by Jill Mansell
‘What brought this on?’
She flushed. A mixture of guilt, shame, and displacement therapy had spurred her into action. Keeping busy meant she didn’t have time to keep going over all the bad stuff buzzing around in her brain.
Aloud Sally said, ‘I just thought I should try and start making a real effort. I know it annoys you when I’m untidy.’
‘And you suddenly decided to do it just for me?’ There was a discernible edge to Gabe’s voice. He raised an eyebrow in disbelief. ‘Or is it for the benefit of people in general?’
‘People in general.’ Sally bristled at his tone. ‘Why are you being like this?’
For a split second he opened his mouth and looked as if he was about to retaliate. Then he shook his head instead and said, ‘OK, forget it, I’m just tired. It’s been a hell of a day.’
You could say that again. And Sally knew her ordeal wasn’t over yet. Since it would look suspicious if she suddenly started avoiding Nick, she was going to have to put on a brave face and pretend everything was fine whenever they encountered each other… oh God, maybe it would be easier to emigrate…
‘Look, I’m sorry I snapped.’ Gabe’s voice softened. ‘Why don’t you sit down and I’ll open a bottle of wine?’
More wine, after all the trouble it had got her into at lunchtime? Shuddering at the memory and only too aware that if Gabe were to turn sympathetic she could end up blabbing out everything—oh yes, and wouldn’t that help matters—Sally shook her head. ‘No thanks, I’m off to bed.’
Chapter 43
Lola had just finished serving a customer when she glanced up and saw a vision entering the shop.
OK, not an actual vision. Doug.
It really was him. In person. Incredible.
What’s more, she hadn’t even realized she’d said his name aloud, but she must have done because Cheryl, next to her, followed the line of her gaze and said, ‘That’s Doug?’ She sounded duly impressed. As well she might.
Lola nodded.
‘Great suit.’ Cheryl, a sharp dresser herself, always noticed other people’s clothes. She said approvingly, ‘Made to measure.’
Every last drop of saliva in Lola’s mouth disappeared. Because if he was coming into her store to buy a book, that was a good sign, surely? Choosing to shop at this particular branch of Kingsley’s had to mean he liked her. Gosh, he looked edible in that dark suit, all lean, mean and…
‘Hi!’ squeaked Lola as Doug approached the desk, clearly in a hurry. ‘Well, this is a nice surprise! What can I—?’
‘Sally’s been trying to get hold of you. Your mobile’s switched off and there’s something wrong with the phone line here.’
Lola knew this; a brace of telephone engineers were in the back office working on it as they spoke. ‘It’s being fixed. What’s wrong with Sally?’
‘Nothing. She says you have to get to a TV. Now.’ Doug was slightly out of breath. ‘She rang me at work twenty minutes ago. Do you have a TV in this place?’
‘A TV? This is a bookshop! What did Sally say it was about?’
‘She didn’t, just said to make sure you saw it. From the sound of things, it’s important. It had better be,’ Doug went on, ‘because I had to leave a meeting to come here and tell you about it.’
Her heart racing and her mouth drier than ever, Lola whispered, ‘Is it something bad?’
Cheryl took charge. ‘He’s already told you he doesn’t know. Off you go,’ she said briskly, pushing Lola out from behind the desk. ‘There’s only one way to find out.’
Televisions, televisions…
Out on the pavement Lola pointed across Regent Street. ‘Dover and May, fourth floor.’
Doug said, ‘I thought we’d look for a bar with a TV in it.’
‘This is closer.’ Dover and May was one of Lola’s favorite department stores and they had dozens of TVs, rows and rows of them, hundreds in fact. ‘Quick, after this bus—oof…’
Yanked back by Doug in the nick of time, Lola bounced off his chest. The taxi driver shook his head in disgust.
‘After the bus and the taxi,’ Doug said evenly. ‘OK, now we can cross the road.’
Through the doors of Dover and May, they raced past the perfume counters and islands of make-up, dodging sales girls waiting to pounce and spray scent at anyone who couldn’t dodge out of the way fast enough. Together they ran up the escalator. On the first floor they zigzagged past dawdling shoppers in the homeware department. Up the next flight of escalators and through ladies’ clothes and shoes—Lola spotted a stunning pair with black glittery heels—then more escalators, followed by racing through menswear and almost knocking over a display of mannequins in stripy sweaters… God, this was like getting in training for the marathon…
‘We’d have been better taking the lift,’ panted Lola.
‘Never mind, we’re here now.’
Belatedly she realized something. ‘You’re still here. Don’t you need to get back to your meeting?’
They’d reached the fourth floor. Leaping off the escalator, Doug expertly steered her through the electrical department, past hi-fis and kettles and every kind of laptop. ‘Are you serious? After all this, I want to know what it’s about.’
The super-expensive high definition TVs were all showing a recorded wildlife program. Over at the bank of more affordable models, Channel 4 racing was on, horses galloping towards the finish line on every screen.
Evidently attracted by the sight of a pair of customers looking as if they were keen to buy, a salesman materialized out of nowhere.
‘Good morning, sir, madam. Can I help you in any way?’
‘Oh, thank you! You most certainly can!’ Lola clutched his arm with relief. ‘We need the channel changing.’
The flashing pound signs faded in the salesman’s eyes but he put a brave face on it. ‘The channel changer. Certainly, madam, the remote control units are over here, if you’d like to follow me—’
‘No, no, I want you to change this channel.’ Jabbing a finger at the screens filled with horses, Lola said agitatedly, ‘Please!’
The salesman frowned. ‘Um… which of the TVs are you interested in?’
‘None,’ Doug intervened. ‘Not today, but my friend desperately needs to see something on one of the other channels and we’d be incredibly grateful if you could just—’
‘Please please please.’ Lola’s voice rose as she hopped from one foot to the other. ‘I’m begging you! I’ll just die if I miss it!’
‘OK, keep your hair on.’ No longer quite so polite now he knew there was no sale in the offing, the salesman disappeared behind the counter where a bank of switches was situated. Glancing over at Lola before addressing Doug under his breath, he said, ‘I saw a film with this kind of thing in it once. Rain Man.’
The channels began to change. Lola held her breath. Then she saw him, on every screen, multiplied a hundred times over. ‘Stop,’ she croaked before the salesman could flick past. ‘This is the one.’
Much as the family of strangers in Rain Man had regarded Dustin Hoffman when he’d pitched up on their doorstep, the salesman regarded Lola warily and said, ‘I’ll leave you to it then. Just don’t… touch anything, OK?’
Lola didn’t hear him. She was gazing transfixed at the screen where the makeover segment of a popular daytime show was in progress. The female presenter, gesturing cheerfully to a life-sized photograph, said, ‘… so this is how he looked when he arrived at the studio first thing this morning…’
Lola realized she was trembling. Next to her Doug said doubtfully, ‘Is that your father?’
She shook her head.
‘No? So who is it?’
‘Shh.’
‘… and this is how Blythe looked…’
Lola let out a bat squeak as a phot
ograph flashed up on screen of her mother, looking typically frazzled and flyaway and wearing… yikes… her favorite pink sparkly waistcoat over a turquoise paisley blouse and well-worn tartan trousers.
‘My God, that’s your mum.’ Doug shook his head in wonder.
‘Well, that was the two of them a couple of hours ago,’ the jolly, voluptuous presenter exclaimed. ‘So let’s see how they’re looking now!’
‘I remember those tartan trousers.’ Incredulously Doug pointed at the screen.
The shimmering curtains parted and Blythe and Malcolm made their entrance.
Chapter 44
‘Oh my GOD!’ shouted Lola, startling several browsing shoppers.
‘Shh.’ Doug gave her a nudge. ‘Stay calm or we’ll get chucked out.’
Stay calm?
Lola whispered, ‘Oh my God,’ and clapped her hands over her mouth. On the TV screen her mother, self-consciously attempting to pose for the camera, looked like a Stepfordized version of herself and the effect was positively eerie. Her delinquent hair had been cut, blow-dried and ruthlessly straightened, her lipstick was deep red and glossy and her complexion had an airbrushed, plastic quality to it. She was also wearing eyeliner for the first time in her life. To complete the transformation, the batty-mother clothes had been replaced by a chic, leaf-green shift dress with matching fitted jacket and darker green high-heeled shoes.
‘Oh my word,’ gushed the presenter, ‘don’t you look fabulous!’
And in one way she did; Lola could see that other people might look at the made-over version of Blythe and feel that it was a huge improvement. It was just that the made-over version no longer looked anything like her mother. In a daze she watched the makeover experts step forward and explain how they had achieved the miracle of Stepfordization. Blythe continued to look embarrassed. Then it was Malcolm’s turn.
With a jolt Lola noticed him properly for the first time. OK, now this really was a transformation. Gone was the hideous bushy beard for a start. Malcolm was now clean-shaven, his hair had been cut and slicked back from his face and, in place of the awful bobbly sweater and baggy corduroys, he was wearing—good grief!—a really well-cut dark suit.
In fact, wow. Malcolm was looking years younger, like a completely different person. Now that you could actually see his face it was revealed as not so bad after all. Why on earth had he ever grown such a horrible beard in the first place?
Next to her Doug said, ‘I can’t believe your mum’s doing this. Whose idea was it?’
Lola frowned, because in the shock of the moment it hadn’t occurred to her to wonder the same thing. And now that she was wondering, it did seem a bit odd. Blythe wasn’t the type to write in to programs like this and she’d never had a hankering to appear on TV.
‘… so Malcolm, coming here today was all your idea,’ the presenter said cozily, ‘because you felt you needed to smarten up your image.’
A crackle of alarm snaked its way up the back of Lola’s neck; was the presenter reading her mind?
‘Well, yes.’ Malcolm looked bashful. ‘I suppose I wanted to make a better impression on people… or rather I was keen for them to have a better opinion of me…’
‘He’s too polite to say so,’ Blythe chimed in, ‘but he’s actually referring to my daughter.’
‘Oh!’ gasped Lola.
‘Who, I gather, has strong opinions when it comes to clothes.’ The presenter gave Blythe a sympathetic look.
‘That’s one way of putting it. The two women from What Not to Wear rolled together, that’s what she is,’ said Blythe. ‘With a touch of Simon Cowell. Always telling me I look like a dog’s dinner.’
‘I am not,’ cried Lola. ‘Not always!’
‘I mean, it’s water off a duck’s back as far as I’m concerned. Sometimes I’ll take her advice,’ Blythe went on, ‘and sometimes I won’t. But that’s because I’m her mother. I’m used to her.’
‘Whereas it hasn’t been so easy for you, Malcolm, has it?’ The presenter’s voice softened. ‘Criticism like that can be quite hurtful, can’t it?’
Stunned, Lola said, ‘But I didn’t criticize him! I didn’t!’
‘Oh no, no, Blythe’s daughter has never criticized me. At least not to my face,’ Malcolm said hastily. ‘She’s a lovely girl, very polite. I just felt a bit lacking in the, um, sartorial department, I suppose. Getting dressed up and making the most of myself has never been my forte. And I want Lola to think well of me because… well, because I think a great deal of her mother.’
Lola’s throat tightened. She couldn’t speak, couldn’t swallow.
The twinkly-eyed presenter, addressing the camera, said, ‘So, Lola, I know you aren’t watching at this moment because you’re at work and Malcolm and Blythe didn’t tell you they were going to be doing this today, but if you do happen to see a recording of this program I’m sure you’ll agree that Malcolm and your mum have scrubbed up a treat! They both look wonderful. If you ask me, your mum’s a lucky lady to have found herself such a very caring and thoughtful man.’
‘Here,’ murmured Doug. Lola took the handkerchief and wiped her eyes.
‘And after the break,’ the presenter continued cheerfully, ‘we’ll be talking to a husband and wife who have both undergone sex changes, and who’ll be joining us here in the studio with their daughter who until two years ago was their son!’
‘There you go.’ Doug half smiled. ‘Things could be worse.’
‘I’m so ashamed.’ Lola sniffed hard, because being lent a hankie and dabbing away tears was one thing but blowing your nose in it was altogether less dainty.
‘So that’s your mum’s boyfriend, the one you don’t like.’
‘I don’t dislike him. I just thought Mum could do better.’ Sniff. ‘I thought she was settling for Malcolm because he was easy.’
She didn’t mean easy in that sense—yech, perish the thought.
‘He seems like a nice chap.’
‘He is. I just couldn’t s-stand the beard.’ Lola gave up and blew her nose noisily into the hanky. ‘And now everyone knows how shallow I am. They’re all going to think I’m a really horrible p-person.’
For a moment she thought Dougie might put his arms around her, reassure her that she really wasn’t horrible, maybe even drop a consoling kiss on her forehead. Instead the annoying salesman reappeared and said to Doug, ‘Is she finished here? Can I change the channel back now?’
‘Sorry, yes, thanks very much.’ Realizing that most of the customers in the vicinity were watching them, Doug gathered himself and checked his watch. ‘Come on.’ He gave Lola’s shoulder a tap and said lightly, ‘Let’s get you back to the hospital before the nurses find out you’ve escaped.’
***
Blythe had washed her hair and changed out of the grown-up leaf-green suit. In her purple flowery top and pinstriped skirt and with the glossy, poker-straight blow-dry a thing of the past, she looked like herself again.
‘Wasn’t it awful? I felt like a clone!’ Hugging Lola, she said, ‘And the eyeliner! Never again!’
Malcolm, following Blythe into Lola’s flat, said, ‘She’s been going on about that blessed eyeliner all day.’
‘It’s all right for you,’ Blythe retorted, ‘you didn’t have to wear it.’
‘Maybe not, but I still had to go into make-up, didn’t I? Base, they put on my face.’ Malcolm shook his head in bafflement. ‘And powder! That was a first, I can tell you. Felt like Danny La Rue!’
‘Malcolm, I’m so sorry.’ Lola moved past her mother to greet him with a hug and a kiss on his freshly shaven cheek. ‘I never meant to make you feel bad about yourself… I’m so ashamed…’
‘Oh, there there, no need to apologize.’ Embarrassed, Malcolm said bashfully, ‘The thing is, you were right. I even knew it myself, just didn’t have the nerve
to try and change things on my own. When you’ve had a beard for twenty years you kind of get used to it. If anything,’ he told Lola, ‘I’m grateful to you for telling your mother I looked a fright.’
Ouch.
‘You look fantastic now.’ She stepped back and gazed at him, meaning every word.
‘He does, doesn’t he?’ Blythe nodded in agreement.
‘I’ve got rid of all my old sweaters,’ Malcolm said proudly. ‘The fashion woman told me to throw out anything with a pattern on it, and I have.’
‘She said that to me too,’ Blythe chimed in. ‘And I told her to take a running jump.’
‘We went to Marks and Spencer’s this afternoon and bought loads of new clothes. The fashion woman wrote me out a list. She said I shouldn’t wear sandals any more either.’
Lola decided she loved the fashion woman with all her heart. ‘Well, anyway, thank you for being so nice about it. And why are we still standing out here in the hallway? Come on in.’
‘Sorry, love, we can’t stop.’ Blythe beamed. ‘We only dropped by to show ourselves off to you. Well,’ she amended, ‘so that Malcolm could show himself off to you and I could let you see that I’m back to normal. We’ve got to get to the pub—it’s quiz night and everyone’s dying to hear about our time at the TV studios.’
It was on the tip of Lola’s tongue to ask her mother if she preferred Malcolm the way he looked now. But she already knew the answer. Malcolm might be pleased with his makeover but it wouldn’t make an ounce of difference to the way Blythe felt about him, because external appearances were simply irrelevant as far as she was concerned. What counted was the person within.
Worse, Lola knew she was right. Maybe it would help to get Dougie out of her system if she could try a bit harder to fancy EJ instead.
Chapter 45
‘That’s thirteen–three,’ Nick called out. ‘Ready? Or do you want to stop for a couple of minutes to catch your breath?’
