“You’re turning thirty soon. It’s time you learned to dress for your shape,” Rebecca added.
“But I like these tops. They’re comfortable.”
“Comfortable is not the point,” Rebecca said with the exasperated tone of a teacher talking to a particularly stupid student. “Do you think I’m comfy in the skirt suits I wear to work every day, the stiletto heels that kill my feet? Of course not. But I dress like that because I know that appearance matters.”
“That’s a bit anti-feminist, isn’t it?” Tom said, and Libby nearly choked on a cherry tomato. She’d barely heard Tom speak since she’d been here, let alone challenge his wife.
“That’s easy for you to say,” Rebecca said, glaring at him. “You can swan into work in your jeans and trainers and no one bats an eyelid. But, as depressing as it is to admit this, what women weardoesaffect how people perceive us. If I dressed like you, no one would take me seriously at work.”
“But still, are you suggesting Libby needs a haircut and new clothes in order to win Simon back? Because that sounds pretty outdated to me.”
“We’re not saying that, Tom, dear,” Pauline said. “But I think Libby’s lack of—how should I put it?—care in her appearance may send out a message that she doesn’t care about herself. And who would want to be in a relationship with someone who doesn’t love themselves?”
“Any chance of a top-up?” Libby’s dad said, signaling his empty champagne flute.
“Plus, a bit of physical improvement can do wonders for your self-esteem,” Pauline continued. “Remember when Hector was two weeks old and I gave Rebecca that size eight designer dress as an incentive to lose the baby weight? You were back to your old shape in four months, weren’t you, darling?”
“I was,” Rebecca said, although Libby thought she saw her wince slightly at the memory.
“And I can’t help thinking Libby might also feel better about herself if she looked in the mirror and saw a nice haircut and a pair of jeans that actually fitted properly,” Pauline added.
“I might feel better about myself if my family stopped talking about me as if I wasn’t here,” Libby mumbled, but no one was listening.
“Maybe I could come up one day and we could go to the big John Lewis on Oxford Street?” her mum said. “It’s ages sincewe’ve had a girlie day together, and we could find you some nice new dresses.”
“Sure,” Libby said with a resigned shrug.
“I’ll message Antoni and see if he can squeeze you in for an appointment this week,” Rebecca said, reaching for her phone.
“Mum, I’ve had enough. Can I go and play with my train set?” Hector said.
“Fine,” Rebecca said, not looking up from her screen.
“I’ll come and help you,” Libby said, standing up quickly.
“I don’t need—” Hector started to say, but he must have seen the look in Libby’s eyes, because he stopped, took her hand, and led her out of the room.
CHAPTER
6
Have you got your packed lunch?” Libby asked Hector as she opened the front door the next morning.
“Check.”
“Wellies for forest school?”
“Check.”
“Jet pack for mission to Mars?”
“Check!”
“Great, let’s go.”
They set off down the road, Hector leaping and skipping along the pavement with the enthusiasm of Tigger fromWinnie-the-Pooh,with Libby following him, trying not to yawn. She’d thought she would have got used to Hector’s energy levels by now, but two weeks in and she was more exhausted than ever. Since that fateful night when Simon had asked for a break, she had felt as though her battery had been drained and she was constantly shattered.
Once she’d dropped Hector at preschool, Libby made her way to the nearest bus stop. The traffic was heavy this morning, but after a ten-minute wait, an 88 pulled up and Libby boarded, climbed to the upper deck, and sat down in the front-right-hand seat, dumping her bag on the floor. She’d plannedto spend the day at home job hunting, but this morning, Rebecca had announced with much fanfare that her hairdresser could squeeze Libby in. She’d tried to protest, but as usual Libby had been steamrollered by her sister. She cringed at the thought of what was to come. Libby had always hated getting her hair cut. As a child, she remembered countless hairdressers staring in dismay at her chaotic ginger curls, before telling her mother that there wasonly so much that could be done with hair like this. Matters weren’t helped by the fact that Rebecca had long, silky brown hair that their mother had spent hours plaiting into elaborate styles, while the most Libby ever got was her mum swearing as she tried to drag a comb through the knots. Simon had always said he loved Libby’s hair, although he sometimes teased her that she looked like Merida fromBrave.
