Welcome to the Diary of Roxy Collins – The Serious Relationship Series.
Every Thursday you can read Roxy’s latest diary entry.
What has happened so far?
Roxy, a thirty something, single mother, is currently pregnant with her fourth child to boyfriend, Marcus. They finally got together after a series of communication mishaps and situations fuelled by Roxy’s runaway emotions.
Roxy and her kids have moved into Marcus’s big house on the expensive side of town. She’s trying her hardest to adapt to her new life and to this new serious relationship with Marcus.
Marcus and I are off out to a pub band night. Local bands have been given the chance to gig at the pub and the regulars have been promised a night of fun and lively music.
I am not sure about the ‘fun’ part as Marcus has invited Keith, the next door neighbour, whose wife, Elizabeth, is away with their son Freddy in the South of France and my cousin Mags.
Marcus bumped into my cousin Mags in the supermarket. She told him at long length, over the radishes, how she was back on the online dating sites looking for love. He suggested she come along tonight with us.
Matilda, my teenage daughter, her best mate, Lou and I are stood in my bedroom. The girls are advising me on what to wear.
Marcus is combing his hair in the en suite bathroom.
“Mam, you want to go rock chick!” advises Matilda, taking out my favourite little black dress, decorated with an array of silver studs and lace bits.
Lou remains silent but chews her pink gum faster at the sight of my dress in Matilda’s hand.
I imagine myself rocking out to some of the bands in that dress. “You’re right, Matilda, I do need to go rock chick.”
Marcus has popped his head round the door of the en suite. “Roxy, you’re four months pregnant. You don’t want to look like a rock chick,” he advises. “I think the long, black flowing dress I bought you will be just fine.
Matilda screws up her face and Lou, following her best mate’s lead, pretends to vomit at the sight of the shapeless black dress hanging on the door of my wardrobe.
I turn and scowl at Marcus. “If I want to go looking like a rock chick, I will!”
Lou’s chewing gum speed increases.
Marcus exhales loudly. “You’re thirty-six, Roxy, not sixteen!”
Lou’s mouth slows down.
I stare at the rock chick dress. He’s right. I am thirty-six and I am also four months pregnant. My days of the rock chick black dress are over.
Matilda places a hand on my arm. “Don’t listen to him, Mam. You wear what you want.”
Lou increases her gum chewing speed.
I gesture towards the en suite and shake my head. “He’s not happy about the rock chick dress. This is his evening out.”
Matilda rolls her eyes at me. “Mam, what has got into you?”
Lou is now chewing so fast I am worried for the safety of her tongue.
In a whisper I say, “Marcus is a kind man, we’ve got a roof over our heads and I have a baby on the way. I know he has some strange views on my life but I’m going to go along with it.”
Matilda silently leads me out of the bedroom. Lou follows. We go onto the landing.
“Take your rock chick dress in your bag. You might get the rock chick urge,” says Matilda.
Lou nods at me and slides another stick of pink gum into her mouth.
I let out a sigh and wipe away a layer of sweat from my forehead. “Doubt it. He doesn’t like my singing and now he’s not happy with the way I dress.”
Lou starts to chew faster.
Matilda takes me by the shoulders. “Mam,” she barks. “Please listen to me. He’s the father of your child. He doesn’t control your life!”
Lou starts to choke on her gum.
Matilda glares at Lou, whilst I agree to think about putting the rock chick dress in my bag.
Cousin Mags has arrived. She’s opted for a skimpy short dress and to my horror, no bra. “Its going to get really hot in the pub,” she giggles in my ear. “Just hope they don’t break free.”
I catch Marcus glancing at Mags’s flimsy dress and glare at him. As he quickly defends himself, by saying that he was checking out a scratch on the wall and not cousin Mags’s bra less chest, I make sure my huge, well-engineered, non sexy maternity bra is still in place. It’s rigid. Nothing is breaking free on my part.
Keith has arrived and is stood staring in wonder at cousin Mags.
“You must be the one with the big house,” cousin Mags shrieks, with outstretched arms. She embraces him tightly and leaves him staggering about the doorway.
We’re about to leave the house for the pub. Matilda is calling me upstairs for something.
“Put this in your bag, Mam,” she hisses, shoving the folded up dress into my large leather handbag. “And these!” she also places a pair of black stilettos in there too.
“Matilda, I’m fine in this shapeless dress and flats,” I say, trying to stop her.
She takes my arm. “I feel strongly about this Mam. Please do this for me.”
Lou nods and carries on chewing.
“Honestly, Matilda, I won’t need them,” I say, forgetting to take the dress and shoes out of my bag and heading downstairs.
We’re sat at a table in the corner of the pub. The first band is playing a low tempo guitar number.
Cousin Mags is talking about how she once dated a singer from a band. They ended because he spent too long working on his music and not enough time with her.
Keith gives cousin Mags a sympathetic smile and Marcus tells her one of his best jokes, which I have heard before and don’t find funny.
Marcus is telling my cousin Mags about the ‘Search For a Star’ singing show on TV and how we struggled as a couple during that part of our relationship. I didn’t spend enough time with him.
Irritation is starting to bubble inside of me.
“I’m just glad Roxy’s stopped all that silly singing business,” says Marcus, draping his arm over my shoulders. “We can concentrate on us.”
Red hot Roxy anger is coursing through my veins.
How dare he refer to it as ‘silly singing‘!
Marcus is telling cousin Mags yet another joke of his, which I don’t find funny.
I am trying to calm down.
I tried to dance but Marcus just ordered me to sit down.
“In your state you should be resting, not dancing,” he advises.
Marcus, Keith and cousin Mags are stood dancing to a lively rock band.
Much to Keith and Marcus’s disappointment cousin Mags is desperately trying to catch the attention of the attractive lead singer currently on the makeshift stage.
I’m sat looking miserable in my shapeless long black dress, sipping a lime and soda and wishing I had stayed at home.
It’s then I hear the magical words. The lead singer of the band wants to know whether anyone would like to come and join them for their last song.
Before I can stop myself I am up on my feet. “No one puts Roxy Collins in the corner,” I say, defiantly, but no one is listening.
I head for the ladies toilets. The rock chick dress is yanked out of my large hand bag and so too are the stilettos. Before I leave I apply a heavy layer of bright red lipstick.
As I strut out of the loos I bump into the lead singer of the band. He’s tall with shoulder length brown hair and a rugged jawline. His piercing chocolate brown eyes hold my gaze.
“I want to volunteer to sing the last song with you,” I purr.
A wide sexy smile spreads across his tanned face. He pulls up the collar on his black leather jacket and takes my hand. “What’s your name, gorgeous?”
“Roxy Collins,” I say, as my body is flooded with excitement.
His eyes scan my rock chick dress and he wets his lips. “Do you fancy singing Meat Loaf’s Dead Ringer For Love, Roxy Collins?”
My head is awash with Meatloaf’s duet with Cher. The pop video I spent most of my teenage years acting out in front of my mirror. “I’m a huge Cher fan.”
Marcus, Keith and cousin Mags stare in horror as I glide onto the stage, clad in my short rock chick dress , stilettos and clutching a microphone.
The lead singer puts his mic to his lips and grins at me. “Ladies and gentlemen, I want to introduce to you Miss Roxy Collins. Tonight Roxy and I are going to sing a very special Meat Loaf number!”
Everyone in the pub, apart from Marcus, Keith and cousin Mags, starts to cheer, as the guitarist and drummer go wild with the opening to the famous song.
The lead singer starts to circle me, whilst looking sexy and sings about how I have got him begging on his knees and how I am a real dead ringer for love.
As the guitarist builds to my part I take a deep breath and run my eyes over the lead singer’s drain pipe black leather trousers, leather jacket and tight white t shirt. The sight of him sends my pregnancy hormones berserk.
Out comes my inner Cher and she wants to take over.
I lose myself with strutting about the stage, singing Cher’s lines like a dream, running my hand through my wild red hair, tugging on his leather jacket and giving him my best sexy stare.
We are the perfect duo. He’s hot and I am on fire.
Everyone, apart from Marcus, Keith and cousin Mags, is up and dancing. The place is rocking.
As the song climaxes the lead singer and I shake our hair manes and come together in a fake passionate clinch.
I’ve never felt so alive.
The applause is deafening.
I take a bow and the lead singer’s muscular arm circles my waist. “Wasn’t she amazing?” he growls into his mic.
Someone from the crowd shouts, “its her from that singing competition on TV!”
The lead singer stares at me. “Is this true, Roxy?’
I catch my breath and bring my mic to my lips. “Yes its true.”
“She pulled out!” shouts someone.
The lead singer frowns. “Well you made a mistake. Your voice is amazing, Roxy. We should sing together more often.”
Clapping and cheering erupts around the pub.
Marcus, Keith and cousin Mags are silent as we walk home from the pub.
I’m too busy texting Matilda about how good her rock chick look advice was.
I am also checking the band’s promotional card, with the lead singer’s mobile number, is still in my coat pocket.
There will be more Roxy next week.
For those who didn’t click on the link here is that famous video. I had so much fun writing this, whilst listening to Meatloaf and Cher.
Writing Roxy always makes me smile.
All Roxy Diary Entries can be found here.
Rock it out, readers!