Rosie Dixon's Complete Confessions. Rosie Dixon

      I don’t know what he is talking about so I smile politely and look at Penny. “We really ought to be going. It’s nearly eleven, you know.”

      Penny waves a hand dismissively. “Don’t keep on about it. It’s so boring. I’m starving anyway. I want to go and eat. Patrick’s going to take us to a fab little café he knows, aren’t you, Paddy?”

      “But Penny, it’s our first night,” I squeak.

      “Jesus!” says Patrick.

      The trouble with Penny is that once she has got an idea into her head, there is nothing you can do to shift it. She is also very good at making you feel wet if you disagree with her. All this means that the party moves on to the Green Clover Café where Patrick falls asleep with his head on the table and my mick goes off to help Penny mend the lock on the toilet door. It must have been stiff because he is sweating like a pig when he comes back.

      “Penny! We’ve got to go,” I hiss.

      Penny considers my bloke who seems on the point of drifting off alongside his mate and nods. “Yes, these two have had it, haven’t they? I wonder if there’s any chance of getting into Buck House. I feel like—”

      “No!” I yelp, feeling it is time I put my foot down. “We’ve got to get back.”

      “All right, all right, you don’t have to shout. I hope you’re not always such a stick in the mud.” She waves at the balding man behind the counter who is cleaning his nails with a fork. “Waiter, can you call us a taxi.”

      “You’re a taxi, madam,” he says.

      “That joke’s as bad as the food and only slightly older,” snaps Penny.

      “Hoity-toity,” says the café owner.

      “Up yours!” shouts Penny.

      “Do you think we ought to leave something for the meal?” I say hurriedly indicating the sleeping micks.

      “A ton of bicarbonate of soda would be preferable,” sniffs Penny. “No, I think they would be most offended. Let’s leave them to their dreams.”

      I unclamp Patrick’s sleeping hand from my thigh and stand up.

      “I hope we see you again, duchess,” says the owner as he opens the door with a flourish.

      “I think it’s very likely,” says Penny. “I’m a public health inspector and if I survive the meal I’ll be back to take samples.”

      I am sorry to have to report that a few very unfortunate things are said after that but, luckily, I am so busy scouring the streets for a taxi that I don’t hear most of them. When a cab shows up it is only because the driver lives in the next street and it requires all Penny’s powers of persuasion and another ten minutes before he agrees to take us back to the nurses home. What they were haggling about in that doorway I will never know. I am only grateful that it is not the dreadful sex maniac who brought me to the hospital in the first place. Every time I see a taxi I expect the driver to leap out and demand one pound forty.

      “Is he going to take us?” I ask as Penny sinks into the seat beside me.

      “Yes and no.” Penny straightens her skirt as the driver staggers into the cab. What does she mean? I wish she would make herself clearer.

      “How are we going to get in?” I ask her once the cab starts moving.

      “Ring the front door bell and say we got stuck in a traffic jam.”

      “They don’t have traffic jams at one o’clock in the morning.”

      “Oh, all right, fuss pot. We’ll climb in. I suppose it will remind me of the pantie raids back at the dear old coll.”

      “The boys used to raid you, did they?” I ask.

      “Silly girl! We used to raid them. I had a tuck box full of Y-fronts. Some of them put up a pretty good fight though.” Her eyes glint with relish. It certainly seems a lot different to Park Road Comprehensive. What exciting lives some people lead.

      When we get back to the nurses home there is less action than at a geriatrics’ jitterbugging contest and I begin to get really worried. There are no lights and the place looks like Dartmoor during a power cut. To add to our problems there is an argument about the fare and I leave Penny to deal with it while I try to find a window we can climb in by. I came back just as she is getting out of the back of the taxi and smoothing down her skirt.

      “Did you get it straightened out?” I ask her.

      “Eventually,” she says. “I hope we’re going to find it easier to get in than some people I can think of.”

      I don’t know what she is talking about so I say goodnight to the driver, who seems to have passed out on the back seat, and lead the way round the side of the building. Most of the windows have bars but there is one that is unprotected and open.

      “Fancy having to climb in to this crummy place,” sniffs Penny. “It’s like weevils having to crawl back into a cheese. Give me a leg up.”

      With a neat display of the Olga Korbuts, she pulls herself onto the window ledge and flips open the catch. “I’ll get in and help you up.”

      I acknowledge her whisper and look around me in the darkness. What a way to spend my first night at Queen Adelaide’s. If we do get to our room without being discovered we will have to be up in a few hours’ time.

      “Hurry up. It’s somebody’s bedroom.” Penny is leaning out of the window and I take her hand and scramble up the wall, laddering my tights. If I am honest with myself I have to admit that I have not enjoyed this evening very much. I would have been much better off staying at home and practising mitreing my corners.

      “Are you O.K.? Good. Let’s get out of here.” Penny turns to refasten the window and I make tracks for the door. My fingers have just closed around the handle when I glance towards the bed. There is not much light in the room but just enough to see—oh my God!—G.B.H. turns in his sleep and suddenly opens his eyes. I tear open the door.

      “Oy! You!”

      I shoot into the corridor and automatically close the door behind me as I come face to face with one of my fellow student nurses wearing a dressing gown. I see her eyes widen as they examine my dishevelled person and then pass on to the sign on the door behind me: “Mr Greaves—Porter”.

      I hope she does not think—no, she couldn’t. Still, some people are very good at jumping to conclusions. It would be so unfair if there was any unjustified scandal about me. I would hate my nursing career to start under a cloud.

      “I was just complaining about a leaking tap,” I explain. “It was awful. I couldn’t sleep a wink.”

      “Yes,” says the girl looking at me strangely.

      I walk beside her to the foot of the stairs and let myself into the lift. I have been there for three minutes before I remember that it does not work. There is no sign of Penny and I imagine that she is explaining to G.B.H. what happened. Maybe I had better go and back her up. I let myself out of the lift and walk back down the corridor. I can hear no sound of voices from outside the Porter’s door and only a rhythmic creaking of what sounds like bed springs. Good. G.B.H. must have gone back to bed—if he ever bothered to leave it—and Penny must have gone upstairs while I was in the lift. Poor girl, she must be as ready for bed as I am.

       CHAPTER 5

      Penny is not in the room when I get upstairs and I imagine that she must have gone to the toilet. I want to find out what G.B.H. said but I am so exhausted that I fall asleep the moment I tumble into bed. The next thing I know, the alarm clock is scrambling my brains and I discover that it is six o’clock. Penny’s fingers are still clutching at air on the bedside table.

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