‘And we can drink amazing wine and I can show you the sunrise… and the sunset.’
‘You and that sunset! You’re obsessed!’
‘So will you be when you see it. The artist in you won’t be able to resist painting it.’
‘I’ve got more photos of Tuscan sunsets on my phone, than of my own mother! No wonder I’ve got no storage left.’
‘It must be about time to see the real thing then. What do I need to do to get you out here?’
‘I’ll think about it, OK?’ I said, not wanting to make any promises. ‘Once I’ve sorted out the flat, maybe I can come out for a long weekend, or something.’
‘Well think about it hard. The clock is ticking, and if you’ve only got a month, it would be a shame to waste it in front of your laptop. There’s a beautiful vineyard up the road that has just started doing bed and breakfast, so I’ll make some enquiries. In case you want to be unpredictable and spontaneous and comethis weekendfor example?’
I laughed. ‘Unlikely, but thanks.’
‘I just miss you. And this feels like a real chance to take a break – even better that it’s being paid for by someone else.’
I cradled the phone into my shoulder and plucked Holly’s latest postcard off the fridge. She was right. I’d been saying I’d go and visit for far too long. I needed to be a better friend. The truth was that I hadn’t flown anywhere for years and the thought of it made my stomach drop. I’d always loved travelling when I was younger, but that felt like a lifetime ago. These days, the idea of trusting myself to an unknown pilot and rocketing into the sky in a metal box, kind of terrified me.
*
It was only 12.30 p.m. and I debated getting started with freeing up my storage but decided lunch at Chez Margot would be a better use of time and a lovely way to kick off my new-found freedom. I messaged Kat and Sara, to see if either of them could sneak out for an extended lunch hour.
Kat:Sorry hun, it’s absolute chaos here. There’s been a data breach by one of my team and the paps have just turned up. I can still meet Friday night though?
There seemed to be a different drama every day at the PR agency Kat worked at. Constant chaos and stress across her clients. Product recalls, adulterous scandals, flash-mob takeovers. A lot of high pressure and high drama, navigating different spokespeople through the press and hoping they said the right thing. Kat was my messy, wild friend; always out for the night, room for one more drink, chatting with everyone and flirting with all the guys. Fun-time Kat. As long as it was outside working hours, clearly.
Sara:Lunch hour? What’s that?! LOL Nice try, no can do xx
It was a stupid question really. Not much last-minute flex in a lawyer’s schedule. I tried my brother, who always had plenty of time on his hands since taking another ‘career’ break at the grand old age of twenty-eight, having not yet chosen one, as far as I could tell.
Chris:I’m already out for lunch with a couple of mates – at Pizza Express in Soho if you wanna join?
God, no, I couldn’t think of anything worse. It was fine, I’d go to Margot’s on my own – I didn’t need anyone to escort me, and I really fancied one of her charcuterie boards all to myself. No bread, no butter, just a plateful of deliciously thin meats and a side of cornichons. I got on a London bike and cycled through Kings Cross and Russell Square, amazed at how many people were out and about. It seemed to be either groups of tourists or parents chasing after their kids. Dogs dive-bombing into picnics while the Pret brigade marched by with their fifteen-minute sandwiches, before heading back to eat at the laptop. No to all of that. Give me Margot’s place any day.
There was a gentle summer breeze as I clanked along. The bike was harder work than it should have been in the heat, and I was looking forward to an ice-cold Sauvignon, or two.
Chez Margot had been mine and Holly’s glamorous spot, our little payday treat, when we lived together in our Marylebone shoebox. Those two years as flat mates had been so much fun. Both finding our way with our careers – Holly on a grad scheme, and me as a paid intern with the BBC. Holly had always been my make-up guinea pig, as I moved from scribbling on my Barbies, to grinding up Mum’s eyeshadow. Our ‘get ready with me’ YouTube videos had been legendary in high school and were where I finally got the hang of blending and contouring. Saturday nights, first dates, birthday parties, Graduation Day, whenever there was a big occasion, I’d be there with my make-up box of tricks to help everyone get ready.
There was something magical about taking my pencils and powders and turning someone into their best self, highlighting their qualities and surprising them with a new look. I could transform Holly from day-Barbie to disco-Barbie in less than ten minutes, with a pale pink eyeshadow, a gold dot in just the right place, a luminous cream, and a dusting of shimmery powder. And the beauty side of make-up was just the start of it. Halloween was always a treat. Holly and I would deliberately go into the supermarket to buy snacks before we got into our costumes and laugh at the horror on people’s faces as they saw a bloody gash on my cheek or an infected scab on Holly’s neck. ‘It’s just make-up,’ we’d say, and shrug it off.
But there was no such thing as just make-up. Make-up was like a magic door. It could turn anyone into anything they wanted to be. I’d watch TikToks with fascination as children turned themselves into grannies, men into drag queens, women into cats; step by step using only make-up. I used to practise for hours in front of the mirror at home and occasionally Chris would let me do him a smoky eye. Brotherly love. I still had the photos of The Day of the Dead party at university, where we’d won dinner at Nando’s and a bottle of vodka for our costumes, and I was a hero in our student house for a month. It made me happy to make people happy. Spreading joy and wonder through make-up was something that had fascinated me ever since Mum and Dad had first taken me to the theatre to seeThe Lion King. The craft and imagination to create the animals – a visual spectacle of make-believe, taking audiences on safari for a few hours each night, without them ever having to leave their seats.
After applying for every make-up job in London and being rejected, I finally got a job assisting the assistant make-up artist onThe Phantom of the Opera. I always knew it would happen eventually. Make-up was the only thing I’d ever wanted to do. Bringing out the best in people – or their darkest side, depending on the brief. And once I was in, I was in. The theatre world was a tight-knit community and we all looked out for each other.
‘Hey, Margot,’ I called, as I walked into the restaurant. It was unusually quiet, with only two tables of two, chowing down in different corners. The sun was shining, and it was a relief to get into the cool of the restaurant, the wood somehow absorbing the heat in the air.
‘Abi!Salut!Ça va?’ She gave me a double kiss, then stood back to look at me. ‘I haven’t seen you for a while. You have been busy,non? Always so busy.’
‘Non-stop,’ I said, with a smile. ‘But finally, a day off, and I couldn’t wait to come over. You know I get withdrawal symptoms from your cooking.’
‘Well, it is wonderful to see you,’ she said, leading me over to a table.
‘Can I eat at the bar?’ I didn’t much fancy a table for one.
‘Of course!’ she said, changing direction. ‘Now, where are we? Wednesday. But Wednesday is your double show though,non? Isn’t it the matinee?’ Margot was nonchalant, but she didn’t miss a trick. And to be fair, it was pretty unusual for me to rock up in the middle of the week, in the middle of the day. I hesitated, not sure how much I wanted to share. I didn’t want it to sound like… I’d been sacked.
‘I’m not at the theatre anymore, Margot. I started a new job this week on a movie,’ I replied, choosing my words carefully. ‘But there was a mix-up with the team, and I was double-booked.’
