CHAPTER SIX
Margot no longer felt anxious leaving the Prince Albert Club. After six weeks, she not only made it back to the theatre before the final curtain, she was often in her seat for the finale. Margot laughed out loud. When she first started doing a spot at the club, she would run back to the theatre in a panic and spend the rest of the night and most of the following day feeling guilty. Now she only felt the thrill of it. She loved the excitement and the danger.
As she entered Southampton Street Margot heard the drone of low flying aircraft followed by the air raid siren. She looked up. The sky on the other side of the river glowed orange and red. The East End was under attack for the ninth night in a row. The rumble and crump of German bombs sounded louder tonight, and nearer. Standing in the shadows, Margot watched as searchlights, their beams crisscrossing in the night sky, illuminated half a dozen heavily-armed Messerschmitts. Directly above her one minute, they went into a dive, off-loading their bombs on the docks. Suddenly the familiar winding sound of the siren in Green Park started up, followed by the ear-shattering cracking sound as streams of bullets were fired into the sky. With an almighty roar the Messerschmitts broke formation, flying off to the left and the right to avoid the anti-aircraft guns. Margot began to run.
‘Hey you!’ someone shouted. Then she heard the shrill blast of a whistle. ‘This way!’
‘I’ve got to get to work,’ Margot shouted over her shoulder to an ARP warden who had given chase.
‘Not tonight you’re not,’ he said, catching up with her. He pointed across the road to the entrance of Aldwych underground station. ‘Come on!’
‘You don’t understand. I’m late,’ Margot said.
‘And you’ll be dead if a bomb drops on you. Now move along!’ he ordered.
Margot had no choice but to join the queue of people leaving the Aldwych and Lyceum theatres. She looked at her watch. The safety curtain would have come down at the Albert by now and Anton would soon be addressing the audience, if he hadn’t done so already. It was too late for a sing-song; the usherettes would be showing the audience to the exits. An unpleasant taste rose from Margot’s stomach and stuck in her throat. She wanted to be sick. Tears of anger and frustration ran down her cheeks. She was in trouble.
The entrance of Aldwych underground station was crammed full. ARP men were trying to control the crowd by blowing their whistles while station employees were shouting for people to make their way down to the platforms. Allowing people to push past her, Margot shuffled on the spot, looking all the time for a way to escape. Once downstairs on the platform she would be stuck there all night. The thought of Bill thinking she was trapped in a raid, dead even, almost outweighed the fear of a ticking off from Miss Lesley. A ticking off? If only. Tears began to fall again. The repercussions of-- ‘Hey! Watch what you’re doing!’ Margot shouted, as a boy of about ten bumped into her.
‘Sorry Missus,’ he said, his hand on her handbag, pretending to steady himself.
‘You’re on the pinch, you little devil. I’m going to call the police.’
‘I ain't, missus, ‘onest I ain’t. Please don’t call the Rozzers.’
Holding his false but pleading stare, Margot had an idea. ‘All right,’ she said, ‘but if I don’t call them--’ Before she had finished speaking the boy, eyes darting this way and that, turned as if to run. Margot grabbed the threadbare collar of his jacket and yanked him back. ‘How would you like to earn a shilling?’
The boy shrugged her off and wiped the cuff of his sleeve across his nose. ‘Say I would,’ he said, squinting at her as if he was sizing her up. ‘What would I ‘ave to do?’
‘Get me out of here.’
‘That’s easy, follow me. I’ll say as you’re me mam and your proper poorly, so I’m taking ya to the ‘ospital.’
If she hadn’t been so desperate to get out of there, Margot would have laughed. By the way they were dressed, no one would have believed they were related, let alone mother and son. However, the scruffy urchin was her only hope and she wasn’t about to offend him. ‘Good idea, but the ARP warden at the entrance knows me. As soon as he sees me he’ll stop me.’
A feral grin crept across the boy’s face. ‘I’ve got another idea, but it’ll cost you two bob. The ARP bloke knows me too.’
‘Go on then,’ Margot said, ‘but be quick, I’m in a hurry.’
‘Not till I’ve got me money,’ the ragamuffin said, holding out his hand.
Margot gave the boy two shillings and, pretending to move along with the rest of the crowd, waited.
‘Oi!’ she heard the ARP warden shout. ‘Stop that child. The little bugger’s swiped my whistle.’
As the ARP warden chased after Margot’s scruffy little partner in crime one way, Margot slipped out of the underground station the other – and fled.
As she burst through the stage door, Margot’s lungs felt as if they were on fire. She leant forward and, with her hands on her thighs, took several deep breaths.
‘Miss Lesley’s looking for you, Miss.’
Still breathless, Margot choked back the tears. ‘I’m in trouble, aren’t I, Bert?’
‘I’m afraid so. She asked me to tell you to go to her office when you got back from-- wherever it is you’ve been.’
‘Thanks, I’d better…’ Margot forced a smile, left the backstage area and walked along the passage behind the stage. It was deserted. She sighed and whispered, ‘Thank God.’ She was dreading bumping into someone from stage management. It would be bad enough
