‘You know what? I feelfiiine.’ A slight overstatement, but what the hell. ‘But I look kinda Stepford-Wife-Beige, right?’ The pair don’t exactly join in with my nodding head. ‘So, I was thinking, you could help me. Both of you.’ Grasping the end of my ponytail in one hand, I use the other to slice the blades clean through the pale strands. The room is silent but for the sound of their sharp gasps.
‘So, this is what’s gonna happen.’ I place the length of my ponytail on the table. ‘You’re going to give me a totally new look,’ I say, pointing the scissors at Ivy. ‘And you’re gonna make it fabulous. ‘And you,’ I demand of Nat, pointing the scissors again. ‘Are going to get me a large glass of something alcoholic, because at some point tonight, I’m going to get so fucking drunk.’ As I put the scissors down, I’m not sure what I’d expected as a reaction, but it wasn’t this. ‘You look like a couple of guppies. Come on, chop-chop!’ At the sound of my clapping hands, the pair jump. ‘I thought we were going out tonight?’
Ivy did a great job, even if she did look kinda scared as she cut and styled. I don’t recall the last time I had short hair, and I love that my sophisticated highlights have mostly gone. I move my head from side to side loving the swish of hair against my jaw and run my hands through it, adoring the length and the bluntness of the cut, absolutely digging my Betty Paige bangs. It’s a fun haircut, but still grown-up. Sexy and kinda kick-ass. It’s a cut that demands the same standard of clothing, so while we may just be heading to one of the village pubs, I pull out the works—I even shave my legs and some other stuff—a black super tight silk jersey skirt that looks almost like it’s been spray painted on, teamed with a one off silk blouse. I’d picked this up in Paris last year; I love the pussy-bow front and diaphanous sleeves. Plus, according to Ivy, the green brings out the same tones in my eyes. Nice underwear, pulled from the back of the tiny drawers, heavy denier jet black hose and sky-high heels.
‘Sophisticated and flirty and on the right side of thirty.’
‘Is that for yourSnatch dot comprofile?’ Natasha plonks down a shot glass of something dark looking and sweet smelling in front of me, raising a matching one to her lips.
‘My what?’
Drawing in a breath through her teeth, she does a liquor induced whole body shake. ‘You know, the dating site.’
‘I wouldn’t know where to start. Especially after the whole marriage thing.’
‘Committed?’ she asks. I nod. ‘Anyone who wants to get married should be committed,’ she says. ‘To a psychiatric ward.’ My head turns sharply to hers, but then I remember; Natasha’s mum died young and her dad was never on the scene much. That’s how she came to live with June. ‘Like my mother used to say, anyone can make a mistake. It’s when a person insists on repeating the same mistake that you’ve got to worry for their sanity.’
It might also explain how she is with men.
‘What makes you think I’m looking to get involved with anyone again?’Ever.My gaze returns to my reflection as I swipe dark eyeliner across my eyelid. ‘Nothing has changed today.’ I’m not sure which of us I’m trying to convince more.
‘Here, sit down. Let me do it,’ she says, almost manhandling me onto the bed, moments later handing me the compact from my make-up bag. ‘There.’ The mirror is so small I have to examine each eye in turn, but she’s given me a pair of perfect winged lines.
‘That looks great, Nat.’ And it really does—all I need now is a bright lipstick to finish my retro look. ‘My eyeliner game’s pretty weak.’
‘Your whole make-up game is pish, you mean. You need to start putting in a bit of effort. Your face hasn’t so much as seen a lick of moisturiser in weeks. I’d give you the sunscreen lecture, only you never leave this place.’
‘The sun only shines in Scotland, what, maybe twice a year? I look like an anaemic vampire, more like.’
‘Shut it. You still look sun kissed compared to the rest of us.’
‘Not the ones who worship at the spray booth.’ She doesn’t smile, just peers at me as though waiting for some sincerity.
‘Look, I know,’ I say quietly. ‘I’ve just... ’
‘Stopped caring,’ she says softly. ‘Well, it’s time to start again.’ She touches the edges of my eyes with her thumbs; it could be to straighten my eyeliner or to wipe away the sudden appearance of a tear. ‘This suits you. Your peepers look even more like cat’s eyes now.’
My return smile is still watery, though I’m pretty sure there was a compliment lurking somewhere there. It’s nice of her to say so, though I think my eyes are pretty unspectacular. I suppose by cats, she could mean I’ve that greeny-blue common-or-garden moggy look.
Still standing in front of me, she folds her arms. It could be a defensive stance but for the expression on her face.
‘Come on. Spit it out.’
‘You’ll tell me to shut it, but I think dating might be a good idea.’
‘Dating?’ I repeat, bewildered. ‘Nothing’s changed for me, Nat.’
‘You keep saying that, but it’s not true. He might still be dead, but he cheated on you. Cheatedyou.’
‘I’m aware.’ At least I am now. ‘And dating’s not going to solve that.’
‘Well, it’s not going to bring him back so you can kill him again, but I think you need, I don’t know, training wheels?’ Nat is sometimes off the wall, but she’s usually coherent. ‘Stabilisers. Like what little kids have on bikes.’
‘I know what they are, I’m just wondering what drug you’re on right now.’ I stare up at her, perplexed and sort of shaking my head. ‘You’vegotto be on something.’ I begin to stand from the bed when she holds out a forestalling hand.
‘Just hear me out. Getting back to dating sites—’
‘We were talking about dating sites?’
