by Jules Wake
‘No … it’s just …’ He squirmed.
With brusque quick moves, I back-combed hoping that the quick, sharp moves would be less intimate. Why the hell had I signed up for this? Was I some sort of masochist? But in all my time doing hair and make-up, I’d never felt like this, every touch charged with sexual tension.
‘What do you think?’ I held his gaze in the mirror.
He stroked his cheeks and his face broke out into a delighted beam which sent a zing through me.
‘Brilliant … really … really brilliant. I had no idea … it’s so effective.’
He stood up and peered in the mirror. ‘It’s great.’ A worried look crossed his face. ‘How do I get it off? I’m going out tonight.’
‘Don’t worry, your City mates need never know.’ I didn’t like the way I sounded. Sharp and bitchy. ‘Or your girlfriend?’
Realising it sounded as if I were fishing, I added quickly, ‘It will come off with soap and water … hot water. Make sure you rub it in thoroughly. Any stubborn bits just put a bit of olive oil on cotton wool and rub with that.’
‘Right. That’s useful to know.’ He eyed the shaggy growth.
Fred reappeared through the door.
‘Whoa man … bearded wonder. That’s cool.’
Marcus stroked his chin again. ‘I’m not sure what Mum would say if I rocked up tonight all made-up.’ He laughed. ‘I’d never hear the end of it if my Dad caught sight of it. I’m going home tonight to watch the football with him down the pub.’
I ducked my head, flushing at his words. It didn’t answer the girlfriend question completely but it was an answer to my question.
‘Do you want me to take some pictures?’ suggested Fred grinning evilly, he was getting into his part.
‘No!’ Marcus said. ‘Definitely not. If they end up on Facebook, I’ll kill you. I can’t believe you talked me into this. I’m beginning to have second thoughts.’ His body stiffened again, his shoulders hunching slightly upwards.
That slight air of vulnerability pricked at me. ‘Not after all that work, you’re not,’ I said, pushing him towards the door.
‘Thanks Tilly. I’m only having second thoughts because it looks … well, so authentic. Serious. Having a couple of stick on sideburns sounded like a laugh. This is a bit too nerdy.’ He gave a mock glare at Fred. ‘You’re a bad influence.’
‘Loosen up bro. You’ll have a great time when we get there …’
‘That’s the bit I’m worrying about. Everyone on the tube staring.’
Fred scrunched up his face in denial and shook his green hair. ‘You wait till you see everyone else. This is tame.’
I laid a hand on Marcus’s sleeve, wanting to chase away the uncertainty suddenly shadowing his eyes. It didn’t look right seeing Mr Big Bad and Confident look unsure. ‘Look at Fred. You don’t need to worry. He’ll be causing enough of a stir. You’ll blend into the background. You’ll just look like an over-enthusiastic hipster.’
Gratitude flashed in his eyes and the shoulders dropped. ‘Hipster? Christ … that’s even worse.’
Chapter 17
The last sight of him walking out of the building adopting a suitably Jackman swagger had just about finished me off and it was a relief to walk in the opposite direction, making a lot of looking down at my phone.
With a whole day to myself, I decided to head to Foyles and pick up a few books. Although I liked the convenience of my Kindle, I still enjoyed the feel of a book in my hand.
I’d just paid for a copy of Déjà Dead by Kathy Reichs, prompted by Redsman’s last email, when I saw I had a text from Christelle.
Are you working today? Can you get out for a coffee? Going shopping for Mum and Dad’s presents. I’d appreciate your opinion. Cx
Rather than faff about trying to text her back, as I walked along the busy street, I called her.
‘What do you want my opinion on?’
What would her opinion be of Marcus? She’d never said anything but I got the impression she wasn’t overly impressed with Felix and he certainly didn’t like her. Guilt tugged at me. In fairness, most of what he knew about her had come from me.
‘Well, I was going to get Mum an Estee Lauder gift set, then I remembered I got her one for her birthday. You’re good at presents. Any ideas?’
‘Where are you?’ I asked.
‘I’m just walking up St Martins. Are you free later?’
‘I’m free now. I’m not working today, I just had to pop into the theatre. I’m in Henrietta Street.’
There was a pause. ‘Can you meet me?’
Her uncertainty ratcheted up my guiltometer. Was my usual reticence so obvious? Suddenly I felt sad that we’d grown apart. We used to love going shopping together on Saturdays in Harrogate.
‘Yeah, of course.’
We arranged to meet in front of the piazza at Covent Garden in half an hour.
Heading that way, I brightened as I spotted crash barriers in front of St Paul’s Church and heard Slade’s I wish it could be Christmas blaring out. I’d forgotten it was the Annual Christmas Pudding race today.
A team of marshals was busy fighting with an inflatable slide and laughing as the billowing plastic fought back. Behind them, two men were unloading crates of Christmas puds and as I drew closer I could spot the teams of competitors in fancy dress. It was very amusing to watch tourists’ reactions to men in blow-up Santa suits, the set of furry penguins and the scantily clad group of girls who’d called themselves The Christmas Crackers.
Things were still being set up but I decided I’d bring Christelle back later to watch the crazy race.
Everyone was wrapped up warmly in down coats, hats and scarves, their gloved hands clutching bulging shopping bags and as I walked quickly, weaving in and out of the groups, I stopped to admire the Christmas tree. It reminded me that I needed to sort one out for the flat even though getting a real one was a major hassle. Unfortunately, even a smallish one wasn’t the sort of thing you could carry home on the bus but I refused to have an artificial tree. I’d have to persuade Felix to come with me to help carry it home.
I spotted Christelle and her scarlet red bobble hat, which contrasted gloriously with her Snow White complexion and glossy brunette hair, before she spotted me. Casual for once, she looked gorgeous, her skin glowing from the brisk walk, although I homed in on the sad nude lipstick.
‘Hi.’
‘Hi,’ I replied, narrowing my eyes at her lips.
‘What’s the matter?’
I grabbed her arm. ‘First up, we’re going shopping.’
‘Well, yeah. That was the plan.’
‘No, I mean for you. Come on.’
‘But …’
‘No buts.’
I linked my arm firmly through hers and marched northwards up James Street.
‘Where are we going?’
‘Mac,’ I said. ‘To get you a new lipstick.’
‘OK.’
I stopped. ‘What? No argument?’
‘Tilly. Do I look as if I have a clue about make-up?’
‘No.’
‘Well, thanks for the vote of confidence.’
‘You asked.’
‘Well you didn’t need to be so blunt.’
‘Sorry, it’s just that colour … in fact calling it a colour should be illegal, it’s hideous and it doesn’t do you any favours.’
‘Legal is my department, make-up is yours,’ she said sulkily. ‘We can’t all be brilliant at it, like you. I know I’m rubbish but …’ She shrugged, looking a little embarrassed. ‘I never liked to ask.’
‘Why ever not?’
Her eyes slid away before she looked at me. ‘You would have laughed.’
Her words left me speechless. My ultra-confident, super-successful sister thought I’d laugh at her. I bit my lip, studying my leather gloves, unable to meet her waiting gaze. Yeah, I probably would which wasn’t very nice at all.
‘Lipstick is never a laughing matter,’ I quipped.
‘Come on.’
The Mac shop was busy and noisy and I joined in with the chorus of Rocking Around the Christmas Tree coming from the speakers. As soon as Antonio, the manager, spotted me he waved and somehow managed to disentangle himself from an intent customer.
‘Tilly.’ He kissed me on both cheeks. ‘How are you?’
‘Good thanks.’ Christelle had managed to hide behind me. I pulled her forward. ‘This is my sister. We’re looking for a lipstick. I’m thinking Ruby Woo or Cherry Glaze.’
‘Excellent choices.’ He beamed at me and before she knew it, Christelle was on a stool and Antonio was wiping her lips clean with ruthless efficiency.
When he’d finished, making a great show as he outlined her lips, before carefully painting them with a deep red colour, she stared at herself in the mirror.
‘See, that lights up your whole face.’
‘She’s good,’ interjected Antonio nodding my way. The colour drew attention to her perfect cupid bow lips making her look even more like Snow White, but perhaps the older sassier sister. ‘But we’ll try the other one.’
‘Sorry, cherie,’ he said, handing me the lipstick and brush. ‘I’ll leave you to it. I see customers with fat purses.’ He winked and glided over to a pair of women in fur trimmed designer coats and matching Chanel handbags.
As Christelle was seated at my mercy, I decided to make the most of it. She waited patiently as I perused the colours, every now and then looking back at her face. To be honest I’d been dying to get hold of her like this.
‘We’re supposed to be shopping for Mum,’ she said but she didn’t sound particularly convincing.
‘Are you in a hurry? Need to be anywhere?’
‘No,’ she scrunched up her face. ‘I did have a date tonight.’ A resigned expression set in. ‘But he cancelled.’
‘Excellent. Sorry, not excellent that he cancelled. Idiot. But it means we’ve got all the time in the world.’ I tapped at my watch. And we could watch the race.
‘I’m not sure that’s such a good thing,’ she said with a sudden smile looking at the pile of goodies I’d amassed.
‘Sit back and enjoy. You won’t feel a thing.’
‘Promise?’
I grinned at her and set to work.
There’s something satisfying about giving someone a make-over, especially when you see the spring in their step afterwards. Christelle looked positively frisky when we stepped out of Mac.
‘I think we deserve a drink,’ she said, this time linking her arm through mine.
‘I thought you wanted to shop.’
‘Have you got plans?’
I shook my head. ‘Nothing specific.’
‘Well this is your stamping ground. Where can we get a glass of Prosecco round here?’
‘Great idea. But first …’
Christelle and I were almost breathless with laughter.
‘That is mad,’ she said, wiping away tears as the last hapless competitor stumbled past us, clutching her tray in one hand with its battered looking pud, decorated Mr Potato Head style, sliding precariously to and fro and an outsize Christmas star decoration in the other. Dressed in a fluorescent pink tutu and matching leg-warmers, the poor girl was covered in fake snow, had a streak of something across her face and a massive hole in her tights but she was giggling so hard she could hardly run straight and was in danger of missing the finishing line completely.
We spent a good hour watching the warm up for the next heat of the race, joining in the silly singing and moving to a different section of the course to watch a reindeer, Alice in Wonderland and Superman bounce and tumble down the inflatable slide desperately trying to hang onto their precious cargo before the cold began to bite.
We were still laughing when we stumbled out of Mabel’s two bottles of Prosecco later.
‘I can’t believe that guy.’
‘Why not?’
‘He kept staring at me.’
‘Yes, because you look gorgeous.’
‘Only because of the make-up.’
‘Not true, it just enhances what’s already there.’
She made a psht noise but didn’t say anything more as we wandered along Maiden Lane back towards the piazza. The race was over now and the clean-up was almost complete, the only sign of the earlier craziness was the bunches of balloons tied to stacks of crash barriers.
‘We still haven’t done any proper shopping.’
‘And we’ve still got the rest of the afternoon. Let’s go to the market. We might see something for Mum there.’
‘Like what?’
‘We won’t know until we see it,’ I replied firmly, expecting her to come back with some argument but instead she complied with unexpected docility.
We browsed the stalls in the Jubilee market before returning to the piazza. We stopped at one of my favourite jewellery stalls.
‘Oh, that’s lovely,’ said Christelle, pouncing on a pretty bracelet. ‘I’d never thought of coming here. That will be perfect for Alexa. And Sarah at work.’ She bought two while I bought Jeanie a pair of earrings that I knew she’d love. We were about to move on, when Christelle also decided to buy a pair of Batman cufflinks for her boss. ‘They’ll be a bit different from his usual ones but, do you know what, I think he’ll like them,’ she giggled. I picked them up. They’d be a good present for Marcus too. And where had that thought come from? Quickly I put them back. Marcus and I certainly weren’t on present buying terms. How was he getting on at Comic Con? An image of him flashed into my head, green eyes assessing mine as I’d done his make-up this morning. Turning and picking up a silver bangle, I pushed the disturbing memory away.
‘I know. Let’s head towards Seven Dials, the decorations up there are really quirky this year and they have some cool shops,’ I said, wanting to get away from the market stalls as thoughts of my previous visit the week before and our conversation about gifts wormed their way into my head. Did he have a girlfriend? He’d mentioned an ex but nothing current. The thought didn’t sit well.
‘Ok,’ said Christelle. I wasn’t used to this compliant, unsuspicious version of my sister. We were going to have to do the Prosecco thing more often.
The streets were swollen with people, and progress was slow, although no one seemed to mind. An atmosphere of general happiness thrummed in the air as if everyone brimmed with bonhomie.
‘I love Covent Garden at Christmas,’ I said looking around. ‘It just feels different.’
‘That’s because they roast chestnuts here,’ said Christelle, pointing to a man on the corner. ‘I don’t know what all the fuss is about. All that roasting chestnuts over the fire malarkey.’
Despite being surprised at her use of the word malarkey – it didn’t sound very her – I nodded, imagining their horrible floury texture on my tongue. ‘They smell good but taste disgusting.’
‘And Mum always sends Dad out to get them for the stuffing.’ Christelle mimed walking fingers recalling memories of Dad, in his red jumper, being despatched to Waitrose on an almost daily basis in the final run up to Christmas.
‘And we always picked them out.’ We both burst out laughing. Every year without fail there had been a line of chestnuts ringing our empty plates on a table strewn with the remnants of crackers, jugs of gravy and bread sauce and Mum’s special Christmas napkins with their matching Santa and snowmen napkin rings. Christmas back then, when we were young had been fun, when lunch was a long-laid back affair, in which Mum insisted we all wore our cracker crowns and Christelle, Dad and I contested as to who could be the first to slip them off before Mum noticed and in between turkey and pudding we had the one pound challenge, where we competed to buy the nastiest, tackiest gift for a pound.
‘I wish they weren’t going away.’ I just heard Christelle’s wistful words. I wasn’t sure she had meant me to. I stuffed the memories away and steered her down the next street.
A couple of hours later, having done a full circuit and walked non-stop, we emerged from Jo Malone�
��s with a huge cream and black carrier bag brimming with Lime, Basil and Mandarin scented tissue paper.
Early evening darkness lit up by brilliant white fairy lights threaded through the decorations overhead, making the street look like some enchanted grotto. We both stopped to crane our necks at an ornate garland of dancing cherubs and little berry red lights that festooned one of the shops.
‘Cute,’ observed Christelle, nudging me with her elbow. ‘Mum is going to be thrilled with this.’ She held up the bag. ‘I’d forgotten what a brilliant shopper you are.’ She lifted her wrist and sniffed. ‘And I love this Bay and Blackberry.’
‘You tried enough; I thought I was never going to get you out of there.’
‘Yes, but look at the free samples.’
‘Free? Not if you think about the amount you spent in there.’
‘Yes, but I’ve almost finished my Christmas shopping.’ She swung the bag to and fro with the easy joy of a small child. ‘Do you think Dad might get a kick out of some Captain America cufflinks?’
‘I think all that scent has gone to your head.’
‘Or the lipstick.’ She flashed me a happy smile, her teeth white against the Cherry Glaze and linked her arm through mine. ‘So how about dinner? My treat.’
Chapter 18
Dressed head to foot in black, I waited in the wings and caught sight of Marcus on the other side of the stage. What the hell was he doing over there?
My poor system was going to have sensory overload. I’d only just recovered from Saturday’s run in with him and now three days later here he was again.
Following his visit to the department last week, he’d wasted no time in speaking to Jeanie. For some reason, she seemed to think he was the bee’s knees and thought it was a wonderful idea and even more wonderful if I chaperoned him backstage.
He vanished and a few minutes later materialised at my side.
‘Anyone would think you’re avoiding me. You said to meet stage right?’
His whispered words right in my ear startled me and, irritatingly, the warm breath on my neck did other things.
‘This is stage right.’ I wasn’t going to point out to him that stage right was the actor’s right when they were facing the audience, so in effect the opposite way around.
