Rosie Dixon's Complete Confessions. Rosie Dixon

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.