Rosie Dixon's Complete Confessions. Rosie Dixon
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a marvellous surprise—and you, Rose. Our good fortune knows no bounds.”
I turn to see Guy Hark-Bach and Rex Harrington watching us from the doorway of the snug. I have not seen them since my unfortunate experience during the game of ‘Hunt The Horseshoe’ although I know that Penny still plays regularly. How typical that we should bump into them when we are already committed.
“Have a swift snort, girls,” says Rex.
“No time, I’m afraid,” sings out Penny. “We’ve got to go to the school play.”
“Who are those two queer-looking fellows?” says Guy, lowering his voice so that only people standing within fifty yards can hear him.
“Robin Brentford and his friend,” I say. “You know, the famous actor.”
“His friend is the famous actor?” says Rex.
“Jokes like that aren’t funny,” I say stiffly. “Everybody knows Robin Brentford. You name it, he’s opened it.”
“Oh yes. He’s on the telly when he’s not appearing on the Co-op advertisements, isn’t he? How frightfully amusing. Is he appearing in the school play?”
“Of course not! He’s the guest of honour.”
Robin and Jeremy have gone upstairs and, before I can reply to Rex, there is a scuffling noise and a sharp slap. Jeremy runs down the stairs clutching his cheek and Robin follows hot on his heels.
“Oh God!” sighs Penny.
“Jeremy, Jeremy! I’m sorry! I don’t know what came over me,” squeals Robin.
“You struck me! You struck me!” Jeremy rolls out the words like a carpet.
“Time to be off,” I say heartily. “Room all right?” I don’t have to wait for a reply because Jeremy storms into the street with Robin after him.
“Have a good evening,” says Guy, raising his glass. “If you feel like a change of scene later, pop round to the stables. We’re having a few people in for a drink.” He winks at Penny and nods at me which I find rather irritating. I am not all that much of a wet blanket. I have petted up to the heavyweight division in my time.
“We’ll see,” says Penny. “Toodle pip.”
When we get outside there is no sign of either Robin or Jeremy and it is five minutes before we run them to earth at the back of the gents. Jeremy is in an awful mood and refuses point blank to come to the play. In the end we persuade Robin to come by himself but you can tell that his heart is not in it. They are a funny couple, there is no getting away from it.
When we arrive at the school, the curtain is due to go up in five minutes and I am not happy to see a dishevelled old woman busking the queue outside the Memorial Hall—it is called by this name although no one can remember what it was built in memory of—certainly not the architect, who managed to construct a shape without an angle of ninety degrees in it.
“Headmistress, please!” urges Penny. “Put down that gin bottle and come with us.”
“Just let me give them a reprise of Nelly Dean,” wheezes Miss Grimshaw. “I’ve got another five minutes before it’s Miss Batson and her spoons.”
“But Miss Grimshaw—”
“No ‘buts!’ And I’m not sharing my collection with anyone. ‘There’s an old mill by the stream, NELLY DEAN!!’”
“Who is this disgusting old pile of dirty washing?” snaps Robin. “Will you tell her to let go of my lapels!?”
Oh dear. It is all so embarrassing. What a shame that Miss Grimshaw has to choose this night to have one of her worst turns. Just as well that few of the parents are going to be able to recognise her in her black veil, stays and high heel lace-up granny boots.
“Help me off with the accordion,” says Penny. “It’s amazing where she gets the strength from, isn’t it?”
We manage to get Miss Grimshaw into the art room and stretch her out beside a selection of the new number plates that the girls have been painting for the car maintenance classes.
“Leave her there,” says Penny. “She’ll sleep it off in a couple of hours. I can’t think what the rest of them are doing to let her wander about like that.”
“They must all be behind stage,” I say.
“I hope not,” says Penny. “It would be fatal to leave the hall in the control of the girls.”
“What is going on here?” says Robin.
We don’t stop to explain but leave Miss Grimshaw snoring and make for the hall. As we had feared, Eliza Dunnalot is on the door.
“I’m sorry,” we hear her saying, “those tickets only entitle you to enter as a member of the dramatic society club. The actual seat tickets will cost another five guineas. Do you want the commemoration programme at one seventy-five or are you the kind of cheap skate who would let his wife ruin her eyesight on the ordinary programme we’ve just run out of anyway?”
“Eliza!” Penny’s eyes blaze fire. “Do you understand that this is rank extortion and where’s my share?”
“We’ll try and grease the sides of your pigeonholes so we can get it all in,” murmurs Eliza.
“What a winsome girl,” says Penny as we make our way to the seats of honour. “Do check for chewing gum and poisoned drawing pins before you sit down.”
“My programme is made up of old pieces of the Radio Times stuck together with toilet tissue,” complains Robin.
“You should never have bought it outside the hall,” chides Penny. “There’s notices everywhere.”
Robin looks at his programme critically. “The cover is made from one of them,” he says.
No sooner have we taken our seats in the crowded hall than the light begins to disappear. Penny makes the girl responsible bring it back again and I see Miss Murdstone peering through the curtains towards us. An expression resembling relief flashes across her generous features.
“The curtain should go up any minute,” I say.
Here, I have to confess, I am wrong. The curtain falls down. I feel very sorry for Miss Murdstone because she is standing underneath it and has to remain motionless until the national anthem has finished. She looks like a sun dial with a dust sheet over it. Despite this set back she is swift to reveal that she is a real trouper—some people say that she is a real trooper but this is because of the way she stands. She emerges from the curtain and holds up her hands for silence.
“Ladies and gentlemen. Before the play commences I would like to say how grateful we are to have with us that distinguished actor, Robin Brentford, who is going to award the Murdstone Memorial Prize for the best actress in the production.” She waves her hand towards the audience and Robin stands up with a loud ripping noise. This is caused by the fact that the back of his trousers remain seated.
“Oh dear,” says Penny. “Fish hooks. I told him to look before he sat down.”
Robin says something which sounds a bit like “fish hooks” and the lights go down.
The set represents the lounge of a hotel in the middle of the Indian Ocean and most of the furniture has been borrowed from Miss Grimshaw’s ante-room—or anti-room as is more nearly the case. I recognise the razor slashes and the particular pattern the horsehair makes as it leaks out of the settee.
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