Wilde About the Girl

by Louise Pentland

  Sensing my discomfort, Skye stands up and comes over, leaving her customer with her contour half done. On one side she’s a chiselled masterpiece and on the other she’s a plate.

  ‘You OK, hun?’ she asks. To anyone else she’d sound nonchalant, but now that I know her, this is true care.

  ‘I am but the body artist hasn’t shown up and I can’t see Gloria, who has the list of names and contact details.’

  ‘Want me to fill in?’ she asks as if it’s no big deal. This is what I like about Skye. As frustratingly condescending and opinionated as she can be, she isn’t afraid of hard work.

  ‘If you could, that would be amazing! Do you have the kit?’ I say, so relieved.

  ‘Yep, I live for body art, so I always have a stash of adhesives, paint and glitter in my box!’ she says with such a can-do attitude that I could hug her.

  ‘Thank you, Skye, you’re a star!’

  ‘No worries, bae, I’ve got your back.’

  She says that so sincerely that I grin back at her. I’m not entirely sure what the deal with ‘bae’ is, but it’s said warmly and it’s good to know someone has my back. My back is had. I like it.

  After a few minutes spent quickly redesigning the beauty zone to remove the spare table and relabel Skye’s spot as ‘Mini Makeovers and Body Art’ while she finishes off the other side of plate-face, I wander across the room to Kath’s stall, making sure to pick up a couple of glasses of wine on the way.

  Kath’s stand looks gorgeous. She’s brought Colin along (I won’t tell Lyla!), who has made the most beautiful wooden pergola, with faux vines and flowers intertwined and little strings of battery-operated fairy lights draped through as well. The silky sage table is heaving with the most wonderful-looking jars, vials and pots of her lavender creations. A wicker basket is overflowing with purple bath bombs and on a mottled silver tray lie a selection of open jars and pots for customers to sample.

  ‘Kath, this all looks amazing!’ I say, handing her the second glass of wine and begrudgingly handing Colin my glass that luckily I hadn’t sipped out of yet.

  ‘Thank you, lovey,’ she says, beaming.

  ‘This wooden thing is fabulous!’ I gesture to the pergola.

  ‘Yes! Colin erected it for me himself!’ she says proudly.

  ‘Even at my age I can still erect, ha ha,’ Colin chuckles.

  ‘You did a fantastic job, that wood was really quite heavy,’ Kath replies warmly, clearly missing his joke. I wish I’d missed it too.

  ‘Well, I’m so impressed. I think yours is the best stall here.’

  ‘Oh, Robin, you would say that, you’re always so supportive.’

  ‘No, I really wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it! Have some faith in yourself, Kath, this all looks absolutely amazing!’

  I look up to see Finola striding over, still in her muddy jodhpurs and battered old green waxed Barbour jacket.

  ‘Ah, Finola! You came!’ I say, going over to greet her and noticing an unusual look on her face.

  ‘Yes, dear, I’ve come to support the troops. You and Gillian have worked so hard over all of this, I couldn’t let the side down.’

  ‘Well, I’m thrilled you’re here! Are you all right, though? You seem a bit … off,’ I suggest, not really sure how else to describe it.

  ‘Absolutely fine, my dear! Fit as a fiddle! I’m perhaps a little out of place, though. I’m not really one for all these lotions and potions. I don’t know the first thing about everything you girls do to make the face pretty! I tried that eye shimmer thingamajig you gave me last year with the lip gloss, but Edgar said I looked “frilly” and I haven’t tried it again since. I’m not really sure I belong in this world of fancy blushes and whatnots.’

  My heart just melts for Finola. Always one to be strong and forthright in everything she does, here I can see a softer, more vulnerable side and I just want to scoop her up for the biggest cuddle and tell her how much I love her. Instead, though, I do the next best thing.

  ‘Come and meet my Auntie Kath, she makes a wonderful range of organic lavender bath bombs, creams and soaps that you might like.’

  I can see her interest is piqued. I lead her over and slip away from the conversation just as I hear Finola say to Kath, ‘So this just explodes in your bathwater, does it? How exhilarating!’

  TWO HOURS LATER, AND the evening has been a resounding success. Every vendor has a full money tin, the hall was busy all through the evening and Gloria and her clipboard ran a jolly good show.

  Just as we’re finishing up the evening and saying goodbye to the last remaining customers, I see Skye with a familiar face at her stall. Gillian and I exchange a look of excitement and almost skip over like giddy schoolgirls.

  ‘Finola, you look absolutely gorgeous!’ Gillian says.

  Skye, as a favour to me, squeezed Finola on to her treatment list and gave her the full works. Always up for a good transformation, Skye has done a beautiful job. Finola’s skin is soft and glowing with a dewy blush and golden highlighter. Her eyes seem softer even though they’re now defined with perfectly applied brown shadow and light, fluttery false lashes that complement the precise arch of her eyebrows so well. Skye has blended warm taupe tones on her eyelids and lifted the brow bone with a radiant cream colour. For lipstick, she’s opted for a neutral warm pink, one of those ‘my lips but better’ shades, and all tied in together, Finola looks absolutely sensational.

  ‘Wow. Just wow. You look amazing!’ I say, gobsmacked. I knew she’d look nice but this is incredible. ‘Not that you don’t look lovely normally – but it’s nice to have a look like this stashed away for nights out or if you just fancy a bit of a change,’ I say, anxious to make sure she knows I love her barefaced as much as I do with this gorgeous Oscar-worthy face on.

  ‘I feel like a million dollars.’ Finola beams as she stares at herself in the hand-mirror a very proud Skye has given her.

  ‘I feel like one of you young, pretty mums,’ she says, gesturing at Gillian and me.

  ‘You are one of us young, pretty mums, you silly thing,’ Gillian laughs sweetly.

  ‘I don’t think so, dear. I’m always the outdoorsy one. I accepted that was my label and left the looking glamorous to you trendy ones, but this feels marvellous. I must remember I don’t always have to be the horsey one just because I was scared of trying something new,’ she replies.

  ‘Finola. I have never thought of you as any different from the rest of us. If anything, I assumed you were more confident because you didn’t need all the creams and glosses we turn to. In fact, I used to be quite intimidated by you because I thought you were so ace!’ I add, laughing.

  ‘You were intimidated by me? I was intimidated by you and your glamorous swishing about!’ she retorts. ‘Good golly, you’re a make-up artist, while until tonight, I’ve been happier grooming horses than grooming myself.’

  ‘Well, thank God we all love each other now, then, with or without makeovers!’ I say, helping her pick up a surprising number of shopping bags (maybe we’re going to see quite the change in Frilly Finola) and ushering her towards the door as we’re starting to clear up.

  ‘Thank you, Skye, you absolutely nailed it. I owe you,’ I say as Gillian walks with Finola to the door.

  ‘No you don’t. I owed you. It was lovely seeing your friend feel so good about herself. Sometimes make-up’s just creams and colours, sometimes it’s a mask to hide behind but sometimes it’s a woman’s greatest tool. I love this job, you know?’ Skye muses.

  Earnest, but I’ll take it.

  ‘I do know. I really, really do.’

  KATH HAS COMPLETELY SOLD out and has a list of bulk orders for people who want to gift friends and family or sell her products in their own businesses. She’s absolutely bubbling with excitement and completely oblivious to Colin, who is struggling to get his pergola down. I back away before he tries any more erection jokes.

  As is my assigned duty, I wander off to pick up some bin bags from the huge supply cupboard
just outside the foyer office. There’s a keycode for the lock, so to see the door left open after hours is a bit unnerving. I suddenly wish I hadn’t watched so many thrillers on Netflix because I’m starting to imagine this is where a killer is hiding, ready to jump out and bludgeon me to death with a pack of exercise books.

  I creep up very quietly and hear the faintest little moan. With fake confidence, in one swift movement, I pull the door open.

  My brain cannot compute it. I stand open-mouthed, blinking repetitively like a fish with dodgy contact lenses. There, in the cupboard, up against the poster paints and sugar paper supplies, are Mr Ravelle and Gloria, snogging like overzealous teenagers!

  I’m still standing there, gawping, when Mr Ravelle pulls away, sees me and finally stutters, ‘And that’s where we keep the bin bags and tidying supplies, Ms Straunston,’ as if I haven’t just seen him with his mouth attached to her face and her hand over his groin.

  ‘Don’t mind me!’ I say when the power of speech returns to me. I close the door in a hurry. Good on them, I think.

  My God, what a night. I retrace my steps to the hall, smiling to myself. I can’t wait for a debrief with Gillian and Finola. I can’t wait to find out how much money Kath has made, and, I realise, I can’t wait to go full steam ahead for LFW in six weeks – with Skye. And suddenly, tonight, it seems as if some light has seeped back into my life. I feel that familiar fizz of happiness knocking at the door.

  Hello, I’ve missed you.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  AUGUST

  NO ONE EVER SAID balancing work and being the best mum to Lyla would be easy. Does anyone ever get it right?

  As the days speed by in the run-up to London Fashion Week, MADE IT feels electric. Imagine that feeling a primary school has the week leading up to the Christmas play, times it by fifty and that’s what we’re dealing with. Stuart constantly looks a little bit sweaty and I’m sure Alice is moving about a hundred per cent faster than usual, like a hummingbird.

  The job has been fully planned out. We know who’s on it, who’s leading (Natalie, of course, but with myself – hurrah – and Skye as her deputies), we know what kit we’re taking. The face charts are ready. The trial runs are done. And Alice has organised all the logistics. But being ready has only made us all the more eager to get started. I’m counting down the days, and it feels good. I didn’t lose my job, or Natalie’s respect, in the end. But I’m damn well going to shine as part of this awesome team!

  I’ve been taking on more jobs, after my time off. The Spa Night really made me see how much satisfaction I take from working on something, seeing a job through and being proud of myself, so I’ve upped the ante. Lyla hasn’t been thrilled about it. I spent the first part of the summer being really hands-on with her, showering her with love (for both our sakes) and now, when I need to face life again and flex my muscles professionally, Lyla is not so keen. Kath has been having her two days a week but, much to Lyla’s horror, Colin has been there a few times and that has really upset the applecart.

  Yesterday was the worst day. I went to fetch her after a long day of trial runs for Project Isso and I could see Kath had been crying. All the soft skin around her eyes was raised and red, and instead of inviting me in and trying to stuff me with home-cooked food and sending me back with a foil-wrapped batch of scones, she said, ‘Lyla’s had a good day, I’m sure she’s quite tired now,’ and handed me her already-packed rucksack on the doorstep. Lyla had her shoes on ready and didn’t say much as we said our thank yous and goodbyes. It’s never normally this quick a turnaround. Usually I budget a solid twenty minutes to get in, get the goods (my child) and leave. This was all done and dusted in under five.

  In the car on the way home I glance at Lyla in the rear-view mirror a few times. She looks absolutely fine.

  ‘How was your day with Kath then?’ I venture.

  ‘Good,’ she says, looking casually out of the window. Kids can be so aloof when they want to be.

  ‘What did you do?’ I push.

  ‘Not much.’ See? Aloof AF.

  Why do children do this? When you want forty nanoseconds of silence, they want to tell you every detailed thing in their brains, but should you ask how their day went or what they learnt at school, it’s as though selective amnesia has set in, and obtaining any information at all is akin to drawing blood from a stone.

  ‘OK. So, did you make any scones today?’ I try a different approach, knowing full well hardly a day goes by at Kath’s where she doesn’t bake some of her amazing scones.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘And what about shortbread?’ If she thinks I’m going to give up, she’s wrong.

  ‘Yeah, with lavender in though.’ Oh, some detail!

  ‘Well, that sounds nice,’ I offer warmly.

  Silence.

  ‘Was the shortbread nice with lavender in?’ God, she’s hard to crack tonight.

  ‘No. Gross. It tasted like a garden,’ she says with venom.

  Yes, we’re getting somewhere at last. ‘Oh dear!’ I say, hoping she won’t be able to resist telling me more.

  ‘Colin said it was the best shortbread he’d ever tasted, Mummy.’ She seems really disgusted by this last statement. As if Colin’s off his rocker a bit. Which maybe he is, I don’t know.

  ‘Did he? So he popped over, did he?’

  ‘Yes. I watched Kath’s videos. Your old ones. I don’t like him so I thought about what you always say – if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all, right?’

  ‘Well, yes, but we musn’t ignore him entirely.’ I’m impressed at her politeness (and if I’m honest, a bit envious of her bluntness), but sometimes a little guidance is needed in etiquette.

  ‘I didn’t. I was very forthright.’

  I notice an emphasis on the word ‘forthright’. ‘Oh. What does “forthright” mean, then?’ When did my seven-year-old become so eloquent?

  ‘It means saying exactly what you think, even if it’s a bit bold. That’s what Kath said. She was crying but not cross. She just said I’d been very forthright and then she put your old Lion King video on for me. I told her I didn’t want to watch it but she said, “Lovey, I need a break, just sit and watch this, please”, and I thought that maybe she did sound a bit cross, actually.’

  Good grief, this doesn’t sound like Kath.

  ‘Wow. That’s a lot of information there, Lyla. What did you say that was so forthright?’

  ‘Don’t want to say,’ she says, squirming in her booster seat.

  ‘You can say it. I won’t be cross. Just tell me the truth.’

  Silence.

  ‘Please, Lyla. I’m on your side. Always,’ I add gently.

  ‘OK.’ She pauses as though struggling to let it out. ‘I said that Colin shouldn’t be trying to be Kath’s boyfriend because Kath had a boyfriend and then a husband called Derek and we love him and he loves Kath forever and is waiting in Heaven for her in a house made of flowers and shells and when she gets really, really old and dies and goes to Heaven, Derek will be there at the end of the tunnel, smiling, with his arms out like this.’ She gestures wide open arms from the back of the car. ‘And he will hold her and love her and they will live in their flower and shell house and Kath will tell him all the things she’s been doing on earth while he’s gone. They’ll go through their holiday albums again and dance again and Derek will tell all his jokes again and Colin can’t come! Colin can’t come into the flower and shell house and Derek would hate Colin!’

  Shit.

  No wonder Kath was teary. All those years she’s spent portraying this magical version of where Derek is have certainly come home to roost. I could kick myself for not having had a chat with Lyla that first time she mentioned Derek in front of Colin.

  ‘Oh my goodness,’ I say, exhaling dramatically.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I think that might have upset Kath, because she might like Colin being her boyfriend.’

  ‘But Derek was her boyfriend and th
en her husband. They got married and had pink cake and champagne and Grandad Wilde was there and—’

  ‘No, I know, I know they got married and I know Derek was Kath’s boyfriend before that, but, now he’s gone, I think Kath would like to have someone in her life. Colin makes her happy.’

  ‘But Derek isn’t gone. He’s waiting. In Heaven,’ she persists.

  ‘I know, I know, baby, but, just for now, while she’s waiting to see Derek again, I think she would like to enjoy spending time with Colin.’ I try to talk slowly and gently because clearly this is a big topic for my sweet black-and-white thinker.

  ‘Then she should put all of Derek’s photos away and tell us that her heart doesn’t belong to Derek anymore,’ Lyla says matter-of-factly. How I wish I could see love as straightforwardly as she does.

  ‘Oh, Bluebird, love isn’t really as simple as that. Kath’s heart is big enough for both. She loves Derek and I’m sure is looking forward to seeing him again, and also, right now, she’s enjoying spending time with Colin and has space in her heart to enjoy that, too.’

  I check the mirror and can see the little cogs turning in her mind.

  ‘So does Kath have space in her heart for every man in the world, or just Derek and Colin?’

  ‘Ha, I think just Derek and Colin for now,’ I laugh, imagining Kath with a slew of suitors at her door.

  ‘OK then. But he’s still a worm.’

  LATER THAT NIGHT I text Kath, apologising for Lyla’s unintentional insensitivity. I want to make sure she knows how loved she is, and that Lyla and I will support her in everything she does. I settle on a slight lie: Colin is lovely and we’re happy you’re happy. As well as texting, I go online and book Lyla into the school Summer Club for the last week of the holidays so that Kath can have a break and I don’t have to worry about any further diplomatic incidents while I’m at work.