Rosie Dixon - Confessions of a Night Nurse

“Don’t you think those trousers are a bit tight?” I say.

“Yes,” says Natalie. “That’s the idea. They’re supposed to be figure-hugging.”

“Figure-hugging? They’re squeezing your body to death. I don’t know how you get into them.”

“You spray them on and wait for them to dry. Don’t be a spoilsport, Rosie. Relax and have a good time.”

“I’m not going to relax until everyone has gone home. You know what Mum said. No parties. She’d go mad if she knew that bunch of refugees from Easy Rider was coming round here tonight.”

“It’s not really a party, more a sorry.”

“You mean a soiree, don’t you? It’ll be a sorry when Dad finds out about it.”

“Why should he find out about it?”

“Because the neighbours are going to tell him, stupid. Mrs Wilson has already got tennis elbow from pulling aside the curtains every time someone comes to the front door.”

“Maybe we should ask her?”

“You must be joking. She’d spend all the time in a corner taking down evidence. The last party she went to was to celebrate the shooting down of the first Zeppelin.”

“What was that?”

“You don’t know anything, do you? It was a German airship used in the first world war.”

“Oh, you mean a giant French letter that carried passengers.”

“Yes. It didn’t carry as many passengers as a real French letter, though.”

“Does Geoffrey use French letters?”

“Why do you suddenly ask that? I don’t know.”

Natalie looks concerned. “Well, you should do. You don’t want to end up in the family way, do you? That would really upset Mum and Dad.”

“What I meant was—Oh, it doesn’t matter. I don’t want to discuss my sex life with you, Natalie. You take some of your own advice and watch out tonight.”

I mean it, too. The way the local boys look at Natalie you would think she was a bag of warm aniseed balls thrown over the wall of Battersea Dogs’ Home. At least there is one good thing about those trousers—I can’t see any one getting them off in a hurry.

“What time is Geoffrey coming to make the punch?” Natalie starts to shiver with make-believe ecstasy. “Oh! To think that humble little me is actually going to drink the same punch as they serve down at the tennis club. Will it taste the same without the silver bowl?”

“Depends whether you still have your teeth when you try it,” I say.

Further unpleasantness is prevented by the door bell ringing.

“That’ll be him,” says Natalie. “Lod Raver himself. I can’t wait to see those hairy wrists stirring in the mandarin oranges.”

I restrain myself and open the front door. It is Geoffrey. He is wearing his tennis club blazer as I was frightened he might be. He is about as trendy as cardboard spats.

“Hello Geoff.” Natalie puts on her big smile and Geoffrey beams. She is so two-faced that I could kill her. Even Mum and Dad don’t know what she is really like.

“I’m not too early, am I?” says Geoffrey. He has not looked at me yet. It is just as well that I don’t fancy him.

“Of course not,” simpers my adorable little sister. “In fact, Rosie was getting all screwed up waiting for you. You must excuse me, I’ve got to put my face on.”

“Take care which one you choose,” I hiss, hoping that the venom does not seep through my teeth.

“Fantastic looking bird, your sister,” says Geoffrey admiringly as Natalie disappears up the stairs. “Definitely ladies doubles champion, eh?”

“Are my breasts sagging down to my knees?” I say. “Am I repulsive or just invisible?”

“What are you getting so worked up about?” says Geoffrey. “I only said that your sister was attractive.”

“What about me? You haven’t addressed a word to me yet.”

“You know I think you’re attractive.”

“Not unless you tell me I don’t.”

“But I have told you. I’ve proved it as well.”

Eastwood Tennis Club’s most persistent lobber tries to hoist his hand up my skirt.

“Stop it! You’re here to make the punch.” I push him away from me and am slightly annoyed by the way he gives up so easily. “What have you got in that bag?”

“All the ingredients for an unforgettable evening.”

“Not the stuff we had the night you made such a fool of yourself?”

“I don’t remember you grumbling when we were out by that roller.”

“I wasn’t myself then.”

“Well, whoever you were, you had a damn good time, I can tell you!”

“I’ll leave you to get on with it.” I extend an ear in the direction of the front door. “The rest of the mob will be arriving at any minute.” I pop into the hall and, sure enough, some egg head silhouettes appear against the frosted glass. I open the door as the first finger crashes against the bell push and find myself looking at three greasers in studded leathers and crash helmets. They make the average hell’s angel look like a refugee from Andy Pandy Cleans Up Toytown.’

“Is this where Natalie lives?” says the one with a fringe that looks as if it has been used to sponge some oil from a bicycle chain.

“Yes,” I say. It is a reply I think about a lot in the following weeks. It could so easily have been no.

“I’m Ted and she invited me to her party. These are my mates, Nutter and Flash.”

“Pleased to meet you.”

“How do’s.”

All three of them are now behind me.

“Where can we put our helmets?” says Ted. “We don’t want some bleeder pissing in them.”

“I don’t think that’s very likely,” I say haughtily. “Put them down by the hallstand. Shall I take your bottles?’

Ted looks at Nutter who looks at Flash before all three of them look back at me. ‘We haven’t got any bottles, luv. Natalie said there wasn’t going to be any bovver. I’ve got my flick knife but I’m hanging on to it.”

“I don’t think you quite understand,” I say patiently. “You’re supposed to bring your own drink. Didn’t Natalie say it was a bottle party?”

“I can’t remember. No, I don’t think so.”

“I expect it slipped her mind.” I withdraw to the foot of the stairs. “I’ll tell her you’re here, Ted. You and your friends.”

“Ta, luv.”

“Look, Ted, there’s a geezer in there got some booze.”

“You’re right, Flash. Hey, mate, you don’t want to pour that on top of a load of orange peel. That’s wasting it.”

“Yeh. That’s good gin you’ve got there.”

As I reach the top of the stairs I can hear Geoffrey making spluttering noises. “Natalie!” I shout, bursting into the bathroom. “Oh, Natalie! Do you know—crikey!”

Natalie’s eyelids have been extended towards her temples so that she looks like bride of Batman. Each eyelash is a stamen thick with mascara.

“Don’t start on me, for gawd’s sake!” she says, reading my expression. “It’s my party as well, you know.”

“I’ll talk to you about the ‘as well’ later,” I say. “At the moment there’s three ton-up merchants down there threatening to smash up your party before it’s even started.”

Natalie goes to the window. “Oh yes. That’s a bit naughty of them, leaving their bikes on Mrs Wilson’s front lawn, isn’t it?”

“What!” By the time I have checked that Junior Fun-lover is not joking she has left the room.

I rush downstairs and find Flash helping himself from the half empty gin bottle while Ted embraces my sister. I use the term embrace in order to avoid embarrassing my more sensitive readers.

“Who are these people?” hisses Geoffrey. “They’ve drunk nearly everything I was going to put in the punch.”

“They’re friends of Natalie’s,” I whisper. “Watch them like a hawk.”