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She reached in her drawer for her rosary beads and didn’t put them down again until she heard the fortune-teller leave.

5
PAPER DOLL
    Tuesday, 10 February 1942
    â€œBleedin’ nice, ain’t it?” Lil flopped back in the hairdresser’s chair, rolled her unmade-up eyes at the ceiling. “My local bogey stops me on the way into work last night, tells me to be up bright and early for Bow Street in the morning; my turn on the rota, he reckons. Then he goes and invites himself in for a cuppa Rosie, scares off all my regulars clomping up the stairs in his size ten boots and makes himself at home in the kitchen with Duch – all before I’ve even had time to make a couple of quid. Talk about being a lady of easy virtue,” she huffed on. “I ain’t seen nuffink easy about it yet.”
    â€œOh dear,” Gladys, the Cardiff-born chief lady of the rollers at the basement salon in Shaftesbury Avenue, sympathised. “We’d best get you a nice cuppa on before we get started, eh?”
    â€œThanks, Glad.” Lil wrinkled up her nose as she smiled, like a mischievous child. She kicked off her high-heeled shoes and stretched out on the chair, settling into the lazy, steamy warmth of the place, the sound of Peggy Lee slinking out of the wireless.
    Getting pinched by the local, friendly bogey on the beat was an occupational hazard that cut both ways: he got a few extra shillings in his pay packet for bringing her up to court, she pleaded guilty and got off with a two-quid fine. Justice was seen to be done, at least for the next month or so, and the Crown got its form of tax on Lil’s earnings. Plus, it made sure she never got mentioned to any of PC Plod’s superiors.
    On such occasions, Lil always came down to Glad’s for a trim, set and manicure after they let her go. It was an in-between time, too late to go back home, too early to get back to work. This made a treat out of an inconvenience for her.
    â€œWonder where she’s got to?” Lil mused, meaning the Duchess, whom she had arranged to meet here. She glanced around the small, cluttered room and her gaze stopped on the woman sitting to her left. There was something familiar about her, but it took Lil a few moments to work it out.
    â€œLorn?” she said, watching one of Gladys’s apprentices, a girl called Dot, who had arms like a docker and a fag hanging out of the corner of her mouth, applying a tube of brunette hair dye to the woman’s previously platinum locks. “Is that you, girl?”
    The woman, with whom earlier in her career Lil had once shared a West End corner, swivelled red-rimmed eyes at her and grunted an affirmative.
    â€œWhat you doing to your hair, love?” Lil looked aghast.
    â€œHere you go, my lovey,” Gladys plonked a cup and ill-matched saucer in Lil’s hand. Lil’s expression didn’t change as she looked down into dark brown depths. Strong, Glad always made her brews strong. Not refined and perfumed like the Duchess poured them.
    Gladys patted her on the shoulder, bent down and whispered: “Don’t bother Lorna right now, lovey. She had a bit of a bloody shock last night, is all. Don’t think she really wants to talk about it …”
    â€œIt’s all right, Glad,” Lorna’s voice was croaky. “I don’t mind telling Lil. Probably should spread the word, case we ain’t seen the last of him.” Her eyes travelled back in Lil’s direction. “I got a right bastard last night,” she said. “RAF, he said he was.” A shudder travelled up her body. “Oh, you tell her, Mol. It hurts to speak.”
    Lorna’s companion, a short, stout brunette with a round face, her hair already set in rollers, had been sitting quietly on a chair in the corner, reading a magazine while Glad’s daughter, Angie, painted her toenails. She looked up, fixed Lil with a steady gaze. “All of it?” she