Читать книгу The Windmill Girls - Kay Brellend - Страница 11

‘Are you driving to Surrey to stay at your mum and dad’s tonight?’

‘Is that an invitation to come home with you instead?’

Dawn smiled wryly, moving her cheek against Bill’s pleasantly scratchy jaw as they waltzed to the jazz trio. ‘I don’t think my mum would appreciate seeing you on the couch in your vest first thing in the morning.’

‘If you top the old girl up with gin she’ll be too sozzled to see me at all, arriving or leaving. Then I could bed down upstairs with you,’ he whispered in her ear. ‘I’ll happily stump up for a bottle of Gordon’s for your mum and a few beers for that brother of yours, if you agree to me staying over.’

Dawn drew back, frowning at Bill. Sometimes his sense of humour was too black for her to appreciate; that was, of course, assuming he was joking. If he weren’t then she’d be worried …

‘Don’t take it so seriously, darling.’ Bill drew her close again, nuzzling her neck. His hands, stroking at the centre of her back, began massaging closer to her buttocks. ‘Let’s get a room in a hotel, then, if you don’t want to upset your family. I don’t intend driving to Surrey, and I’m damned sure you could do with a break from your set-up in the East End.’

Dawn was fed up with things at home: her mother drove her mad and her brother George’s moodiness was a pain, but she didn’t want Bill rubbing it in simply to get her into bed. Dawn knew he was getting impatient with her because she hadn’t yet agreed to sleep with him. She wasn’t holding out because they’d only known each other for a short while, or because he would be her first real lover. She’d been kissed and caressed by boyfriends but the thought of an unwanted pregnancy was always at the back of her mind, terrifying her when she was aroused and tempted to capitulate. But the main barrier to her throwing caution to the wind with Bill … and he was by far the boyfriend she fancied the most … was Bill himself.

His callous joke about her mother’s alcoholism had added to her niggling doubts that he might not be the right man for her. When they’d first met she’d been sure she’d fallen head over heels for him after the first few dates, but then the giddy pleasure of the newness of it all had faded, removing the blinkers from her eyes.

On the first occasion she’d seen Bill he’d been in the audience at the Windmill Theatre, giving her his undivided attention. He’d sent her a lazy wink, blown her a kiss that had almost put her off her step, and then disappeared at the end of the show, or so Dawn had thought.

She’d been disappointed not to find him amongst the crowd of eager fellows hanging around the stage door, hopeful of chatting up a showgirl. Then she’d spied a man dressed in RAF uniform lounging against a lamppost further along the street, smoking.

As she’d walked towards him Bill had blocked her path, telling her he’d not let her pass till she agreed to go out with him. She’d thought him wonderfully handsome close to and his persistence had excited her. His eyes were startlingly blue and his hair as fair as her own. So she had agreed to meet him the following evening; that had been five months ago, yet although they wrote regularly Dawn realised she’d only been in Bill’s company a handful of times. The war kept them separated, as it did most young couples.

Dawn felt warm fingers fondling her behind and gave her boyfriend a ghost of a smile. Taking his hand she started leading him back to their table before the saxophonist had finished playing. As they weaved through swaying bodies, in half-light, the atmosphere was thick with cigarette smoke and the sultry scent of brandy cocktails. They sat down opposite Bill’s pal. Glenn Rafferty was stationed with Bill and was a squadron leader. Dawn got the impression that it riled Bill that his friend was about the same age but held a higher rank than he did.

Bill had said Glenn had plenty of girls to choose from when he came to London on leave. But this evening he had with him the same girl who’d accompanied him last time, called Tina.

Dawn had been surprised by how different in looks the men were; her boyfriend had the quintessentially fair and dashing looks of a middle-class Englishman, whereas Glenn was dark-haired and tanned and in Dawn’s fanciful opinion might have Romany blood. A gold earring would have completed his startlingly handsome, rather villainous presence.

They’d not planned on meeting up for another double-date this evening; Glenn and Tina had been leaving a bottle party club when Dawn and Bill had bumped into them on Regent Street. They’d entered the Kitkat Club as a foursome.

The last time they’d all been together Tina had acted sullen; she didn’t seem any friendlier this evening although she slid flirtatious glances at Glenn … Bill too, Dawn noticed with a pang of annoyance.

Determined to be friendly, Dawn attempted to draw the young brunette into conversation. ‘Do you live locally, Tina?’

‘Yeah …’

Following her terse reply Tina lifted her port and lemon and took a sip, leaving Dawn thinking she’d had no more luck in having a chat with Glenn’s girlfriend than the last time she’d attempted to make conversation.

‘Gonna dance then, are we?’ Tina nudged Glenn’s arm and pouted him a kiss.

‘Just let me finish this. I’m parched.’ Glenn lifted his glass of beer.

For a man who was thirsty he drank little, Dawn observed with a slight smile, watching Glenn take a single mouthful then replace the tankard. He hadn’t even looked at Tina when she’d spoken to him.

No need to get upset, Dawn told herself as she again noticed Tina’s dark eyes slide Bill’s way. The brunette looked quite young – about nineteen – and was probably testing her powers of attraction on every good-looking fellow she met.

‘I’ll dance with you.’ Bill had taken the hint when Tina continued staring at him and swirling her port and lemon to attract his attention. Discreetly Bill raised his eyebrows at Dawn by way of apology then led Tina towards the thrumming music being belted out by the band.

‘She’s not standoffish … just shy …’

Dawn shot a look at Glenn; it was the first time the two of them had been left alone together to talk. ‘Shy?’ Dawn queried with a snort. She might have toned down her sarcasm had she not noticed, in the light of the flickering candle on the table, a gleam of amusement at the backs of his eyes. Glenn knew as well as she did that Tina was downright rude. And that begged the question: what did Squadron Leader Rafferty see in her? Dawn got her answer quickly enough: young or not, Tina had a very vampish manner. The brunette was dancing cheek to cheek with Bill and a moment later Dawn felt her temper rise as a pair of shapely arms slid about Bill’s neck. Tina’s palms suggestively cupped the back of his head as though she might urge his face down and kiss him. Dawn’s insides writhed in anger. Tina was deliberately making a play for Bill, no doubt to punish Glenn because he wouldn’t dance with her.

‘Shall we give them a run for their money?’

Dawn snapped her eyes back to Glenn who was draining his glass. He pushed to his feet, held out a hand. ‘Come on. Bill’s not stupid … well, not all the time,’ Glenn said very dryly. ‘He didn’t have a lot of choice in it. I’m sure he’d sooner have kept on dancing with you …’

From that Dawn deduced that Glenn was letting her know he’d seen Bill’s hands roving her body a few minutes ago. Well, if Glenn Rafferty thought he could try it on too … he’d find out he was mistaken. He wasn’t going to make Tina jealous by touching her up! Slowly Dawn stood up. Once his long fingers had closed on hers he tugged her behind him onto the small dance floor.

His touch was light and cool and he kept his hands to himself. He moved very well … as well as Bill; but he was a bit taller than her boyfriend, Dawn realised. With Bill she’d no need to stretch her arm so far to rest it on a broad shoulder. Dawn darted glances Bill’s way, trying to get a glimpse of the swaying couple through the crowd.

‘Aren’t you bothered about your girl flirting?’

‘Nope …’

‘Why not?’

‘She’s not my girl,’ Glenn said and suddenly whipped Dawn around so fast in time with the beat that her next words were lost in a gasp.

It was his way of telling her to shut up and mind her own business, she realised. So she did, stiffening in his arms. As though he found her pique a challenge he urged her closer, dropping his head towards hers. As soon as the music faded Dawn pulled away, trying not to make it too obvious that Glenn had succeeded in aggravating her … and more. The pleasant scent of his sandalwood cologne clung to her cheek where their skin had scuffed together. She was the first to sit down; moments later Bill joined her.

‘She’s an odd sort of girl.’ Bill was glancing at the dance floor. Tina had intercepted Glenn before he could leave and they were now waltzing.

‘That’s an understatement,’ Dawn said sourly, taking a long swallow of her drink. ‘She’s rude and arrogant and the most outrageous flirt.’

‘You’re not jealous, are you?’ Bill sounded genuinely surprised. ‘Forget about her, sweetheart; I’ve only got one girl on my mind this evening.’ He leaned forward and slowly tickled her chin. ‘Want another brandy and soda?’

‘I think I’ve had enough, thanks all the same.’ Dawn could feel a warm glow on her cheeks and a cold top lip … sure signs that she’d had too many cocktails! Besides, she suddenly wanted to leave. She knew she had no reason to be jealous but, even so, resented another woman rubbing her nose in it while she flung herself at Bill.

Pulling out a packet of Players, Bill offered one to Dawn then took one himself.

‘She doesn’t have much to say for herself, either,’ Dawn said, dipping her head to the lighted match cupped in Bill’s palm.

‘She seems to have enough to talk about to Glenn.’ Bill drew hard on his cigarette. He sat back in his chair, watching the couple. ‘Probably discussing her price,’ he added caustically.

Dawn shot him a glance. ‘You think she’s a working girl?’

‘’Course she is … those bottle party hostesses are all the same. They’ll charge you a week’s pay for a watered-down beer and a fruit juice for themselves, then they’ll try and get you to stump up again for having the pleasure of their company all night.’ He tapped ash into an empty glass.

‘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.

‘Sorry, Gertie, to have to tell you this, but Michael was aggressive with us. When we ran off he and Rufus chased us ’cos we’d seen them breaking the shop window and stealing the stuff from the outfitters.’

‘We?’ Gertie croaked, 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.