The Windmill Girls. Kay Brellend

turned about, holding up a hanger on which was a wispy Grecian toga. When on stage it was artfully draped about the nudes’ hips. She looked past her costume at Rosie; the younger woman had put down her hairbrush and was now outlining her mouth in different colours; first one shade then another was put on and wiped off with tissue. Marlene felt satisfied that Rosie fitted Malt’s bill. All she had to do was get Rosie away from home because the blonde seemed ripe for the picking. She’d already mentioned to Rosie that she had a spare bedroom going begging and wanted very little rent for it. Marlene had seen Rosie’s eyes light up at the thought of her own little place, away from her father’s watchful eye. Rosie was pretty and popular with the servicemen and sooner or later she’d fall for one and want to take him back for the night. So Marlene reckoned she’d need to do very little to lure Rosie into her nest.

       CHAPTER EIGHT

      ‘Be reasonable, love,’ Rufus appealed with an elaborate gesture. ‘I can’t take kids with me on a job. Midge will go nuts fer a start, and Pop won’t like it.’

      ‘I don’t care about them! I’m sick of carting our four boys about with me.’ Gertie pulled on her gloves and wheeled the pram containing baby Harold into the hallway. Adam, who was six, grasped the handle in readiness for the off while Simon, who was just two years older than baby Harold, was swung up by Gertie and settled atop the pram’s coverlet. With a hand on his shoulder she propelled the eldest boy in her husband’s direction. ‘Joey ain’t staying here on his own in case the house gets hit while we’re out. Can’t risk it. If the Grimeses’ luck’s out, and please God it ain’t, then we all go together as a family.’

      The idea of one of the boys dying alone in the house was enough to make Gertie feel faint. She was determined that at all times the kids would either be protected by her, or her husband. ‘You take Joey with you, Rufus. I’ve me job to do and old Pickering won’t like having Joey turn up after he caught him dipping in his coat pocket.’ Her eldest son got a reproving glare.

      ‘Best take Joey with you then; our kitty could do with a boost,’ Rufus joked, giving his son a wink.

      ‘Think it’s a lark, do you?’ Gertie snapped. ‘You’ll be laughing on the other side of your face if me boss turns nasty. Just as well Joey didn’t take nothing that day …’

      ‘I did.’ Joey was anticipating Rufus’s approval and he soon got it. He’d not owned up sooner about the theft because he’d thought he’d get a clump, but his father had delighted him a moment ago by praising him for stealing.

      ‘What d’you find then, son?’ Rufus asked eagerly.

      ‘You did what?’ Gertie squeaked, swinging a horrified look between her husband and eldest son. ‘Give it here!’ she demanded. ‘I’ll take it with me and give it back. You little sod!’ She snatched the folded pound note that Joey had withdrawn from the top of his sock where he’d had it stashed. No sooner had she appropriated the cash than her husband prised open her fingers.

      ‘You can’t do that, you silly cow!’ Rufus spluttered. ‘Pickering can’t be sure Joey’s had it or he’d have cut up rough at the time. ’Sides, I could do with that quid.’ He gave Joey a grin and a rewarding pat on the shoulder. ‘But I’ll give it you back, son, don’t you worry about that. You deserve to keep it for being shrewd.’

      ‘Deserves to keep it?’ Gertie bawled, making the baby start to cry. ‘What he deserves is a hiding!’ When her gormless husband continued smiling soppily at the miscreant Gertie gave Joey a hefty whack on the backside that shot him forward a pace. ‘That’s for lying as well as thieving.’ She felt her heart thudding. If Pickering had made Joey turn out his pockets that evening, he’d have called the police there and then, and got her arrested. She forcefully recounted her theory to her husband.

      ‘But he got away with it, didn’t he?’ Rufus came back at her, chuckling.

      ‘You wouldn’t have been so jolly if the coppers had started snooping around here, asking lots of questions about your thieving son. They might just have found out where Joey gets his ideas from. Fancy a spell in gaol, do you?’ Gertie taunted. She stuck out a hand for Rufus to put the stolen money on her palm.

      Rufus closed his fist on the pound note, remaining silent, then he grabbed Joey by the hand and yanked him towards the front door. ‘I’ll take him with me then … just this once …’

      Gertie sent a silent curse after him while buttoning up her children’s coats. A few evenings a week she cleaned Wilfred Pickering’s office. He was the accountant who did the Windmill’s books. She’d readily agreed to take on extra shifts when she’d heard him talking to Phyllis about contacting an agency for domestic help. The extra cash always came in handy. Gertie had only been doing Pickering’s job two months so had been mortified when the man had recently caught Joey in the office cloakroom, delving into his overcoat pockets. Gertie had managed to persuade the fellow that the similar-looking gabardine coats hanging on the pegs had confused Joey. She’d said her son thought he’d been looking in her coat pocket for a handkerchief. Gertie would have liked to believe her own tale, but in her heart she knew that Joey was out of the same mould as his father, and getting more like Rufus every day. If the accountant caught Joey at it again he’d not listen to excuses.