Rosie Dixon's Complete Confessions. Rosie Dixon
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are you going to teach, then? Sloth?”
“A vacancy exists for an assistant gym mistress,” I say, steeling myself for the inevitable.
“Gym mistress!? I’ve never known you take a spot of exercise in your life. You get dizzy if you get out of bed too quickly.”
“I used to play hockey at school,” I say.
“You used to play hookey from school,” says Dad triumphantly.
Oh dear. I wish he would not make jokes like that. They are so embarrassingly unfunny.
“How did you hear about this job, dear?” says Mum, changing the subject tactfully.
“One of my friends at the hospital went to teach at the school.”
“She got chucked out as well, did she?” says Dad.
I am not happy about answering this question because Penny Green was, in fact, the only nurse in the history of Queen Adelaide’s sacked for raping a patient. (For disgusting details see Confessions of a Night Nurse by Rosie Dixon.) Fortunately, Mum comes to the rescue again.
“Oh, do stop going on at the girl! I think it’s very good that she should have thought about things. Where is the school, dear?”
“It’s at a place called Little Rogering, not far from Southmouth.”
“Hampshire. That’s nice. That’s where your uncle lives, isn’t it, Harry?”
“He lives near Newcastle,” says Dad shortly. “What’s this school called?”
“St Rodence.”
“Sounds like a rat poison.”
“You’d better not come down, then,” I say. The moment the words have passed my lips I wish I could suck them in again but it is too late.
“How dare you speak to me like that!” bellows Dad. “You go to your room immediately. And stay there until you’re prepared to come down and apologise.”
“I’m sorry, Dad.”
“It’s no good saying you’re sorry now. You go to your room, miss.”
“But you said—”
“Don’t argue with me!”
Considering that I am nineteen it is shocking the way Dad treats me. My younger sister, Natalie, does not have to put up with half of the things that I do. If it was not for the fact that I knew he would take it out on Mum, I would tell the mean old basket what he could do with himself. The only thing I can do is get a job away from home as quickly as possible. St Rodence would be ideal but I wonder if I am good enough to get in. I expect their standards are pretty exacting. Penny’s morals may have been a bit on the easygoing side but I have no doubt that she was quite brainy. She said she was going to send me a prospectus so I will have to wait and see what it says. I will also have to find out what a prospectus is.
I have just gone out into the hall when Natalie comes in wearing her après-school uniform—half a tin of eye shadow and a quart of Californian poppy behind the ears. There are red patches on her throat and it is obvious that she has been snogging. I don’t know why Dad worries about me, really I don’t.
“Oh you’re back,” she says. “I hear there was some trouble.” Hardly through the door and she is on at me. She is her father’s daughter all right.
“Your lipstick is smudged, sister dear,” I say. “Been chasing the grammar school boys on the way home, have you?”
“I’d have brought one home for you if I’d have known you were that interested.” Raquel Welchlet chucks her vanity case on the floor and goes into the front room. “I’m home, Dadsy.”
“Dadsy”! It makes you cringe, doesn’t it? She can wind him round her little finger.
I am halfway up the stairs when the phone rings. I pick it up and put on my most inviting voice. “Hello, Chingford two, three, two, eight.”
“Oh, Mrs Dixon. Is that you?”
I recognise the voice immediately. It is my long time and semi-faithful boyfriend, Geoffrey Wilkes.
“It’s Miss Dixon, actually,” I say coldly. “Is that you, Geoffrey?”
“Natalie? Oh, I’m glad it’s you. I was wondering if you were doing anything tonight? I’ve got a couple of tickets for the professional tennis at the indoor pool.”
I am tempted to suggest that he should dive into the centre of the court from the top board but I control myself. After all, he may be a two-timing creep but he is my boyfriend—when I need him.
“I hate to be a cause of disappointment to you, Geoffrey,” I say, the acid dripping from my fangs. “But this is Rose. Do you remember me? You used to say that I was everything to you.”
I could count to ten while Geoffrey splutters on the other end of the line.
“Rosie? That’s marvellous. Oh—of course—well—I hope you can come—I mean, you can come. I was only asking for Natalie because I thought she’d be able to tell me how you were getting on. I’m always doing it.”
“Always taking Natalie out?”
“No, no, well, there was that once—or it might have been twice, I can’t really remember. We just talked about you and the old times.”
“Like when you made love to her at that party?”
There is more spluttering from the mouthpiece. “Don’t bring that up again. I didn’t know what I was doing.” I can believe that!
“I’ve only just got home,” I say coldly. “I don’t know if I really feel like going out so soon. It seems a bit unkind to the family.”
Dad appears at the door of the front room and waves an arm at me. “I won’t tell you again, my girl. Get up those stairs!”
“Hello? Hello? Are you still there?” Geoffrey is sounding quite worried. Good!
“Sorry, Geoffrey,” I say, calmly. “That was the telly: ‘Family At War’.” Dad looks as if he is going to say something but settles for slamming the door.
“Please come out with me, Rosie. We could have something to eat, as well.”
“I don’t fancy a Wimpy, tonight,” I say. Talk about last of the big spenders. Geoffrey’s idea of giving a girl a good time is to let her have first nibble at his choc ice—he wipes it on his handkerchief afterwards, can you imagine? I don’t want to sound like a gold digger but Geoffrey is tighter than a new roll-on and after asking for Natalie he deserves to suffer a bit.
“I wasn’t meaning a Wimpy,” he says. “I thought we might have a bite up West.”
“The West End?” I say. You have to be careful with Geoffrey. He could be talking about West Chingford.
“Of course. Oh Rosie. Do say you’ll come. You don’t know how much I’ve missed you.”
“You’re sure you wouldn’t rather take out Natalie—or my mother?” Sometimes I am so nasty I amaze myself.
“Rosie! Don’t be like that. We’ll have a great evening. I know we will.”
I don’t mean to be unkind to poor Geoffrey but he is so easy to push around that I can’t stop myself. I am much better with the mean, moody and magnificent types—at least, I would be if I could ever find one. I have not got any nearer than the mean type, so far, which brings me neatly back to Geoffrey.
“Oh, all right, Geoffrey,” I say graciously. “You’ll be round about seven, will you?”
“If that’s all right. Then I can show you my new car.”
“A new, new car?” I ask.