Rescuing Rose (24 page)

'—Has anyone got the number for the Dipsomaniacs' Trust?'

Then, once we'd had a drink, the atmosphere became more relaxed. Mavis Sackville began her usual pious spiel about the importance of us being properly qualified.

'Agony aunts should be professionally trained counsellors and therapists, ' she insisted as our starters arrived. 'Ours is not a job for dilettantes—agony arrivistes—who risk giving bad, if not
dangerous
, advice. ' But we all knew why she was saying that— she'd just been dumped by
Female
magazine for a celebrity agony aunt, that fat actress, Valerie Tooth.

'With respect, Mavis, I believe that professional training is less important than experience, compassion, and emotional insight, ' said Mary Kreizler firmly.

'And empathy, ' I pointed out. 'The reader needs to know that we can truly imagine how they feel even if we haven't been through exactly the same thing ourselves. '

'I think our job is to direct our readers to the right source of information, ' said Katie Bridge matter-of-factly. 'We're simply the person standing there at the crossroads, map at the ready, advising them which way to go. '

Then we discussed the future of agony aunting, which we all agreed is looking bright.

'There are so many sources of information available these days, ' said Lana McCord, 'in the media and on the net. And yet the need to confide in an anonymous stranger remains stronger than ever. ' We all nodded seriously at that. Then, as our main course arrived, the conversation became slightly more animated as we discussed brushes with unstable readers— a hazard of the job.

'I had a stalker, ' said Karen Braithwaite from the
Daily Moon
, 'he was apprehended in reception with a knife. '

'I had two stalkers, ' said Sally Truman from the
Echo
, 'and they both had baseball bats. '

'I had three stalkers, ' said June Snort, not to be outdone, 'and they all had Ruger forty-four semi-automatics. '

'Really?' we all said.

'No!' she shrieked. 'Just kidding you!' How we laughed. 'But two of my readers have ended up in Rampton High Security, ' she added with an odd kind of pride.

'Wow, ' we all said.

'While we're on the subject, has anyone heard of Colin Twisk?' I asked looking round the table. 'He's nerdy but quite good-looking, thirty-five, he works in computers, can't get a girlfriend, a classic Lonely Young Man. '

'Oh yes, I've had him, ' said Katie Bridge. 'I made the mistake of writing back to him and then had him on my back for six months. '

'Oh, ' I said feebly. 'I see. Do you think he could be… dangerous?' I added casually.

'Well, maybe. Put it this way, I wasn't prepared to risk it, so I took out a restraining order. Top me up will you, Rose?' I felt sick. And now, as we had pudding, we began talking about the most disgusting letters we'd ever received.

'I had a letter from a man who said that his penis was too big, ' said Lana McCord. 'Complete with a photo to prove it!'

'What did you do?' I asked.

'I sent him my home address of course!!'

'Well I was sent a dead mouse, ' said June Snort with a superior smirk.

'I was sent a dead rat, ' said Katie Bridge.

'—I once got a letter in which every other word was the "c" word. '

'—I had a pair of old Y fronts. '

'—I had a pair of old Y fronts—with skid marks. '

'Well, ' I said, as they all gagged, 'last week I was sent some pubic lice!'

'
No
!' Their faces were a mask of shock. I felt triumphant.

'There were three of them, ' I explained. 'In a small plastic bag—it was totally gross. ' Beat
that
!

'Well,
I've
had famous people writing to me, ' said June Snort casually.

'Who?' we all asked.

'I can't say, obviously. '

'No, no, of course you can't, ' we agreed.

'But let's just say that she's a very famous Australian pop singer. '

We all looked at each other. 'No way!'

'Look, just because people are loaded and gorgeous doesn't mean they're happy—even the stars need advice. '

'Well I had Madonna once, ' said Lana McCord with a guffaw, 'she was very concerned about Guy!'

'Yeah—and I had the Pope—he's worried about his love life!' said Karen Braithwaite with a tipsy laugh.

By now the atmosphere was one of inebriated abandon. Even Citronella was getting pissed.

'But, oh God, what a job, eh, being an agony aunt, ' said Lana McCord dismally.

'Oh I don't know, ' I said.

'The way we take on other people's suffering. I mean, why the
hell
do we do it?' Why?

'Because we can make a difference, ' I said. 'We can save relationships—and even lives. We can rescue people from their troubles, ' I added. '
That's
why we do it. '

'I don't agree, ' said Mary Kreizler. 'I think we do it because we like peeping into the chaos of other people's lives. We find it reassuring. '

'No—it's because it's a vocation, ' I persisted, 'and, crucially, because we know that our readers
need
us. '

'No, ' interjected Katie. '
We
need
them
. Let's be honest girls, we do it because we're suffering as well—that's why. And as we help others we help heal some damaged part of ourselves. I mean, I had a
terrible
upbringing, ' she drawled on as she sipped her Cointreau. She shook her head and sighed. 'My parents divorced when I was eight. '

'Well that's nothing, ' said June Snort indignantly, 'my parents divorced when I was two. '

'I've been in therapy since I was ten, ' countered Katie biting on a petit four.

'So?' said Sally Truman. 'I've been in therapy since I was five!'

'And I've taken just about every drug you care to mention, ' said Lana McCord. 'Cannabis, cocaine, the works. '

'—I was neglected as a child. '

'—My mother was an anorexic. We were always hungry. '

'—My father was a drunk!'

'—My mother wouldn't let me have a pet—not so much as a
kitten
!'

'—I had a kitten—but it died. '

'—Well my puppy died—on my fifth birthday!'

'And I was bullied at school!' announced Citronella tipsily. We all stopped talking and looked. Her round, slightly goitrous face was sagging with self-pity, her semi-circular eyebrows drooping theatrically. 'The other children victimised me, ' she confided in her deceptively soft voice. I felt incredulous. It was far more likely that she had victimised
them
. 'They were so beastly, ' she said, 'and what made it so much worse was that it was a very
expensive
school. ' Boast, boast. 'But they were jealous of me, ' she added with an inebriated sigh, 'because I was so much more intelligent than them. '

'Than
they
! I corrected her.

'What?'

'So much more intelligent than
they
! I explained sweetly. 'The subject of the subordinate clause is
they
!

Citronella shot me an evil look. 'It was. .
. awful
,' she said with a lachrymose expression.

'Poor you, ' I said. I couldn't resist. She looked at me with loathing then lifted her head, like a cobra about to strike. She drew back her thin lips and I found myself momentarily distracted by her teeth. They were large, square, yellow and strangely grooved, with a wart in the centre of the top gum.

'Mind you, Rose, ' she whispered with a smile, 'you've had
your
problems, haven't you? I mean, with your husband leaving you like that after, what—only seven months? And for a marriage guidance counsellor, ' she added spitefully. '
So
unfortunate. Especially in
your
position. ' Right.

'But
your
husband left you for a hairdresser, Citronella. '

'He was an
international
hairdresser!' she shot back.

'Well my husband left me for his secretary, ' said Mavis Sackville tearfully. 'After thirty years. He broke it to me at the airport. What do you think of that?'

'My mother used to smack me for no reason, ' said Mary Kreizler.

'My father beat my mother, ' said June Snort.

'That's nothing, my father
ate
my mother, ' said Lana McCord. And as the competitive misery restarted I suddenly realised what the collective noun for agony aunts should be—a 'torture'. I blotted their voices out with more booze.

'—My parents never said they loved me. Not once. '

'—My parents loved my sister more than me. '

'—Well my parents loved my hamster more than me!'

'—My mother said she wished I was
dead
!

Right. Enough of their self-pity. They didn't know they were born. That was
it
. I stood up.

'Well then just wait till I tell you what MY mother did to ME!' I shouted.

The table fell silent, and everyone looked at me, agog. My legs felt shaky, and my head was spinning. I suddenly knew I'd had too much to drink.

'What
did
your mother do to you?' asked Stephanie Wyman wonderingly.

'Yes, what did she do?' said Katie Bridge.

'Yes, tell us, ' they all demanded. 'Go, on, Rose. Tell us. '

All right then. I would.

'She… ' I sighed. 'She… ' Oh God. I was pissed and I was miserable. There was a pit of blackness in my chest. 'She… ' I could have told them there and then. I could have just said it out loud and finally got it off my chest. But I didn't. 'It doesn't matter, ' I croaked. 'Doesn't matter. Gotta go. 'S getting late. ' Feeling slightly sheepish we paid the bill and staggered out into the street, waving a little too energetically at passing cabs in the way that inebriated people do.

'Vauxhill Bridge please, ' I said. 'The Agalmagated Newspapers building. '

'The Amalgamated Newspapers building?'

'That's what I said. '

I slumped back in the seat, watching the Aldwych spin by in a blur. Suddenly my mobile rang.

'Rose! It's Bella. '

'Hi!'

'How are you?'

'I'm okay. Just 'ad lunch. How was Christmas?'

'It was fine. Look, Rose, I can't talk for long as we're busy doing up the shop, but will you have dinner with me next week? I want you to meet Andrew, ' she added. Who the hell was Andrew? Oh yes, Andrew; of course, her new man. 'The Jackson Pollack?'

'That's right. He's
terribly
nice. '

'So iss all going well then is't?'

'Oh
yes
—which is why I haven't called. So will you meet us for dinner next week? On Wednesday?'

'Yeah. 'Course, ' I said.

'Rose, have you been drinking?' she asked tentatively.

'Have I been dr'nking?
Yup
!'

'Well, if I can give you some advice. '

'No! 'S
my
job!'

'Well, just… go easy a bit. '

As I put my mobile away with a tipsy sigh I realised that Bella was right. I do drink too much these days. Any excuse, and it's down the hatch. I'd say I've been like that since my parents died—I'm not really sure why. But I'll have to take myself in hand, I told myself as we crossed the Thames. That was one hell of a lunch though, I reflected as the taxi drove down Lambeth Palace Road. Although I thought Katie Bridge was talking bollocks about how we're all agony aunts because we're suffering inside. Speak for yourself why doncha, Katie! I'm an agony aunt because my readers
need
me I reminded myself as the cab stopped outside Amalgamated House.

'How much issat?' I said as I groped in my handbag. It wasn't quite as tidy as usual: my standards are slipping; I couldn't find my purse. 'How much?' I tried again as I rummaged amongst the receipts and sweet wrappers.

'Nothing, ' the driver replied.

'Wha?'

'Nothing, ' he repeated. 'I know who you are. You're Rose Costelloe. '

'Yeah. '

'I listen to your show when I'm doing nights. And I phoned in six months ago and the advice you gave me was great. In fact, I don't mind telling you that it saved my marriage. '

'Really? Oh. I'm
ver'
glad. '

'That advice was free, Rose, and so is this cab ride. '

'Well… thass
really
kind. ' There! What did I tell you? I
am

needed. I
can
make a difference. I'd rescued a marriage. My heart sang.

'So, thanks then, Rose. ' He smiled at me, and I felt my eyes fill with grateful tears.

'No. Thank
you'
, I replied.