Rosie Dixon - Confessions of a Babysitter

‘It went on and on,’ I say.

‘I thought it would when I saw you leading them into the lifeboat,’ says Penny.

I don’t answer her immediately because my recollection of exactly what took place at the ship’s dance is somewhat clouded by the punch I had at the ship’s officers’ party just before the event. The punch was intended for the First Officer but he stepped to one side and it caught me a glancing blow on the chin. I don’t remember what the fight was about but it did seem to create a precedent for the rest of the evening. Penny is still looking at me questioningly when there is a strange noise from the air conditioning system. This is a rather exaggerated name for the metal shaft that is supposed to feed air into our stuffy cabin. I say ‘supposed’ because it has not been working for days.

‘What’s that?’ I ask.

‘It sounds like something scratching against the grille,’ says Penny. ‘I hope it’s not a rat.’

‘Don’t!’ I squeak. I mean, the thought of rats is enough to make me jump so high I leave my panties behind.

‘Calm yourself,’ says Penny. ‘On reflection, no rat could live in this temperature.’

But she is wrong. To my horror, I see a pair of eyes gleaming from behind the grille and a flash of white teeth. ‘Do not alarma yourselves, liedies,’ says a swarthy Italian voice. ‘Eet eez only ventilatione minetenance at your serviosa.’

Before we can say anything there is the sound of snapping metal and the grille pops out of its mooring. As we start back in stunned amazement, a tousled head emerges from the ventilation shaft followed by its owner’s head and shoulders. I am so surprised that I forget I am only wearing my skimpiest briefs and bra and stand staring at the newcomer. It is not until I see his eyes light up like a car’s headlights turning from dipped to full beam that I look down and start to take evasive action.

‘How long have you been in there?’ says Penny. She has obviously forgotten that her blouse is open and that she is not wearing a bra.

‘Only a weeka,’ says the remorseless Eyetie, continuing to emerge from the shaft like olive toothpaste. ‘But that is small pricea to pay to finda myself in the company of such deliciosa signorinas.’

‘A week?’ says Penny. ‘Gosh!’

I don’t know if she is commenting on the length of time or the length of pussy pummeller revealed when our visitor finally drops to the floor. He does not appear to be wearing any clothes and it looks as if his body has been covered with grease. When I catch an unintentional glimpse of his love wand waving ceilingwards I am forced to wonder how he ever managed to conduct it through the ventilation system. No doubt it was in a less rampant condition. I have been told that they are not always like that, though I find it difficult to believe, judging from my own experience.

‘Is everything all right?’ I ask.

The stranger looks at me and makes a strange smacking noise with his lips. ‘Bellissima!’ he hisses.

Something about the way his teeth grind together suggests that we may be on different wavelengths.

‘I mean with the air conditioning,’ I say.

‘Eeza very cramped,’ says the warm-blooded son of the Mediterranean.

‘I mean is it working?’ I ask.

‘Perfectly,’ says the stranger, running his fingers over his oily body in a way that I find rather disturbing. ‘I ’ear every word you say. I think I may bea able to ’elpa.’

‘You have a friend who has a large flat in Mayfair?’ says Penny.

The stranger shakes his head. ‘Napoli but notta My-flower,’ he purrs. ‘No. I refer to the bella signorina’s desire to looka after the bambini. My sister she looka for au pair girl to ’elpa the children speaka de English as good as wotta I do. One of the oldest families in Italy.’

‘The children must be grown up by now then,’ I say.

The newcomer’s brows furrow. ‘I donta meana thata,’ he says. ‘I mean thata the family have been on the Po for hundreds of years.’

His words puzzle me. ‘I’ve heard of early pot training,’ I say. ‘But this is ridiculous!’

‘He’s saying that it’s a very old established family, you fool!’ snaps Penny unkindly. ‘I’ve heard that some of these Italian ventilation engineers are very well connected.’ She shoots a glance at our visitor’s enormous bunk throbber and sucks in her breath. ‘Yes!’

‘The family palazza is neara Cremona,’ says the naked Eyetie. ‘You ’ave ’eard of eet, per’aps?’

‘The only custard I ever eat,’ I say. This is not strictly true but one tries to be kind, doesn’t one? Also, I want to keep in with our visitor. He certainly looks as if he would like to keep in with me. ‘Would you like to clean up?’ I say. ‘You’re drooping – I mean, dripping! all over the carpet.’ This man definitely knows his job because, since he emerged from the air duct, the cabin has become much fresher.

‘Thank yow,’ says the glistening spaghetti muncher. ‘A leetle shower would be nice. Also, I woulda lika to introduce myself into the middle of you.’

‘I thought you’d never ask,’ husks Penny.

‘My namea is Franco.’ He holds out his hand and then withdraws it. ‘I forgetta how dirty I ama.’

‘Never forget that,’ says Penny. ‘She’s Rosie, I’m Penny. The shower’s in the corner. Just follow your nose and your natural inclinations.’

Franco smiles his friendly Italian smile and disappears behind the screen and Penny turns to me. ‘How would you likea – I mean, like – some money to go to the pictures?’ she says.

‘But we’ve just been,’ I say. ‘There won’t be another show until tomorrow – or however long it takes them to get the chewing gum off the seats.’

‘I mean, take a powder for a few hours,’ breathes Penny. ‘I have a feeling that Franco and I could make beautiful music together.’

The Italian ventilation engineer has revealed no sign of a musical bent that I can think of, but maybe I was too busy trying to avoid looking at the unseemly bulk of his prod rod to hear everything that was said on the subject. ‘Don’t ask me to leave the cabin,’ I beg. ‘You know what it’s like out there. I wouldn’t feel safe.’

‘Gooseberry!’ snarls Penny. ‘You want him all for yourself, don’t you?’

Before I can ask her what she thinks she is talking about, Franco sticks his head through the shower curtain – so impulsive when he could easily have looked round it – and beckons to me with his soft brown eyes and a tilt of his head. ‘Excusa mea,’ he says. ‘I no seema able to worka thees theeng.’

‘Maybe the water’s been cut off,’ I say, going to his rescue. ‘It does happen sometimes. So silly when you think of how much there is round us.’

‘You ava wonderful mind,’ says Franco admiringly. ‘I never thinka of that.’

He holds the curtain to one side and I slip into the shower with him. What an amazing life he must lead. Completely naked and crawling round the ship’s ventilation system all day covered in grease. He would be marvellous for What’s My Line? I don’t think anyone would ever get him.

‘You tried turning this little knob, did you?’ I ask. It is just as well that I only have my undies on as Franco’s greasy body is pressed against mine in so many places that it would make a terrible mess of any dress I was wearing.

‘Theesa one?’ says Franco. He twists the control knob and we are both soaked in warm water. ‘Mama mia! I never think of thata. I am soa sorry. Multo disconsolato!’ I try and withdraw but his wiry brown arms pull me towards him with surprising strength. ‘I ’ave madea mark on your bowtiful skin. I musta cleansa yow.’

‘What is happening in there?’ says Penny’s irritated voice.