Confessions of a Lady Courier. Rosie Dixon
Читать онлайн книгу.
forty-eight panes of glass.
‘Daddy!’ screams Penny. ‘Calm yourself. That’s Mr Fish.’
Mr Green seems unconvinced and pushes two more cartridges into the breech. ‘Don’t be deceived, m’dear. That hobgoblin devil is a past-master at taking on almost human form.’
‘Do I look like a hobgoblin?’ says Sammy pitifully, throwing one leg over the window ledge.
‘Dadd –!’ BANG!!!
The explosion makes me close my eyes and when I open them, a whole piece of the window-sill is missing as if taken out by a giant bite.
‘You’ve been at cook’s elderberry wine, haven’t you, Daddy dear?’ I hear Penny saying.
I cross to the remains of the window and look out to see Sammy Fish hobbling towards a line of privet hedges.
‘Fetch my elephant gun!’ shouts Penny’s father.
Something tells me that I will definitely need to start looking for a new job.
When I return to Chingford, or West Woodford as Mum calls it because it sounds posher, it is with a heavy heart. I know that my decision to change jobs will not pass without unfavourable comment from Dad and that my man-mad younger sister, Natalie, will do all in her power to pour troubled waters on troubled waters. Natalie and I are not as close as sisters are supposed to be and if she was one of my friends I would hate her. The situation is not helped by the way that Dad always favours her when it comes to the pinch – eg when she pinches my tights, make up and boyfriends. Yes, distressing as it is to relate, Natalie did manage to inveigle the susceptible Geoffrey Wilkes into her baby doll clutches. The man has a lot to answer for.
Incidentally, I did not see him before I left Chedworth Place because he was attending a lecture on his ‘Whither Capitalism?’ course. I did see Sammy Fish again, but only for a second before the ambulance doors closed on him. He was taken to hospital suffering from severe shock. I think the shock got worse when he opened his eyes and saw Mr Green lying on the stretcher opposite. He took a shot at himself in one of the mirrors and got cut by the flying glass.
It is early evening when I arrive at 47 Pretty Way, and the family are preparing to do justice to Mum’s spaghetti bolognese. She has already dished it out and they are waiting for the parmesan with forks and spoons poised. I say that I will happily settle for a cup of tea and a couple of digestives but Mum won’t hear of it.
‘We’ll all give up a little bit,’ she says cheerfully. ‘Come on, Harry, Natalie.’ She holds out a plate and in no time the middle of the table is a mass of spaghetti. It is very difficult stuff to move around in mid-air.
‘I don’t want mine, now it’s got all the fluff from the tea cosy on it,’ whines Natalie.
‘I wish you’d come in before your mother put the mince on it,’ says Dad.
‘I told you not to go to any trouble,’ I say.
‘Just home for the weekend, are you?’ says Miss Sourpuss, evilly.
I take a deep breath. ‘I’ve decided that you were right about that job,’ I say. ‘It wasn’t very nice, really.’
Dad puts down his spoon. ‘You haven’t chucked in another job? Blimey! How many is that?’
‘That’s the third,’ prompts my ever-loving sister.
‘Precisely three more than you’ve had,’ I say.
‘What does that mean?’ says Natalie. ‘I’m still at school, aren’t I? How can I get a job?’
‘I’m very glad that Rose has decided to change,’ says Mum. ‘I was never happy about her in that line of work. You read such nasty things, don’t you?’
‘You read such nasty things,’ says Dad. It is a fact that Mum keeps a watchful eye on all published material relating to white slaving, drugs, and allied forms of human bondage.
‘Have you thought what you’re going to do next?’ asks Natalie.
‘Why? Do you want to move into my room?’ I ask.
Natalie looks at Mum, who looks at me nervously. ‘We thought – since you were away, you wouldn’t mind –’
‘She has moved into my room!?’ How typical. I only have to turn my back for a few weeks and I am practically homeless. ‘You might have asked first.’
‘I didn’t know where you were.’
‘That’s not true –’ I began.
‘Don’t let’s have an argument about it,’ says Dad, sucking in a huge mouthful of spaghetti. ‘It’s done now.’
‘Your father’s going to redecorate Natalie’s room – I mean, your room, aren’t you, Harry?’
‘When I can find the time,’ says Dad.
‘Don’t bother, Dad,’ I say, coldly. ‘I can take a hint. I should be able to find some job that will prevent me being a strain on you all. What a pity the French Foreign Legion doesn’t take women.’
‘Rosie, dear. Nobody wants you to leave home.’ Mum stretches out an arm to pat me on the wrist. Unfortunately, she rests her elbow on the plastic tomato that contains the ketchup and it squirts all over Dad’s lap.
‘I want to leave home,’ I say. ‘I want a complete change of scene.’
Nobody takes any notice because they are all hopping about trying to sponge the front of Dad’s trousers. Dad hops about more than most when Natalie inadvertently holds a Spongelette under the hot tap and applies it to one of the more sensitive areas of his anatomy.
‘I might even join the WRACs,’ I say, seeking to strike terror into their hearts.
Dad pours a milk bottle full of cold water down the front of his trousers and I start rifling through a pile of newspapers. ‘There’s usually an advertisement in here,’ I say, very matter of fact.
‘Are you all right, Dadsy?’ simpers Natalie.
‘Ruined!’ says Dad. ‘Ruined!’ I think he is referring to the trousers.
I have just found an advertisement saying ‘It’s a man’s life in the WRAC’ when I notice a much smaller announcement below it. It says ‘Girls! See Europe in style and get paid for it. Climax Tours want lady couriers. Foreign language an advantage but not vital.’ I put down the paper thoughtfully. This could be just what I am looking for. I don’t speak any foreign languages but I have had lots of experience with people – I mean, of course when I was a nurse, gym mistress and professional escort. All this should stand me in good stead. Working abroad would be wonderful too. I like Britain but it does get a teeny bit gloomy sometimes, doesn’t it?
‘Oooooooh!’ Dad’s soaked trousers are clinging to his legs and he is clearly in no little discomfort.
‘Take them off, dear.’ Mum proffers a tea towel which Dad snatches and starts to peel off his C&A lightweight special summer offer. Unfortunately, he meets more resistance than he bargained for and sits down on the plastic waste bin which shatters with a noise like a small explosion. Tea leaves spread across the floor and Dad’s face registers pain which may, or may not, be caused by the fact that his trousers have split down to the knee.
‘Are you all right, dear?’
Dad does not answer but feels between his legs and produces an empty tin of cat food – ‘Pussy loves it’ emblazoned across the label. ‘I don’t know,’ he says. ‘Would you children mind leaving the room?’
We leave Mum inspecting the damage and it does not take Natalie long to start apportioning blame. ‘It’s always