CHAPTER 2

      “I hope nothing goes wrong,” I say.

      “Of course nothing will go wrong,” says Natalie. “It’s only a little party.”

      It is the day before Mum and Dad are due to come home and much against my better judgement I have been nagged into giving a party with Natalie. The way news of us being on our own has rocketed round the neighbourhood you would think we were a couple of queen bees who had put up a notice saying “Come and get it!” outside the entrance to the hive.

      “Don’t you think those trousers are a bit tight?” I say.

      “Yes,” says Natalie. “That’s the idea. They’re supposed to be figure-hugging.”

      “Figure-hugging? They’re squeezing your body to death. I don’t know how you get into them.”

      “You spray them on and wait for them to dry. Don’t be a spoilsport, Rosie. Relax and have a good time.”

      “I’m not going to relax until everyone has gone home. You know what Mum said. No parties. She’d go mad if she knew that bunch of refugees from Easy Rider was coming round here tonight.”

      “It’s not really a party, more a sorry.”

      “You mean a soiree, don’t you? It’ll be a sorry when Dad finds out about it.”

      “Why should he find out about it?”

      “Because the neighbours are going to tell him, stupid. Mrs Wilson has already got tennis elbow from pulling aside the curtains every time someone comes to the front door.”

      “Maybe we should ask her?”

      “You must be joking. She’d spend all the time in a corner taking down evidence. The last party she went to was to celebrate the shooting down of the first Zeppelin.”

      “What was that?”

      “You don’t know anything, do you? It was a German airship used in the first world war.”

      “Oh, you mean a giant French letter that carried passengers.”

      “Yes. It didn’t carry as many passengers as a real French letter, though.”

      “Does Geoffrey use French letters?”

      “Why do you suddenly ask that? I don’t know.”

      Natalie looks concerned. “Well, you should do. You don’t want to end up in the family way, do you? That would really upset Mum and Dad.”

      “What I meant was—Oh, it doesn’t matter. I don’t want to discuss my sex life with you, Natalie. You take some of your own advice and watch out tonight.”

      I mean it, too. The way the local boys look at Natalie you would think she was a bag of warm aniseed balls thrown over the wall of Battersea Dogs’ Home. At least there is one good thing about those trousers—I can’t see any one getting them off in a hurry.

      “What time is Geoffrey coming to make the punch?” Natalie starts to shiver with make-believe ecstasy. “Oh! To think that humble little me is actually going to drink the same punch as they serve down at the tennis club. Will it taste the same without the silver bowl?”

      “Depends whether you still have your teeth when you try it,” I say.

      Further unpleasantness is prevented by the door bell ringing.

      “That’ll be him,” says Natalie. “Lod Raver himself. I can’t wait to see those hairy wrists stirring in the mandarin oranges.”

      I restrain myself and open the front door. It is Geoffrey. He is wearing his tennis club blazer as I was frightened he might be. He is about as trendy as cardboard spats.

      “Hello Geoff.” Natalie puts on her big smile and Geoffrey beams. She is so two-faced that I could kill her. Even Mum and Dad don’t know what she is really like.

      “I’m not too early, am I?” says Geoffrey. He has not looked at me yet. It is just as well that I don’t fancy him.

      “Of course not,” simpers my adorable little sister. “In fact, Rosie was getting all screwed up waiting for you. You must excuse me, I’ve got to put my face on.”

      “Take care which one you choose,” I hiss, hoping that the venom does not seep through my teeth.

      “Fantastic looking bird, your sister,” says Geoffrey admiringly as Natalie disappears up the stairs. “Definitely ladies doubles champion, eh?”

      “Are my breasts sagging down to my knees?” I say. “Am I repulsive or just invisible?”

      “What are you getting so worked up about?” says Geoffrey. “I only said that your sister was attractive.”

      “What about me? You haven’t addressed a word to me yet.”

      “You know I think you’re attractive.”

      “Not unless you tell me I don’t.”

      “But I have told you. I’ve proved it as well.”

      Eastwood Tennis Club’s most persistent 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