‘How’s she doing?’ asked Charlie.
‘Good. She’s enjoying it.’
‘Is she still seeing the Russian prince?’ he asked.
‘Is he a prince?’ asked Gran.
‘No,’ said Dad who up until then had been more intent on his roast dinner than the conversation. He didn’t often get to sit down and eat properly so he was enjoying it.
‘Why do you ask about Flo?’ I asked Charlie. ‘Do you care?’
‘No,’ he said but he blushed. Hah. He did care. I wondered if I should tell her. She’d had a crush on him for so long but given up because he never seemed to be bothered, plus her confidence had taken a knock from his lack of interest. Being with Alexei was good for her along with the modelling competition. She was beginning to realise what a gorgeous girl she was. If I told her about Charlie being interested after all, it might mess things up with Alexei, and even though I’d been taken with him in the beginning, I had to admit, they made a lovely couple.
‘And are you confident?’ asked Gran.
‘That’s what they asked,’ I said. ‘The judges’ comments were that I had to own my place in the competition.’
‘Nothing wrong with owning your place,’ said Aunt Maddie, ‘but I don’t like the idea of you being judged. Any of you. Contests like this set up a precedent and if you don’t fit the bill, you’re made to feel as if you’re not worthy.’
It was typical of Aunt Maddie to say something like that. In fact, I was surprised that she hadn’t been demonstrating with banners out in front of the building where the contest was being held. She liked a cause. She’s green, she’s vegetarian, she’s into equality, feminism, she’s pro this and against that. For once though, I agreed with her.
‘Exactly what I thought, Aunt M. You should have seen the state of some of the girls who didn’t get through. It was as if someone had told them they were ugly as Shrek. I don’t like that aspect either. Like at our school, eighty per cent of our class wouldn’t have qualified because they aren’t tall enough or are the wrong shape but each one of them has their own style and look. I hate that they are made to feel excluded.’
Aunt Maddie looked aghast. ‘You’re agreeing with me?’
I nodded.
She laughed and shook her head. ‘Well, that’s a first.’
‘Seems to me,’ said Gran, ‘that everyone’s got something lovely about them but very few people get the whole package.’
I nodded. ‘I was thinking that at school last week. Like Kay Bryston in our class has got a killer body but a sharp nose and jaw. Janie Pierson’s got the most beautiful eyes but a thin mouth and nightmare frizzy hair. Sarah Callagher’s got a wide full mouth to die for but her eyes are bit close together. Her mate Amy’s got long glossy hair but bad skin and other girls have got great flat stomachs but big bums or thighs and others have got great bums and legs but have tummies.’
Gran laughed. ‘Nobody is ever happy with what they’re given. The trick is to make the most of what you’ve got. If you dress right, you can distract from any flaws, and make-up can accentuate the positive. Flaunt what you’ve got. Cover the rest and hairdressers can do anything with hair these days.’
Aunt Maddie frowned. ‘It’s not right. You say distract from flaws. Who says they’re flaws? Who says a big bum isn’t beautiful?’
Dad and Charlie had exchanged glances and were clearly having a hard time not laughing out loud.
‘It’s all the fault of the media,’ Aunt Maddie continued. I could see she was revving up for one of her rants. ‘They only put skinny waifs in their magazines. They’re not representative of normal girls. In Rubens’ time, back in the seventeenth century, big and curvy was thought to be beautiful and was the fashion then. Now it’s thin and size zero. Fashions are always changing and it’s wrong because it alienates anyone who doesn’t fit the latest whim of some dictatorial magazine editor.’
‘Ah, it’s all a bit of fun,’ said Gran. ‘I was in a modelling competition once you know.’
‘You, Mum? You never said,’ said Aunt Maddie.
Gran tapped her nose. ‘You don’t know everything about me. I was very young, before I was married.’
‘Did you win?’ I asked.
‘I did,’ said Gran. ‘I didn’t pursue it though. I had a place at art school and was more interested in that.’
‘I’m not surprised you won,’ I said. Even in her mid-sixties, Gran was striking-looking. She was tall and elegant with silver white hair cut in a bob and she always wore lovely Bohemian clothes and big ethnic jewellery. Mum had inherited her looks and sense of style but up until recently, Aunt Maddie had always rejected fashion as being trivial. A few weeks ago though, Pia and I’d managed a makeover on her and we’d persuaded her to have her mousy brown hair cut into layers and highlighted. She’d also been making an effort to get out of her normal jeans and fleeces and today, although she was wearing jeans, they weren’t as baggy as usual and she had a sweet pale green cardigan on.
‘Thank you, Jess,’ said Gran. ‘If you can keep things in perspective throughout the competition, then it’s fine. If you don’t get through, don’t feel that you’ve failed and that you’re not beautiful. I know if your mum was here, she’d be championing you all the way but telling you to stay grounded at the same time. You mustn’t let any of it go to your head.’
‘Not much chance of that,’ I said. ‘It is fun in one way but all the contestants have to take a lot of criticism as well.’
‘That’s what I mean,’ said Gran. ‘Keep things in perspective. You’re much more than a pretty face, Jess. I think that what truly makes a person beautiful is how they treat other people.’ She gave me a pointed look. I knew she was talking about Keira but was sensitive enough to know that I wouldn’t want to talk about it in front of everyone. As I helped clear the plates, I thought about Keira and the way that she was treating me, or was it me who was treating her badly? Even though I was trying to not let her intimidate me, I still felt that she twisted things around so that it seemed as if I was the mean one and I’d begun to wonder if there was any truth in that. I’d had another sleepless night last night, going over and over what she’d said, what I’d said, how I’d been with her, and asking myself if, unintentionally, I had been mean to her. The whole business was making me feel very anxious and unsure of myself. Pia says that some people just get you, your sense of humour and the intention behind what you say. Some people don’t and misinterpret everything. Simple as that. Sometimes I wished that I had her uncomplicated view on life. All the same, I was so grateful that I had my bunch of mates, and especially Pia, who did get me and never took what I said the wrong way.
‘Exactly, true beauty comes from within,’ said Aunt Maddie. ‘We need to see more real women in magazines and in the media too.’
‘True, but this is a modelling contest, so my advice, Jess,’ Gran continued, ‘is simply be yourself. Don’t try to be anyone else or copy anyone else’s style. The best become the best by being themselves.’
‘Clothes look better on tall and thin,’ said Dad. ‘Fact.’
‘Says who?’ exploded Aunt Maddie. ‘You men, you’re all the same. You can’t see beyond a female’s looks.’
Dad ducked down a bit and put his hand up as if to protect himself but he was laughing. He liked to wind Aunt Maddie up. ‘No harm in appreciating what’s beautiful.’
Aunt Maddie threw a piece of bread at him. My family are all children, I thought as I pulled off a piece of bread and joined in.
After lunch, I went up to Gran’s room and took a long look at myself in the mirror. I felt that I was nothing special, in fact I’d always felt that it was Charlie who had the best looks in our family, having inherited Mum’s fine bone structure and lovely copper-coloured eyes.
‘You look bland,’ I said to my reflection. ‘You need to do something.’ In the mirror, I saw a tall, slim girl with long chestnut hair which today had a kink in it due to the damp weather. My hair drove me mad because it a
lways went wonky when it rained. I also looked pale and washed out after the long, cold winter. I thought about what Gran had said about being myself. Mum used to say the same thing. Being myself doesn’t mean letting it all go though, I thought. I have different selves. The washed-out winter me when my hair needs a wash, my skin’s breaking out in spots, my legs need waxing and I’m wearing trackie bottoms and an old T-shirt, and then there’s the dressed-up me when I’ve made an effort, am wearing something nice, have shiny hair and clear skin.
A plan was forming in my head. I would be myself for the competition but I’d be my best self. My Sunday best self – starting with my skin. If anyone in the competition needed a spray tan, it was me. I stared hard at myself in the mirror and wondered what else I could do to improve my looks without changing myself. I had cornflower blue eyes which Mum said were my best feature. I could dye my eyelashes so that if we had to do any session in the competition without make-up, I’d still look decent. I had a wide mouth which looked even bigger with lipgloss. I could get one of the make-up brands that plumps up lips even more. Models always seemed to have the bee-stung look. I didn’t like my nose and had always felt it was too big – not much I can do about that! My body’s OK. Not a killer hourglass body like Kay at school’s with her tiny waist but I was slim with a medium bust. My shoulders were on the broad side from swimming but Pia said that’s good for modelling.
I found a piece of paper and made a list. I had my plan. A DIY makeover to make the most of what I’ve got. I might not be able to afford beauty treatments at an expensive salon, or a personal trainer, but Mum had always taught me that you didn’t need money to have a beauty sesh. What you did need was a bit of imagination and ability to be creative with what was in the cupboard. We often used to sit and watch telly at the weekend with a honey and yoghurt face mask on and she’d never let an avocado be thrown in the bin. She’d rather put it on her face, mashed up and used as a moisturiser. I’d take a leaf out of her book. I could spend my pocket money on a few shop-bought products but I’d see if I could find some of Mum’s home-made beauty product recipes too.
13
DIY Beauty Session
‘Oweeeeee!’ I cried as Pia ripped the waxing paper off my right leg.
‘Oh don’t be such a wimp,’ she said as she ripped at another strip. ‘You have to suffer to be beautiful.’
She’d been very enthusiastic about my plan when I’d told her, and we’d been to Boots after school on Monday and bought all the items on my list: a home waxing kit, a spray-on tan, serum for plumper lips, eyelash tint and a deep-moisturising face mask. We were going to have a beautification evening in the VIP shed at my house. We’d decked it out like a proper salon with all our products lined up; we’d even put on a relaxation CD like they do in some salons in order to create a calm atmosphere.
‘Do you want me to do your arms as well?’ she asked as Dave watched with a bewildered expression on his face. I stroked his head. ‘Don’t worry, Dave. We’re not going to wax you!’
‘Meow,’ he said. I think he was agreeing that bald wasn’t a good look on a cat.
I glanced down at my arms. They weren’t hairy but I wanted to be silky smooth. ‘OK, go on then. I want to be the gloss Queen with shiny hair and clear, soft, sun-kissed skin.’
‘And so it shall be,’ said Pia as she applied wax to my arms then once again ripped away. It didn’t hurt as much as my legs and Pia was quick and good at it. Her mum had worked in the beauty industry most of her life so Pia had grown up watching her do facials, waxings and eyelash tints. I trusted her completely.
After I was waxed smooth as a baby’s bum, it was time for the spray tan and we were going to take turns with each other as Pia had been looking pale too. We stripped down to our underwear and placed towels under our feet.
‘Stand about a foot away,’ I told Pia when she aimed the can of spray tan at me.
‘Shame Flo and Meg couldn’t make it,’ I said. We’d invited them to come back with us but Meg had karate practice and Flo had a music lesson.
‘I know. We could have looked like we’d all been on the same holiday,’ said Pia. ‘How much of this stuff do you put on?’
‘Not sure. Until you’re a good colour I guess,’ I said when it was her turn and I aimed the can at her. Once we’d sprayed all over, we stood back to survey our work.
‘Nothing seems to be happening,’ said Pia. ‘Maybe it’s a dud can.’
‘Give me another coat,’ I said, ‘and I’ll do you again too though it’s hard to tell properly in this light.’
We sprayed each other again but we both still looked winter white. ‘Never mind,’ said Pia. ‘We can go and get another stronger brand tomorrow. Maybe some work better than others or you have to have a bit of a tan to start with.’
I gave my face a third coat for good luck then we turned to the business of eyelash tinting. I painted Pia’s and then she painted mine.
‘Ow. It stings,’ I said as some of the mixture dribbled into my eyes.
‘Keep your eyes shut then, dummy,’ said Pia. ‘It only stings while it’s going on then we have to lie still for five minutes.’
‘I think I might do my eyebrows too,’ I said and painted the leftover dye on my eyebrows. ‘I’ve seen in magazines that models have really well defined brows.’
After we’d applied the tint, we lay on the rug.
‘I’m glad you’ve taken this positive approach,’ said Pia.
‘I am. I feel a lot better about it now, like, all you can do is give it your best shot. To begin with, I was unsure how I felt about this competition, like on Sunday, I was beginning to wonder what I was trying to prove and was it worth it.’
‘And is it?’
I nodded. ‘I think so. I wanted to do something to lift me out of the ordinary, you know? Like to be in with a chance with JJ or Tom, although I am so not interested in him now, but boys like that, they want someone special.’
Pia was quiet for a while. ‘Are you saying that I’m ordinary because I’m not in the competition?’
‘What? No! I felt I was ordinary before it all started.’
‘But by being in for a modelling competition, you’re not ordinary any more, now you’re special. That sounds like you’re leaving me behind.’
‘No. That is so not what I meant at all.’ I tried to open my eyes to see Pia’s face but the minute I did, the tint ran in and made my eyes sting again. ‘Ow. Ow.’
Once the five minutes was up, we cleaned our eyes and it did seemed to have worked although my eyes were a bit red.
‘Don’t worry about that,’ said Pia. ‘It’ll wear off.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘I have to go, so, see you in the morning at the bus stop, yeah?’
I nodded. ‘I haven’t upset you, have I? I don’t think I’m special by doing this.’
Pia shrugged. ‘You know the saying – two mistakes you can make in life. One is to think that you’re special, the other is to think that you’re not.’
I laughed but after Pia had left and I’d gone inside the house, I wondered if I had been insensitive and resolved to be more careful about what I said in future. I didn’t want anyone thinking I was getting too big for my boots.
Before getting into bed, I applied the deep moisturising mask then went down to the kitchen to get some olive oil. I’d read that if you apply it to your hair and leave it in a towel overnight, you get wonderfully glossy locks. I searched the kitchen but couldn’t see olive oil, only sunflower. That’ll do, I decided and took it up to my room where I applied it liberally then wrapped my head in a towel ready for bed. I did look funny with my white mask on and head in a turban. I decided to leave the mask on overnight as well as the oil because I’d heard that the longer you leave them on, the more effective they are. I placed another towel over my pillow then settled down for the night. Dave had followed me up and had settled on the end of my bed. He looked quite bewildered by my appearance.
‘It’s going to be worth it,’ I told him. �
�I’m going to wake up looking my Sunday best self.’
‘Meow,’ he replied and gave me a bored look.
14
Oompa Lumpa
‘Jess,’ called Dad. ‘Time to get up.’
‘Oomf yert,’ I called back. Strange. I couldn’t move my face and I could hardly open my eyes or mouth. I stumbled out of bed and went to the bathroom. Something was stuck to the back of my legs. My bed sheet! I peeled it off and dropped it on the floor. How did that happen? Wax. There must have been some left on my legs from yesterday and it had acted like glue. Yuk. I tried again to open my eyes properly. ‘Warghhhh!’ A ghoul with bloodshot eyes stared back at me and . . . Oh. My. God. It was me! What had happened to my eyebrows? They were blacker than black. Oh no. I’d forgotten to take the tint off them when I’d wiped my eyelashes. It had been on all night. Too dark, too dark! My eyes were slits, swollen and red. I must have had an allergic reaction to the tint – probably because I left it on so long, not the five minutes max it said on the bottle. It must have soaked right into my eye sockets. I ran hot water and splashed my face to wipe off the face mask. It wasn’t budging. It had set like concrete. Freaky. It looked like a death mask. I set about dabbing hot water onto my cheeks, and little by little, the mask turned into a paste and finally washed off. Phew. I looked back in the mirror. Nooooooooooooooooooo! My face was bright orange, I mean bright orange! I ran back to the spray can and peered at the instructions. One coat which will develop over six to eight hours! Hadn’t Pia read this? I’d put on three coats! I looked at my body. Streaks everywhere and my ankles and wrists were the worst.
‘Jess, come on,’ called Dad from the hallway outside my room.
‘Coming. Just a few minutes,’ I called back. I had to wash the oil out of my hair and get the orange colour off quick. I lathered up shampoo but because I was in a rush, some of it got in my eyes making them sting more than ever. ‘Arghhhhhh,’ I cried as I rinsed off and then scrubbed at my face and body. ‘No!’ It wasn’t working. The orange colour had soaked into my skin like sepia ink. I stepped out of the shower and got my hairdryer. Pale make-up, I thought as I blow-dried, that will disguise my skin. When my hair was dry, I plastered on some foundation. I sat back to survey the result. Disaster with a capital D. My hair looked lank and greasy and, what was worse, it stank like chip fat. My eyebrows stood out like two angry gashes above my puffy eyes. My skin glowed orange underneath the foundation. I looked like a clown.
Catwalk Queen Page 9
