pulling out a handkerchief to dab her eyes.
‘A girl was with me. It’s an odd coincidence, but Rosie now works at the Windmill too.’
‘I’ve not met her.’ Gertie shoved her hanky back up her sleeve. ‘Does this Rosie know all about the looters being my family?’
‘No … and I’m not going to tell her ’cos we just want to forget all about it. I’m not saying I wasn’t angry to see those selfish buggers stealing …’ Dawn pressed together her lips, feeling enough had been said on it all. She didn’t want to end up having an argument with Gertie. ‘Look, I’ve more important things on my mind, Gertie, and Rosie feels the same way. I expect you do too …’
‘You’re a good sort, Dawn,’ Gertie mumbled. ‘Sorry for snapping your head off that time, but I didn’t know then what I know now. I really thought me brother was on his way overseas.’
Dawn shrugged. ‘My mum often sticks up for me or George when we don’t deserve it.’
Gertie suddenly burst into tears, using a sleeve to shield her eyes. ‘You’ll keep it all to yourself, won’t you, Dawn?’ she snuffled.
‘’Course … said so, didn’t I?’ She put an arm round Gertie’s shoulders. ‘Come on, let’s go and make a pot of tea before we get cracking on the new routines.’
‘What costumes you wearing today?’ Gertie asked with a bright sniff.
‘We’re pixies, for a couple of matinees.’
‘Kids’ll love that,’ Gertie said. ‘Shame that sour-faced Olive don’t bring her boys home and treat them to a show once in a while.’
‘You managing to keep yer head down then?’ Rufus Grimes flicked down the queen of hearts. Midge trumped it with a king and, grinning, pocketed his winnings.
Rufus scowled as he saw his cash disappearing into his brother-in-law’s pocket.
‘Yeah … not had no trouble so far.’ Midge sat back, stretching out his short legs. He yanked down the brim of the cap he wore as though to conceal his features.
Rufus could have laughed: in his opinion if Midge wanted to disguise himself he’d be better off wearing a pair of stilts.
‘So, you and Gertie come up with a good story, did you, when the Navy boys turned up looking for me?’
Rufus could feel his brother-in-law’s steady stare on him, but he carried on shuffling cards. ‘Yeah, said we was under the impression you was sailing the high seas.’ Rufus raised a pair of lazy eyes to Midge’s face. ‘Did it, did yer?’
‘Did what?’ Midge drawled.
‘They’ve got you down for a murder.’
‘Don’t know nuthin’ about that,’ Midge lied and took a nonchalant swig of whisky from the bottle balanced on his knee.
Midge wished he’d hopped it to a remote spot rather than getting himself enlisted when war broke out. But when a group of bombastic pals had gone along to the Navy recruitment centre, Midge had tagged along, caught up in the moment. Following the Battle of the River Plate Midge had had enough of fighting for king and country. He’d no intention of ending up with his legs blown off, as his fellow stoker had when their frigate got torpedoed.
‘Should’ve left Hitler to it out in Europe,’ Midge muttered. ‘Weren’t nothing to do with us what he was getting up to.’
‘Fuckin’ is now though.’ Rufus was used to Midge sounding off to try and conceal his cowardice. But as Rufus had so far managed to avoid joining up, he knew not to have too much to say on the subject. Besides, he wished he’d kept quiet about the sailor who’d been found knifed in the back and dumped in a lifeboat about the same time as Midge jumped ship. Rufus reckoned the man opposite was a vicious git as well as being crafty, and he wouldn’t put anything past him.
‘Way I see it, I could’ve been blown to smithereens in the East End on the weekend I went missing.’ Midge crossed his arms over his chest, looking quite smug. ‘Bad raids fer days as I recall …’
‘So how you gonna square it when you eventually turn up bright as a lark?’ Having rolled himself a smoke Grimes generously held out his tin.
Midge started separating strands of tobacco, watching his stained fingers. ‘War ain’t over yet … I still could come a cropper,’ he replied philosophically. ‘Anyhow, cross them bridges when I come to ’em, won’t I.’
Sticking the limp cigarette in a corner of his mouth he glanced about at their murky surroundings. They were huddled in a corner of an air-raid shelter, each man seated on an upturned box with another positioned between them and employed as a rough table. On its wonky top were scattered a pack of dog-eared playing cards, a depleted bottle of whisky and Rufus’s tin of Old Holborn.
During the daytime, when bombing raids weren’t expected, and ordinary folk went about their business, the shelters were mostly empty, but for rolls of bedding and makeshift bunks lining the walls. Midge saw the opportunity to be had, as did others. Tramps and deserters, looking for a hidey-hole, thought the vacant shelters a godsend. Petty thieves also passed through hoping to find abandoned possessions they could make a bob out of before the owners returned at night to find their stuff missing.
Midge wrinkled his nose against the odour of latrines pervading the air. Idly he began playing solitaire. ‘’Course there’s those two women who got a look at us when we did the outfitter’s,’ he said, the roll-up wagging in his mouth. ‘But I ain’t too concerned over that ’cos doubt we’ll run into them again.’ He chuckled gruffly. ‘Nice-looking pair of girls … wouldn’t have minded getting down to business with either of ’em under different circumstances.’ Midge carried on laying down cards on the box top. ‘Funny thing is, Roof, I thought the older gel seemed familiar; ain’t sure why though …’
Grimes shifted on his seat. He’d not owned up to any of the other members of the gang that he’d bumped into Dawn Nightingale, and worse than that she was his wife’s friend and workmate. And he knew, even if Midge didn’t, why the little man thought he knew Dawn: Midge had been to the shows at the theatre and had probably clocked her on stage.
Rufus had no interest in sophisticated entertainment, or classy women, so had never seen a revue himself. He’d no time for striptease; a good drink, a rough shag then home to bed was all he was after, when his wife made herself unavailable. In his own way he loved Gertie very much. It was just the constant itch in his balls that made him unfaithful.
Midge held out the bottle of whisky, swaying it by its neck. ‘Want a swig?’
‘Nah … better get back, me shift ain’t finished yet.’ Grimes got to his feet. Half an hour ago he’d been road sweeping and had taken an unofficial break, thinking he might find Midge sneaking about in the shelter. He’d fancied a game of cards, feeling his luck was in, but he’d lost five bob and that wouldn’t go down well with Gertie if she found out.
He’d fancied a tot too, but he knew if his boss smelled booze on his breath he’d be for the high jump. Not that he liked shovelling up shit for a living … but Gertie would kill him if he lost his regular pay packet. Tonight he was too skint for a prossie, so he hurried up towards the exit, hoping to keep in his wife’s good books at least till bedtime.
