The Windmill Girls. Kay Brellend

the nudes and the chorus. As far as Dawn was concerned she didn’t give a monkey’s if a girl removed her clothes to earn a living. What was the point in being jealous or spiteful when every day corpses of men, women and children were being dug out of their wrecked homes?

      Dawn couldn’t deny though that Rosie was overstepping the mark, and if the girl thought the management would overlook serious indiscretions, she had a rude awakening in front of her. The senior stagehand was a widower and though Gordon had an unrequited yen for Lorna he seemed flattered by Rosie’s winks and pouts. And of course Rosie wasn’t really interested in him; she was being a silly little tease, and that was unkind. Apart from that Dawn knew that Rosie would run a mile from a fellow who demanded more than a kiss and cuddle.

      ‘Lorna’s right, you know.’ Sal tapped a Sobranie from its packet and lit it, then eyed Rosie over tobacco smoke. ‘I saw you outside the stage door last night with half a dozen army fellows. You was flirting with all of them and it looked like things might turn nasty ’cos you were playing ’em off one against the other.’

      Rosie’s cheeks flooded with guilty colour at that reminder. In fact a scuffle had broken out between a private and a sergeant when she’d said she’d meet the senior of the two for a drink later in the week. She pursed her lips, sitting in the chair vacated by Lorna. ‘You’re all just jealous because I get more attention from the men than the rest of you put together.’

      ‘That’s what you reckon, is it?’ Sal had had enough of the younger woman’s boasting. She shot to her feet, sticking her hands on her hips. Her loose silk wrap fell open, displaying her naked belly beneath.

      ‘Yeah, it is what I think.’ Rosie jumped up too, barging to confront her. ‘I’m young and pretty and I’ve got a gorgeous figure, that’s why I got taken on as a nude. You’re getting fat and couldn’t get a job with no clothes on even if you wanted to. Who’d want to look at your saggy tits?’ she scoffed. ‘And you’re the wrong side of thirty, if you’re a day …’

      Sal leapt forward to slap Rosie’s cheek. ‘Wrong side of thirty?’ she yelled, outraged. ‘I’m twenty-six, you cheeky bitch. And I get more flowers sent in than you do.’

      ‘Flowers? Who wants fuckin’ flowers?’ Rosie had stumbled from the unexpected blow but quickly got her balance. Swinging a fist in retaliation she caught Dawn on the side of the head as she moved to separate her warring colleagues.

      ‘Sorry … sorry, Dawn … didn’t mean to hit you.’ Rosie wailed, mortified.

      ‘For God’s sake shut up, both of you,’ Dawn thundered, rubbing her scalp. She’d thought her mother and brother might get on her nerves this afternoon; she’d not counted on her workmates being the problem instead.

      ‘What’s all the shouting about?’ Marlene Brown had just arrived for the evening shows to find the three women glaring at one another. The atmosphere was icy despite the electric heater being fully on.

      ‘You watch out!’ Sal pointed a threatening finger at Rosie. ‘Or I’m gonna rat on you to Phyllis, you trouble-making cow.’ Grabbing her clothes off the chair Sal stormed towards the door.

      ‘Didn’t mean to get you, Dawn, it was an accident.’ Rosie put an arm around Dawn in an attempt to apologise for whacking her. ‘You’re much prettier than me … it’s just those two are always bitching, so I had to say something to shut them up.’

      Dawn impatiently shrugged the younger woman off. She hadn’t liked to hear her fellow dancers running Rosie down, but the truth was that Rosie was flirting too much and if she carried on she was likely to cause aggravation all round. Brawls in the theatre didn’t happen that often, but when they did the management went mad, especially if one of their girls had sparked it.

      ‘Anyone going to tell me what the commotion was all about?’ Marlene shook the teapot that was on the table, grimacing in disappointment on finding it almost empty.

      ‘Those two old hags are jealous of me.’ Rosie scrubbed at her face. ‘They was saying I act like a tart but Dawn stuck up for me, didn’t you, Dawn?’

      ‘I told them to stop talking about you behind your back. I didn’t say they were telling lies,’ Dawn retorted. Her blunt answer brought a forlorn look to Rosie’s face. ‘You know, don’t you, what they mean?’ she said with a significant nod. ‘So think what you’re doing, Rosie.’ Rather than rub it in Dawn knew that it would be best to leave the younger woman to stew in her own juice. She said a brief goodbye, glad to be going back to her mum and brother.

      Marlene shrugged off her dressing gown and watched Rosie thoughtfully as the girl preened in front of the mirror. Rosie reminded Marlene of herself at eighteen: eager for compliments and excited to discover that her youth and beauty wielded such power over men. Marlene was now twenty-five but because she had an enviably youthful appearance, she easily got away with giving her age as twenty-one. The younger you claimed to be in the business, the better you got on, Marlene had come to learn. Lying about her age was just one of the tricks in her repertoire, and with her boyfriend’s help, she’d certainly perfected a few.

      ‘You gave Lorna and Sal what for, I take it?’ Marlene said admiringly.

      ‘Not going to take any notice of two over-the-hill hoofers, am I?’ Rosie replied, teasing her platinum waves with a hairbrush.

      ‘That’s the spirit,’ Marlene said approvingly. ‘Us nudes have got to stick together.’ She gave Rosie a lewd wink. ‘Not your fault you’ve got fellows fighting over you, is it?’

      ‘I never asked that sergeant to start on the other bloke for me.’ Rosie was as eager to convince herself of her innocence as she was Marlene.

      ‘Sergeant?’ Marlene scoffed at the low rank. ‘You could have a major with your looks, Rosie.’

      That compliment prompted Rosie to smile and resume styling her hair. She’d already noticed that a few older officers were regularly coming in to give her the eye. But she didn’t fancy getting involved with somebody’s husband. She didn’t want to cause that sort of trouble when she could enjoy herself with single men of her own age.

      Young as she’d been at the time, she remembered her parents’ shouting matches. Her dad had caught her mum with another man and thrown her out. Her mum had been allowed back after what seemed an age but had probably only been a matter of months. In a way Rosie had wished her mother hadn’t returned. The arguments had stopped by then but the long cold silences had been even worse to bear; Rosie sometimes wondered if her mother had been glad she’d got ill and died rather than having to endure the awful atmosphere any longer.

      ‘So what d’you reckon, then, Rosie? Shall we find you a rich handsome man who’ll take you to posh hotels instead of treating you to a night at the flicks before he jumps on you?’

      Rosie frowned at the hint that she slept with her admirers. ‘I’ve not let any of them … you know …’ she said falteringly. ‘I’m not that sort of girl.’

      Marlene eyed her mockingly. ‘Honestly? You’re really still pure as the driven?’

      ‘’Course,’ Rosie said rather bashfully. ‘Aren’t you?’ she asked curiously.

      ‘’Fraid not … but you are sweet …’ Marlene murmured with a private smile. ‘And all the more reason to get you the man you deserve …’

      She turned to the wardrobe cupboard, her expression very thoughtful. She earned decent money working at the Windmill but her real employer was her boyfriend, a Maltese fellow by the name of Nikola. Marlene, in common with others, called him Malt.

      Malt was a heavy-set, swarthy fellow who liked to think people respected him because he’d fostered for himself a hard reputation. In fact the men he classed as his rivals saw themselves as his superiors and despised him for trying to muscle in on their territory when he’d neither the brains nor the financial clout to do so. Malt was under his uncle’s thumb and just a hireling.

      But