“Look, after leaving Rhys, I really needed a friend, and that’s what Connor’s become. There’s nothing more to it than that.”
She shrugs. “I believe you, thousands wouldn’t.”
We set about gathering our hair and make-up tools together as we continue chatting.
“So, what does Mr Brown Eyes do for a living? Please tell me he’s a firefighter…”
I giggle. “He’s a chef. He’s sous-chef at The Nightingale, actually. He’s working tonight, so chances are, his very hands are going to prepare the food you eat.”
“I like a man who’s good with his hands.” Vi wiggles her eyebrows at me, making me giggle again. That’s two giggles in two minutes, so I come to the conclusion that the wine I’ve been served must be near-pure alcohol. I take another sip.
Violet frowns when she spots the pathetic collection of hair and make-up tools I’ve set out on her bed.
“Is that it?” she asks in disbelief.
“I’m rubbish with that sort of thing, so I just keep it simple, generally.”
Whenever I try to style my hair and apply my own make-up I end up looking terrible. Don’t get me wrong, I’m used to looking terrible, but there’s something about putting in a lot of effort only to end up looking like a pig in lipstick that fractures my self-esteem a little more every time. So it’s safer to stick with my usual look and know from the start that I won’t be looking anything special; that way I won’t get my hopes up.
“Well, this won’t do if we’re going to catch the attention of a sous-chef!” Vi gathers my make-up bag, brush and straighteners and practically throws them back into my bag.
“But I don’t want—”
“Oh, shush.” Violet takes me by the hand and pushes me to sit on the bed, then turns on the music on her phone and grabs her own make-up bag. “Let your fairy godmother take care of this!”
Chapter 14
Lost cause
This was a big mistake. The biggest of big mistakes. The time I asked the Chair of Governors at a job interview when her baby was due, only to find out she wasn’t pregnant? This is bigger.
I sit at the round table in the centre of The Nightingale looking down at my lap and regretting all of my choices from the last two hours.
Mistake number one: I shouldn’t have let Violet do my hair and make-up – I must look ridiculous, drawing unwanted attention to myself.
Mistake number two: I should not have worn this damn dress. The beautiful fabric is stretched across my tummy, so I’ve had to order a salad in case I bloat from eating anything else. I’m quite sure the dress would split at the seams if I did.
Mistake number three: I shouldn’t have finished my glass of vinegar-wine at Vi’s. Or the two she poured for me after that. I thought it would loosen me up and help me to relax during what I knew was going to be a stressful evening, but all it’s done sofar is make walking in the heels I’ve borrowed from Violet near impossible. So, like a responsible adult, I told myself I should stick to soft drinks for a while. Then I ordered a large roséanyway.
Mistake number four: I simply shouldn’t have come out in the first place. My social battery is already running on fumes after a full day in school and two hours at Violet’s house. I feel uncomfortable in my own skin and even more uncomfortable in my outfit, so I’ve ended up sitting wallowing in my own self-pity, which I’m worried is bringing everyone else down. Everyone would be having a better time if I weren’t here.
So I’m picking at my salad, feeling impossibly lonely in a room full of people. Feeling unworthy of their time and kindness. Feeling my self-hatred overwhelm all other emotions, one thought at a time.
“Excuse me!” Violet’s shrill, slurred voice catches my attention from my left. She clicks her fingers at a waiter. “Excuse me!”
The middle-aged man in a white shirt and black tie strolls over to us. “Yes, Miss?”
“My friend here,” she says, pointing at me –what is she doing?– “she said her salad is the best she’s ever tasted. She even said it was like an ‘orgasm in her mouth’. Would you mind letting them know in the kitchen?”
The waiter stares at her in disbelief. “You want me to tell them the salad was like an orgasm in your friend’s mouth?” He whispers the last bit.
I, beyond mortified, sink lower into my chair.
“Well, if you’re not comfortable with that, you could always ask someone from the kitchen to come to us, and we’ll tell them ourselves?”
Ah, now I see what she’s doing.
“Vi…”
