The Windmill Girls. Kay Brellend

      ‘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.