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“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 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.
“Oh my God! What does she want?”
“You.”
“Got a bit of aggro, have you?” says Nutter helpfully. “Want me to put the nut on someone? I’ll get the boys. Ted—”
“Thank you, but that won’t be necessary,” I say hurriedly. I take off for the door and there is Mrs W. bristling like an electric hedgehog. “You’ve got to do something about the noise,” she shouts. “I don’t know what you’re doing in there.” She peers past me into the interior and I see Ted and Natalie scampering up the stairs. The studs on Ted’s back spell “Ted” and a V sign.
“I’m terribly sorry,” I say. “I’ll try and get them to quieten down a bit. It’s somebody’s birthday, you see.”
“I can’t see what that has to do with it. Some of us have to work in the morning, you know.”
“Of course.” I try and close the door. I don’t want to leave Ted and Natalie alone upstairs for a second longer than I have to. As I glance over my shoulder I see Flash and Nutter leaving a film of grease on the bannisters.
“Don’t try and slam the door in my face, miss! The noise isn’t the main reason why I came. Have you seen my front lawn?” I glance over the hedge and my heart sinks. The glistening handlebars of the bikes remind me of a reindeer round-up. There must be stands at Earls Court that have fewer bikes on them.
“I’m terribly sorry. I’ll get them off at once.”
“If you don’t, I’m going to ring the police. The whole thing is quite disgraceful. Your parents aren’t here, are they?”
“They’ll be back tomorrow,” I simper.
“Humpf!” Mrs Wilson takes another look past me just as one of Geoffrey’s friends pushes out of the front door and is sick all over Mum’s petunias. Oh dear. How very unfortunate. Mrs Wilson stalks down the garden path still muttering and I shoot back into the house. The first thing I see is Geoffrey holding his dripping nose over the rubber plant in the hall. He can be very thoughtful sometimes.
“Did one of them hit you?” I say. “Oh dear, I am sorry. Can you try and get everyone to make less noise? The woman next door is threatening to call the police.”
Geoffrey says something to the effect that she can’t call the police soon enough as far as he is concerned but I laugh it off and make a run for the stairs. I have a vision of Ted trying to tug Natalie’s trousers off while Flash and Nutter wander around helping themselves to the flying ducks.
I dash into Natalie’s room and find to my relief that it is empty. Perhaps she is in the toilet. Somebody must be because there are half a dozen people waiting outside.
“I think Jim’s passed out,” says one of them. He puts his eye to the keyhole.
“Can you see him?”
“No. His head’s in the way. HEY JIM!!”
“Don’t shout like that!” I yell. “One of the neighbours has threatened to call the police.”
“She should call the fire brigade,” says one of the onlookers.
“Get him out but don’t make a noise.” I am beginning to feel that things are getting on top of me. Where are Natalie and those terrible greasers? Surely they couldn’t be in—? No. It is too horrible to think about. I throw open the door of Mum and Dad’s bedroom and—
“Hello, darling. What took you so long?”
At first I think it is just Ted and Flash on the bed and then I see Natalie lying between them—naked!! Nutter is hopping round the room trying to take off a boot.
“Get off that bed,” I shout before remembering to lower my voice. “This is my mother’s bedroom.”
“That’s why we’re playing mummies and daddies,” says Ted.
“Nineteen seventies style,” says Nutter.
“Yeah,” says Flash.
“Don’t be a spoilsport,” says Natalie. “Don’t take any notice of her. She’s jealous because she hasn’t got anyone.”
“Get off that bed,” I hiss. “You’re drunk and you’ve no idea what you’re doing.” I grab her by the arm and haul her to her feet. “Get out. I’ll handle this.”
“You can handle this and all,’ says Nutter who has now got his boot off. I tear my eyes away from the enormous love truncheon rearing up like a fascist salute and bundle Natalie towards the door. She loses no time bursting into tears. “You hate me, don’t you?” she sobs. “You never want me to have any fun.”
I grab Mum’s dressing gown from the hook on the door and shove it into her arms as I push her out into the corridor. I should be getting some kind of medal for the efforts I am making.
“And now you three can get your clothes on, get downstairs, and get your bikes off Mrs Wilson’s lawn.”
