‘Always. My favourite part!’
I switched my ring light on and tilted Mum’s face towards the window, cleansing, then toning with a cotton pad. She was merciless in her skincare regime, and it showed – I only had to brush on a tiny amount of foundation and her peachy skin turned instantly luminous. You’d never have guessed she was knocking on sixty.
‘Shall we try aGentlemen Prefer Blondeslook?’ I asked, bringing up the photos on my phone.
‘I’d love that!’ Mum beamed. ‘Can I have the extra-long eyelashes?’
‘Go on then. Seeing as it’s a special occasion.’ I rifled around in my bag for the red lipsticks and metallic pencils. ‘Look straight at me,’ I said, as Mum flashed her eyes in my direction. I steadied my hand, and smoothed a pale, gold eyeshadow over her lids with a smudge of violet around the edges. Her eyes looked enormous even before I’d added a slick of eyeliner, and three coats of mascara. Marilyn would have been proud.
‘Trowel it on, love,’ Mum said, with a chuckle. ‘Let’s turn some heads.’
‘Trying to keep Dad on his toes?’ I quipped, spritzing her with setting spray.
‘I just feel so much better when my hair’s done, and my face is on. You know that. But yes, it’s important to keep the flame burning. It’s too late to send him back now!’
‘Half an hour, Anna,’ Dad shouted up the stairs.
‘Although sometimes I wish I could…’ she said, rolling her eyes.
She didn’t mean it. Mum and Dad were life-long lobsters, classic old romantics, and staunch believers in regular date nights as the key to their marital success. I did Mum’s make-up at least twice a month for her dates with Dad, and they were always off out somewhere, to an art gallery, the cinema, the pub for dinner – occasionally London Zoo. They made time for one another, which was lovely, but it was just as lovely for me and Mum to have a regular mother-daughter slot in. She was always so happy when I’d finished doing her make-up – and her delicate features and supermodel cheekbones deserved to be showcased.
‘OK, I think I’m done,’ I said, dusting on a final touch of bronzer, and spinning her round to face the mirror.
‘Ooh, Abi!!!’ Mum said, wide-eyed and beaming. ‘You’ve outdone yourself! I don’t look half-bad, do I?’ She studied her face from every angle, then held up a second mirror to admire her hair at the back.
‘Stunning, as always,’ I said, blowing her a kiss and packing my things away.
‘Thank you, my darling. Thank you for dropping everything for your dear old mum. I know you’ve got a busy day sorting out Kat’s party.’
‘I’ve always got time for you, Mum.’
We made our way downstairs, where Dad was waiting in the hallway, wringing his hands like an expectant parent, with Radio 2 blaring in the background. His eyes softened when he saw us.
‘Wow!’ he whispered. ‘Anna.’
‘What do you think, Dad? Some like it hot, eh? Forty years on.’
‘Still as beautiful as the day she walked down the aisle,’ he said.
Mum blushed and gave him a twirl. ‘Do you think?’
Dad nodded proudly, and Chris wolf whistled. ‘Looking good, Mum.’
Click, swipe, Uber on the way. Eight minutes. Excellent. The day was running away with me, and I had to get home, get ready, and get over to the pub as quickly as possible.
‘Thanks for coming over, love,’ Dad said, giving me a hug goodbye.
Chris held his hand up for a high five. ‘Big sis’ saving the day as always.’
‘No worries, love you all. Have a great time!’
‘Happy birthday to Kat from us,’ Mum said, giving me a kiss.
The Uber driver came hurtling down the road and screeched to a halt outside the front door.
‘Abi Mason for Islington?’
‘That’s me, thanks!’ I got in and threw my bags on the seat, leaning against the headrest with a sigh. Thank God for cabs. I was tired and achy and glad to be on my way home. I watched the three of them in the rearview mirror as we sped off. Chris on the doorstep in his strange, fox onesie, which couldn’t be doing much to help the Em situation. Dad in his standard date uniform of navy cords and a starched, white shirt, and Mum dressed to kill, looking like a film star. They were quite the trio.
