LITMIR.BIZ

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at her in surprise.

      ‘Reckon he might have docked. But he don’t give us his timetable,’ she said rather sourly.

      Dawn supposed that reply would have to do; she must have been mistaken in thinking Michael a villain. Having dragged a brush through her hair she gave the others a cheery wave as she’d finished her shift. Gertie followed her towards the cloakroom.

      ‘Off home then, are you?’

      ‘Yeah …’

      ‘Mum better, is she?’

      Dawn gave Gertie a speaking look; Gertie was aware of her mother’s drinking because Dawn had once mentioned it to some fellow dancers. Afterwards, she’d wished she’d kept schtum because women working together forgot nothing and gossiped about everything.

      ‘Don’t you worry, she’ll pull herself round once this war’s over with. It’s taking it out of all of us.’ Gertie nipped at her lower lip with her teeth, looking thoughtful.

      ‘What’s wrong?’ Dawn prompted.

      ‘Were you asking about Michael for a reason?’

      Dawn blushed guiltily.

      ‘Now you tell me what’s wrong,’ Gertie demanded. ‘Come on out with it. I knew there was more to it than eczema and Endocil cream.’

      ‘It’s nothing really …’ Dawn blurted. ‘It’s just … I thought I saw him recently; but you’ve said he’s abroad, so I must be mistaken.’

      ‘Yeah … you must.’ Gertie gave a slow emphatic nod. ‘If people got to hear he was still round these parts, they’d think he was a deserter now, wouldn’t they?’

      ‘I’ve said I’m probably mistaken.’ Dawn sounded cross too. ‘It’s an easy mistake to make as he is quite … remarkable, isn’t he.’

      ‘What d’you mean by that?’ Gertie snapped.

      ‘Well … there aren’t many men about as small as him; that’s why I thought it might be him.’

      ‘I suppose you could say he’s wiry … Anyhow, I’d be obliged if you’d keep your ideas to yourself.’

      ‘Right … sorry I mentioned it,’ Dawn muttered to Gertie’s retreating back.

      Gertie got her coat out of the cloakroom, obviously ready to leave work herself. Dawn loitered for a moment wondering whether to offer to walk a short way with the other woman, as they sometimes did. At Piccadilly Circus Gertie would then head off towards her home in Holborn while Dawn travelled east to Bethnal Green. Gertie barged past and hurried out into the street. Dawn shrugged to herself and slowly followed her colleague into the dark early evening, hoping that she’d get home without the need to bomb-dodge.

      No such luck! Dawn inwardly groaned a few moments later as the sirens started. With a cursory scouring of the sombre heavens she joined those dashing towards the underground station. Her heart was pumping and her misty breath bathed her cold face as she ran down the steps, jostled and bumped by others seeking shelter. As she stepped onto the busy platform, the smell of urine and dirt immediately struck her, making her wrinkle her nose. Picking her way through bodies and bedding she found a small space close to a tiled wall and squatted down. After a moment fidgeting to find a comfortable position she shrugged out of her coat and folded it, lining outward to protect the tweed, planning to use it as a cushion to sit on.

      ‘You’ll ruin your lovely coat, love. Here you are, you can borrow this.’

      Dawn gratefully accepted a worn blanket being held out to her. Before handing it over the woman helpfully folded the wool into a pad.

      ‘Thanks very much …’ Shivering, Dawn quickly donned her coat, buttoning it up to the throat. Despite the press of humanity she felt chilled from the draught whistling down the steps that led to the street. A moment later she spied Gertie also sheltering from the raid, sitting some yards away, and decided she might as well try and make up with her colleague. Some of the Windmill girls liked nothing better than a bit of a ding dong at work, but Dawn lived by the rule: don’t go looking for trouble ’cos it’ll find you soon enough. Handing back her makeshift cushion with a smile and thanks, Dawn picked a path over bodies to Gertie’s side.

      ‘Crikey … where did you get him?’

      Gertie was attending to a baby in a makeshift wicker crib. She tucked the covers in about the mewling infant, making hushing noises. ‘Met me husband down here with the kids; he was bringing ’em to meet me from work. He does that sometimes … so he can get shot of them and bugger off to the pub.’ Gertie’s mouth turned down in a rueful smile. ‘Anyway the raid’s put paid to that idea for him. So he’s gone off with the older ones to keep them occupied.’ She gave Dawn a conciliatory smile. ‘Sorry about … you know … earlier …’

      ‘Yeah … me too,’ Dawn said, peering in at the baby. She knew that Gertie had four boys but because Gertie was a fairly new recruit at the theatre, Dawn had never before met any of the woman’s family. In fact, if Midge Williams hadn’t turned up to watch a show at a time coinciding with Gertie’s evening shift at the theatre, Dawn would never have had him pointed out to her.

      Even when Dawn was a bit dishevelled, as now, she still looked pretty in Gertie’s opinion. Self-consciously she pushed some lank brown hair behind her ears. ‘Don’t get a lot of time for me looks any more.’ She glanced at the sniffling baby. ‘Got Harold here and then the other three all playing me up.’

      ‘Where have they gone off to?’ Dawn took a look about.

      ‘Oh, they’re around somewhere, with their dad. Me husband gets bored stuck here all night so goes looking for somebody to have a game of cards with. He takes the boys to watch him play. Teaches him his tricks, so he says …’ Gertie started unbuttoning her blouse as Harold let out a wail. ‘Feeding time at the zoo,’ she muttered, looking around, her face a study of distaste. Picking up the infant, she concealed him, as best she could, inside her coat. ‘Like a bleedin’ farmyard it is down here, stinks to high heaven.’ She mimed gagging, then turned her attention to the baby’s feed. ‘I’d sooner not come here but we’ve not got a shelter dug out the back, you see. Rufus keeps saying he’ll do it but never gets round to it.’ Gertie raised her eyebrows, displaying fond exasperation for her lazy husband.

      ‘Pretty unpleasant down here, isn’t it.’ Dawn politely averted her eyes from Gertie’s exposed flesh, staring instead at the exit and straining her ears for a sound of the all clear. She’d not heard a bomb drop so was praying the planes had gone straight over, or it was a false alarm.

      ‘Wish we could go back to the phoney war we had at the beginning. At least we all got to sleep in our own beds,’ Gertie mumbled, stroking her baby’s cheek. ‘Worried all the time about my boys, I am.’

      ‘Are your older sons being evacuated?’ Dawn asked conversationally. She gazed at the contented baby, his fine auburn hair verging on flaxen and nothing like Gertie’s dark brown locks.

      ‘Oh, no! Nobody would look after them properly for me.’ Gertie sounded adamant. ‘I know them best. They’d never settle with anybody else.’

      ‘Bet our troops overseas miss their own beds …’ Dawn had reverted to their previous topic of conversation. Gertie had sounded defensive in the way her own mother did when talking about children being sent away into another woman’s care. Dawn thought of Bill, far away, perhaps soaring high in the heavens in his Spitfire, under the moon and stars. But there was no romantic side to any of it. Wherever Bill was, he was probably cold and scared, especially if he had a Messerschmitt on his tail. ‘I wish the bloody war was over with …’ Dawn said on a heartfelt sigh.

      ‘’Course, we all wish that.’ Gertie rubbed slowly at her baby’s back as he suckled. ‘War to end all wars, that last one was meant to be. Now look at us. Bloody Hun!’ she muttered. ‘Your boyfriend’s a pilot, ain’t he, Dawn?’

      Dawn nodded. ‘I think about

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