodging around a couple strolling in front of her, she broke into a trot.
Bill Sweetman dropped his kit bag, ready to grab Dawn as soon as she was within reach.
‘You look well,’ Dawn said breathlessly, hanging onto her hat as he spun them around. She touched his freshly shaven cheeks.
‘Plenty of bracing air where I’ve been,’ Bill said, swooping to kiss her on the lips.
Picking up his bag they strolled arm in arm towards the station exit.
‘How have you been keeping?’
‘Not bad …’ Dawn smiled.
‘How about your family?’ Bill had picked up on a slight hesitation in Dawn’s reply.
‘Mum’s driving George and me bonkers. She won’t let up on the gin.’
Bill grimaced in sympathy. ‘Everything alright at the Windmill?’
‘We’ve got opening night for a variety show next week. We’ve got to dress up as ghostly wraiths. A couple of new girls have been taken on as living statues.’
‘I’ll come and take a look,’ Bill said wolfishly.
Dawn gave his arm a playful thump. ‘If you come and have a look at anybody, it’d better be me.’
‘I wish you’d get another job, Dawn,’ Bill said, growing serious. ‘I don’t like you working there with loads of blokes leering at you all the time.’
‘They don’t leer … well, some of them do, but mainly at the nudes.’ Dawn knew that wasn’t strictly true. All the showgirls, whether in the chorus line or in the artistic tableaux, received attention from fellows in the audience. Naturally, naked female flesh was fascinating to the opposite sex – especially those youths who’d never before clapped eyes on an unclothed woman. ‘A lot of the servicemen who come along seem quite young and sweet.’
‘Fancy going to the pictures later?’ Bill changed the subject quite abruptly.
‘I don’t finish till eight o’clock. We could try and fit in a late show somewhere,’ Dawn suggested. Bill had frowned on hearing she had to work, so she added quickly, ‘Are you planning on seeing your folks?’ Bill’s parents were quite well to do and lived in Surrey.
‘I’ll drive over to them this afternoon then meet up with you later on this evening.’
Dawn went onto tiptoes and kissed his cheek. ‘How is it all going in Suffolk?’
‘The main news – and very bad it is too – is that our local brewer has been sent to prison. Shame about that, ’cos he produced a decent whisky.’ Bill, tongue-in-cheek, recounted a tale about the fellow in Ipswich who’d had his illegal still, and his liberty, taken by the authorities. ‘Oh, and there’s a rumour that Midge Williams has gone AWOL. Top brass in the Navy know our top brass and the news filtered down that there’s a bit of a to-do about it. A rating called Jack Chivers was found stabbed in a lifeboat, and Williams has gone missing … odd.’ Bill hadn’t noticed that his girlfriend had turned pale at his news. ‘Midge didn’t return to his ship. But to give him his due, there were some heavy raids on London during his last shore leave.’ Bill paused. ‘He might be under rubble or perhaps he’s still recovering from the effects of too much rotgut.’ Bill glanced at Dawn for a comment, realising she’d remained quiet. ‘Oh, God, I forgot …’ He grimaced in apology. ‘Midge’s sister does cleaning at the Windmill, doesn’t she?’ He drew Dawn close with an arm about her shoulders. ‘Is the poor girl in a state? Has Midge come a cropper somehow or other?’
‘I haven’t seen Gertie for a few days … different shifts,’ Dawn explained.
She’d been mulling over whether to voice her suspicions that Gertie’s brother was alive and a member of a gang of bomb-chasers. Bill had never liked Midge since the seaman and some of his Navy pals had taunted Bill and his RAF colleagues in a pub, calling the airmen nancy boys and starting a fight. Dawn certainly didn’t want Bill feeling he ought to jump to her defence and confront Midge, especially now she knew that Gertie’s brother was wanted for questioning about a murder. But there was no proof of anything, she reminded herself. Nevertheless she decided to keep quiet about the horrible night she and Rosie had witnessed the gang out looting.
‘Is that you, Rosie?’
‘Yeah, it’s me home, Dad.’ Rosie slipped out of her jacket and hung it on a peg on the wall before closing the door. The hallway of the Victorian terraced house was dog-legged and painted in a sepia colour that deepened the gloomy interior. But dark or not, she’d glimpsed her father, in his tan cotton coat, scurrying out of the cellar a moment