Читать книгу: «Rosie Dixon's Complete Confessions», страница 2

CHAPTER 2

“I hope nothing goes wrong,” I say.

“Of course nothing will go wrong,” says Natalie. “It’s only a little party.”

It is the day before Mum and Dad are due to come home and much against my better judgement I have been nagged into giving a party with Natalie. The way news of us being on our own has rocketed round the neighbourhood you would think we were a couple of queen bees who had put up a notice saying “Come and get it!” outside the entrance to the hive.

“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.”

Talking of watching, the one called Nutter is leering at me as if someone has just told him that I have his photograph pinned up over my bed. “Wanna dance?” he says.

“There isn’t any music,” explains Geoffrey.

“Well, don’t just stand there with that lemon in your hand. Hum ‘The Blue Danube’.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” snaps Geoffrey. He can be very rude to line judges.

“Don’t you call me ridiculous, mate,” says Nutter, menacingly. “I’m not wearing a poofy blazer.”

“I’ll put something on,” I say, hurriedly.

“I’d rather you took something off, luv.” Nutter winks at Flash who laughs slowly like treacle flowing down a plug hole. He is obviously the ugly, silent type.

“What about the punch?” hisses Geoffrey. “It’s pure fruit juice at the moment.”

“We’ll have to borrow some of Dad’s booze and put it back later.”

“Where is it?”

“I hid it to be on the safe side. It’s in the—” I break off as Ted walks past me drinking from a bottle of scotch. I know it is Dad’s because of the biro marks on the side. “Cheers,” sings out Ted, nodding to us. “Going to have some music? That’s nice.”

“—In the bread bin in the kitchen,” I continue. “You’d better move fast before there’s nothing left.”

“Hurry up with the music, Rosie. People want to dance.” Natalie takes a swig of Ted’s bottle and drapes herself over him like ivy. At that moment I think I could probably kill her in about fifteen seconds. I put a record on and go out as the front door bell rings again.

An hour later, I am feeling slightly better. A lot more people have come and not all of them look as if they would take the gas meter home with them for the loose change.

Geoffrey has put a bottle of sherry and half a bottle of egg flip—Flash washed his hair with the other half, I think—in the punch and it has certainly given it body. Not that it was short in this department after I added the tin of Russian Salad. I think this might have been a mistake because a rumour went round that someone had been sick in the bowl. Still, it did help make it last a bit longer. What with Dad’s booze and all the odds and ends we have picked from the larder the party is going to cost a fortune. Despite that, I will have no regrets if nothing disastrous happens. Geoffrey gets very worked up every time I dance with Flash or Nutter but I keep explaining to him that Hells Angels do dance like that and I am prepared to put up with it if it saves the family home. Nutter is quite attractive in a greasy sort of way, rather like Elvis with slightly more hip twitching. Of course he is not my type but silly Geoffrey does not seem to understand this. I have just removed Nutter’s hand from my behind for the umpteenth time when Geoffrey pushes between us.

“I’m going to have to have it out with you if you’re not careful,” he snaps.

“I’ve been trying to have it out with her, but she doesn’t want to know,” says Nutter wittily. “Still, the night is young. Why don’t you push off back to Butlins and make the most of it?”

“Boys, please!” I say. As you can imagine, the thought of these two brute male hunks battling to the death over me is too horrible for words. I am about to say more when Natalie appears at my side. This is good news in some respects as I thought she was permanently attached to Ted’s side.

“Mrs Wilson is at the door,” she says.

“Oh my God! What does she want?”

“You.”

“Got a bit of aggro, have you?” says Nutter helpfully. “Want me to put the nut on someone? I’ll get the boys. Ted—”

“Thank you, but that won’t be necessary,” I say hurriedly. I take off for the door and there is Mrs W. bristling like an electric hedgehog. “You’ve got to do something about the noise,” she shouts. “I don’t know what you’re doing in there.” She peers past me into the interior and I see Ted and Natalie scampering up the stairs. The studs on Ted’s back spell “Ted” and a V sign.

“I’m terribly sorry,” I say. “I’ll try and get them to quieten down a bit. It’s somebody’s birthday, you see.”

“I can’t see what that has to do with it. Some of us have to work in the morning, you know.”

“Of course.” I try and close the door. I don’t want to leave Ted and Natalie alone upstairs for a second longer than I have to. As I glance over my shoulder I see Flash and Nutter leaving a film of grease on the bannisters.

“Don’t try and slam the door in my face, miss! The noise isn’t the main reason why I came. Have you seen my front lawn?” I glance over the hedge and my heart sinks. The glistening handlebars of the bikes remind me of a reindeer round-up. There must be stands at Earls Court that have fewer bikes on them.

“I’m terribly sorry. I’ll get them off at once.”

“If you don’t, I’m going to ring the police. The whole thing is quite disgraceful. Your parents aren’t here, are they?”

“They’ll be back tomorrow,” I simper.

“Humpf!” Mrs Wilson takes another look past me just as one of Geoffrey’s friends pushes out of the front door and is sick all over Mum’s petunias. Oh dear. How very unfortunate. Mrs Wilson stalks down the garden path still muttering and I shoot back into the house. The first thing I see is Geoffrey holding his dripping nose over the rubber plant in the hall. He can be very thoughtful sometimes.

“Did one of them hit you?” I say. “Oh dear, I am sorry. Can you try and get everyone to make less noise? The woman next door is threatening to call the police.”

Geoffrey says something to the effect that she can’t call the police soon enough as far as he is concerned but I laugh it off and make a run for the stairs. I have a vision of Ted trying to tug Natalie’s trousers off while Flash and Nutter wander around helping themselves to the flying ducks.

I dash into Natalie’s room and find to my relief that it is empty. Perhaps she is in the toilet. Somebody must be because there are half a dozen people waiting outside.

“I think Jim’s passed out,” says one of them. He puts his eye to the keyhole.

“Can you see him?”

“No. His head’s in the way. HEY JIM!!”

“Don’t shout like that!” I yell. “One of the neighbours has threatened to call the police.”

“She should call the fire brigade,” says one of the onlookers.

“Get him out but don’t make a noise.” I am beginning to feel that things are getting on top of me. Where are Natalie and those terrible greasers? Surely they couldn’t be in—? No. It is too horrible to think about. I throw open the door of Mum and Dad’s bedroom and—

“Hello, darling. What took you so long?”

At first I think it is just Ted and Flash on the bed and then I see Natalie lying between them—naked!! Nutter is hopping round the room trying to take off a boot.

“Get off that bed,” I shout before remembering to lower my voice. “This is my mother’s bedroom.”

“That’s why we’re playing mummies and daddies,” says Ted.

“Nineteen seventies style,” says Nutter.

“Yeah,” says Flash.

“Don’t be a spoilsport,” says Natalie. “Don’t take any notice of her. She’s jealous because she hasn’t got anyone.”

“Get off that bed,” I hiss. “You’re drunk and you’ve no idea what you’re doing.” I grab her by the arm and haul her to her feet. “Get out. I’ll handle this.”

“You can handle this and all,’ says Nutter who has now got his boot off. I tear my eyes away from the enormous love truncheon rearing up like a fascist salute and bundle Natalie towards the door. She loses no time bursting into tears. “You hate me, don’t you?” she sobs. “You never want me to have any fun.”

I grab Mum’s dressing gown from the hook on the door and shove it into her arms as I push her out into the corridor. I should be getting some kind of medal for the efforts I am making.

“And now you three can get your clothes on, get downstairs, and get your bikes off Mrs Wilson’s lawn.”

“Who’s she?”

“Must be the old tart next door,” says Ted. “She looking for trouble, is she?”

“I’m looking for trouble,” I say. “If you don’t get out of here immediately, I’m going to ring for the police.”

If I had expected my audience to bash their heads together in a mad rush for the door I would be disappointed.

“You know what your trouble is, darling?” says Ted. “You’re too tense.”

“Up tight is what he means,” says Nutter, folding his arms round me. “You want to relax more.”

“Let me go!” I say. It is awful because I can feel his thing pressing against my tummy. I try to struggle but he is terribly strong. Hairy, too.

“She needs a little relieving massage,” says Ted. “Bring her over here.” He stretches out an arm and pulls me down onto the bed.

“You touch me and I’ll scream,” I warn him.

“And disturb all the neighbours? You don’t want to do that.”

He runs his hand over my stomach and I notice that he has incredibly hairy wrists. On some men I find that quite sexy.

“You wouldn’t dare,” I say.

“Massage,” says Ted.

“Yeah,” says Flash. Of the three I like him the least. Not, of course, that I would pay for any of the others to go to charm school.

“You’re getting the counterpane filthy,” I say.

“For you, Princess, I’ll take it off. Now. Why don’t you do something like that?” Before I can say anything he has put his hand up my skirt and is pulling at my tights and panties. “I like these long skirts, don’t you, Nutter?”

“Yeh, they keep your neck warm.”

I am in big trouble. If I start screaming, all the neighbours will hear and Mrs Wilson will call the police. There is also Natalie to consider. By lying here and letting them do these awful things to me I am protecting her. It is terrible but—

“Help me peel her,” says Ted.

“Yeah,” says Flash.

Their crude hands force down my skirt while by word and gesture I try to convey my revulsion.

“Bet you’re feeling better already,” says Nutter as he kneels across me and starts popping open the buttons of my silk blouse. They are covered in fabric and I can just see the problems I am going to have getting the grease stains out. Nutter is half naked and in a matter of minutes the person wearing most on the bed is Flash. He has on a grey string vest which might one day have been white. Clothes are littered all over the room and I can see my lovely plaid skirt lying in a crumbled heap on the floor. I am so distressed that I can hardly find the strength to push Ted away. His disgustingly lithe, muscle-packed body looms over mine and he begins to gnaw one of my nipples as if it is a wad of chewing tobacco. On all sides, pussy-pummellers menace me like loaded weapons.

“Right, darling,” says Ted. “Cop this.”

“If you’re going to do that,” I say to Flash, “take your boots off the pillowcase.”

Honestly, the things I have to go through for my sister.

CHAPTER 3

It was awful getting raped. I mean—not so much getting raped as all the embarrassment it caused. Especially with Geoffrey. It was a pity that he had to come barging in to say that the police were in the hall just as Nutter was—perhaps I had better not say what Nutter was doing. I don’t really like to think about it myself.

As you can imagine, I was in a terrible state. I mean, after all I had gone through, to find that the police were downstairs was really too much. And so sneaky, too. I thought they were supposed to ring bells and all that kind of thing. At least Natalie had been spared. This thought was some comfort to me in the trying days to come.

I will always remember the expression on Geoffrey’s face as he slumped back against Mum’s dressing table and watched Nutter and Flash trying to put on the same pair of pants—I think they were mine in any case.

“Don’t just stand there, Geoffrey,” I have to tell him. “Come and help straighten this counterpane.”

“You swines!” He can be so emotional sometimes it is quite embarrassing. He hurls himself at Ted and collects another punch on the nose as the hideous trio make a bolt for the stairs.

“Geoffrey, please! If you’re going to start bleeding all over everything again you might as well go downstairs.” I mean, as if I did not have enough problems.

Geoffrey is practically wringing his hands. “Did they—? Did you—? Were you—?”

“It’s no good crying over spilt milt—I mean, milk,” I say, fluffing up the pillows. “Pull yourself together, Geoffrey. It’s not the end of the world. Anyway I don’t see what you’re getting so agitated about. I had to put up with all the unpleasantness.”

For a moment I think he is going to burst into tears. It is a shame really because I am only trying to be level-headed like Nurse Dubotaki on the Dr Eradlik show. Just “picking up the pieces” as she would put it.

Downstairs there are more policemen than you would find in a raid on a strip club and by the time they leave, the front garden is churned up worse than Mrs Wilson’s lawn—rotten old bag! Apparently some of the neighbours reported a man trying to crawl through the toilet window while the rest of the calls were just about the noise. Anyway, six police cars turn up which is considered a local record. They are very unhappy about Jim Whats-his-name? in the toilet because they think he has been trying to flush acid round the bend. When they break the door down they discover otherwise. Very unpleasant it is too. The bloke who got jammed in the window is not very happy either because somebody pulled his trousers down and put boot polish all over his bottom. Some people do have a funny sense of humour, don’t they?

By the time the last police dog has finished savaging the front room cushions and Natalie and I are left alone it is three o’clock in the morning and the house looks as if it has been used to store hurricanes.

“Well, I hope you’re satisfied,” I say. “That was a nice party, wasn’t it? The house wrecked and the neighbours already forming a queue to complain to Mum and Dad. Have you seen Mrs Wilson’s lawn? It looks as if it’s been used for a ploughing match.”

“Just our luck that it had to rain,” sighs Natalie.

“Our luck?” I laugh hollowly. “I must have been round the bend to let you throw this party. Where do you meet some of the people you invited? That Ted creature, for instance. He attacked me, you know.”

“Why? Wouldn’t you let him out?”

“I’m serious, Natalie. I was subjected to a physical assault by all three of them.”

“If you mean raped, why don’t you say so?”

“It’s not a word I like to use out loud.” She is very free with her language is Natalie. I can feel myself blushing.

“Why didn’t you tell the police?”

“How could I? You know the scandal would break Mum’s heart. I couldn’t do that to her.”

“Not. But you could snitch my boyfriend.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Natalie.” It is amazing how people can react against you when you’ve tried to do your best, isn’t it?”

“I’m not being ridiculous. You’re just a lousy hypocrite. You fancied him yourself.”

For a moment I am speechless. How could she imagine me falling for that gib, hairy, muscley, over-developed sex maniac? The whole idea is too ridiculous for words.

“If you must know, I did it—I mean, I submitted in order to protect you,” I say.

At these words the ungrateful little baggage has the cheek to laugh in my face. It is almost too much. There was me, bending over backwards to spare her the crude physical indignities that were inflicted on my body and she has the impertinence to suggest that I was doing it for my own gratification. At that moment only the forbearance gained by watching the Dr Eradlik programme prevents me from saying something I might one day regret.

“Balls!” Junior Foul Mouth loses no time in continuing her unjustified attack. “You don’t fool me! You pretend to be all goody-goody, but underneath you’re sex-mad. Well, big sister, I have news for you. While you were stealing my boy friends I was moving in on yours.”

“What are you talking about?” I say—having a nasty idea that I know very well what she is talking about.

“Geoffrey made passionate love to me in Dad’s shed,” she says, slowly removing a cobweb from her jumper as if to prove it.

“Don’t be ridiculous. He was terribly upset when he heard what had happened to me.”

“He wasn’t worrying when he was with me. He’s very sexy when he gets his blazer off, isn’t he?”

“He actually made love to you?” I ask. I mean, I just can’t believe it. Not Geoffrey.

“And how. Dad’s vice fell off the work bench.”

More destruction! It really is too bad. And, even more difficult to bear, is the physical betrayal involved. My own sister and the boy whose net I have adjusted at the Eastwood Tennis Club. If blood is thicker than water in our family then no wonder Mum’s porridge tastes like consommé. I know that men are hypocrites but how could he have made so much fuss about my sacrifice after misbehaving with Miss Rentapussy? Even Doctor Eradlik does not have to contend with this kind of treachery in his unflagging fight to make Mount Vista Hospital a better place to die in.

“I can’t bring myself to use words low enough to describe your behaviour,” I say with dignity.

“Hoity-toity,” sneers Natalie.

“In order to avoid more bloodshed I think it would be a good idea if we started cleaning opposite ends of the house,” I say with commendable self control. “May I suggest that you tackle the so appropriately named tool shed—if it is still standing?”

Mum and Dad are due back on the Sunday afternoon and Natalie and I hardly exchange more than a few words up to that time. However, I do see Mrs Wilson. I am standing in one of the dustbins trying to force the rubbish down and make room for some more bottles. She takes one look at me, over the fence, shrugs, and says “That’s the best place for both of you.”

By the time I have opened my mouth she has gone inside her house and slammed the back door. There is obviously little point in expecting any sympathy there.

“Do you think we ought to go to the station?” I ask Natalie.

“And get a train out of the country?”

“No, stupid. Meet Mum and Dad.”

“You can never be certain what train they’ll catch. We don’t want to miss them and find them having a long chat with Mrs W. when we get back.”

“True. We’d better stay here, then. Do you think the place looks all right?”

“It’s difficult to say. I know where all the stains and scuff marks are, so I notice them more easily than the average person might.”

“I hope you’re right. The trouble is that Mum isn’t the average person. After six days away she and Dad are going to come through that door like they’ve got to find six deliberate mistakes in sixty seconds.”

For once Natalie and I share a common emotion. It is expressed in a shiver of terror.

It is half past four when Mum and Dad pause at the gate and look at the garden as if they can’t believe their eyes. I remember the time because a film called A Farewell To Arms had just ended and I am still brushing away the tears. It is about this nurse who falls in love with a soldier at the front. You know—where the fighting is. They make love in his hospital bed and she gets pregnant and dies in childbirth just as they are going to cross over into Switzerland and safety. It is so sad that I cried buckets. The bloke was Rock Hudson and it really made me feel what a wonderful job nurses do.

While I am trying to compose myself, Natalie rushes to the front door and throws it open. “Hello, Mumsie!” she cries. “Did you have a lovely time?”

“Quite nice, thank you, dear,” says Mum.

Dad is still gazing thunderstruck at the garden. “Where are all the flowers?” he says.

“The milkman’s horse got up on the pavement, Dad.”

“He got it out of retirement, did he? He’s had a van for five years.”

“Vandals,” I say. “There’s been an awful lot of trouble while you’ve been away. Look what they did to Mrs Wilson’s lawn.”

“Blimey. I thought it was an open cast coal mine. You told the police, have you?”

“They know all about it,” says Natalie truthfully. “What was the weather like, Dad?”

Dad carries the suitcases into the house. “Diabolical. The worst we’ve ever had there—the worst we will ever have there. I’m not going back. Holiday? It was more like six days in a prisoner of war camp.”

“Where’s my coat?” says Mum, looking at the hallstand.

I am just thinking that it must have been nicked and wondering what to say when the telephone rings. I know instinctively who it must be, but before I can move Dad picks up the receiver.

“Hello? Oh, hello Mrs Wilson.” He puts his hand over the mouthpiece. “It’s Mrs Wilson. Stupid old bag. What on earth can she want?”

“I’m going upstairs,” says Mum.

Ten minutes later Natalie and I are in the front room with Dad who now knows what Mrs Wilson wanted. He has turned a strange blue colour and his hands are shaking. “Now listen, you two,” he says. “I’m going to—”

At that moment Mum comes in. She, too, is looking strained and holding something in her hand. “I was doing the unpacking and I noticed these stuffed down the end of our bed,” she says. “Whose are they?”

She is dangling a pair of bright yellow men’s underpants which, with a shiver of distaste, I remember covering Flash’s vulgarly large private parts. Natalie bursts into tears.

“Were people using our bedroom?” snarls Dad.

“Oh Rosie, why did I ever listen to you?” sobs my deceitful little sister.

“Right. You go outside with your mother. I want to speak to Rosie.” They are hardly out of the room before Dad lets fly. “What you’ve done is a bloody disgrace! You’ve disobeyed your mother and you’ve blackened our name amongst the neighbours—I understand you’ve even had the police round here. The house is like a pigsty and I shudder to think what went on.”

“Dad—”

“Shut up! When I want your interruptions I’ll ask for them.

“What I am most disturbed about is the effect your behaviour is having on your sister. She is at a very formative age and the kind of carryings on you go in for could be a blooming disaster as far as her moral standards are concerned.”