Of course, it was both sad and ridiculous that people took you on face value. Helen’s startling change of image some months back had opened the door to friendship and acceptance from other girls in her class that had previously been closed. That, coupled with the fact that her reading and writing abilities were improving by the day, meant her self-belief was growing.
The transformation had taken the most enormous amount of discipline. Helen was not blessed with a fast metabolism, plus most fatty foods brought her face out in spots and meanther skin swam in a sea of grease. She had shown herself no mercy. It had worked. She was fiercely proud. Helen chuckled as she thought of going back to Ireland in two weeks’ time. In truth, she wondered how many locals would recognise her.
Helen sprang up the steps and into the college. Nodding a hello to her fellow students, she made her way to the classroom at the very top of the building – the room she would always remember as the starting point of her metamorphosis.
‘Hi, Helen. Looking forward to the holidays?’ Samantha White, a blonde girl whom she sat next to in class, smiled at her.
‘Yes.’ Helen put her bag down and removed her jacket.
‘What a lovely suit. That colour really looks good with your skin tone. Another new one, is it?’
‘I got it from Biba last Saturday. Do you really think it suits me?’ Helen blushed with pleasure.
‘Yes, it’s fab.’
‘Thanks. Hi, Mags.’
‘Morning all.’ Mags sat down at the desk on the other side of Helen. She yawned loudly.
‘Heavy night, was it?’ Samantha raised her eyebrows.
‘Yep,’ nodded Mags.
‘Ah, well, you can lie in from tomorrow,’ said Helen by way of comfort.
‘Huh, I only wish I could. I have to be up to go to Devon at six o’clock in the morning with my parents. It’s the annual summer holiday. A month of wet weather in a damp house by a windswept beach, surrounded by cousins I can’t stand.’ Mags shook her head morosely. ‘This is the last time I go. I made a deal with Dad. I turn eighteen in November and I’m past family holidays.’
Helen looked at Mags, her lovely face a mask of displeasure, and thought how she’d love to be going on a holiday with her own family.
‘You’re going to miss my end-of-term party then,’ said Samantha. ‘That’s a shame. It’s going to be a blinder. My brother’s inviting loads of his dishy friends and even our beloved tutor said he’ll make an appearance. Talk of the devil – here he comes,’ she whispered. ‘Mr Sexy himself. Blimey, he looks worse than you do, Mags,’ she giggled.
Tony Bryant walked to the front of the class. As usual in his presence, Helen felt her heart rate increase and the palms of her hands become sweaty.
‘Morning, all.’ Tony slapped his battered brown briefcase onto the table, then leant on the edge of it himself. ‘Well, well.’ His eyes surveyed the class. ‘I’ve not seen you all looking so bright-eyed and bushy-tailed at any point over the past year.’ He opened up his briefcase and took out a sheaf of papers. ‘Sam, love, would you save my weary legs and hand these out, please? The names are on the top left-hand side.’
‘Of course, Mr Bryant.’
Samantha stood up, took the papers and began to place one on each desk.
‘These, my dear scholastic ones, are your marked and corrected first-year exam papers. And if I were most of you, I would not be smiling this morning. This time next year, the marks will be for real. Based on what you have just produced, eighty per cent of you would fail miserably. I know it’s the last day of term and I don’t want to be a killjoy, but I think a good few of you should take a serious look at whether you’re prepared to come back in September and work doubly hard to make up for lost time. Anyway’ – Tony shrugged – ‘it’s your money you’re wasting, not mine.’ He slapped his thighs. ‘Okay, lecture over. Now I’m going to tell you who has scored the overall best marks for the year. This is the only person that I feel is entitled to a good eight-week holiday, and a serious celebration of her achievements over the past nine months.’Tony pointed. ‘Helen, come and collect this amazing prize of a box of Milk Tray to mark your victory.’
Helen knew she was the only student with that name in the class, but she was so staggered, she found she couldn’t move.
‘Come on, Helen.’ Tony was smiling at her, proffering the box of chocolates.
She stood up and the class broke into spontaneous applause.
Blushing madly and hardly able to look Tony in the eye, she took the box of chocolates.
‘Well done,’ he smiled at her warmly.
‘Thanks,’ she muttered and went back to her seat.
The rest of the day passed in a blur for Helen. That night she went home and put the Milk Tray on the table by the window, sat in her chair and stared at the box. She wondered how long chocolates lasted, because she would never eat them. She wanted to frame them instead.
The next morning, Helen went to Mary Quant and bought herself a bright lemon mini-dress to wear to Samantha’s party. After, she went to her usual salon to have her hair trimmed and blow-dried, then spent the afternoon painting her nails, bathing in scented water, and trying out different make-up looks to see which went best with her new dress.
By seven o’clock she was ready. Helen hailed a taxi so as not to have the wind spoil her hair.
