Chapter 2
TWO
The store is busy once more the following morning, especially the beauty hall. A group of young women are browsing brightly coloured eyeshadows, some with extra sparkle, probably in anticipation of Christmas parties. A free sample of a moisturising cream on special offer is also helping sales along nicely.
‘What’s so good about this cream then?’ A woman turns a jar over, and examines the contents. ‘And what exactly is hyaluronic acid? Surely that can’t be right, putting acid on your face.’ She grimaces.
‘I’m sure it’s perfectly safe,’ I say with a beaming smile, even though I’m not exactly sure myself. ‘It’s supposed to plump out lines, and give the skin a more youthful appearance,’ I add, sounding more confident than I am.
‘Hmm,’ says the woman looking doubtful, before placing the cream back down. ‘My mum is coming up for eighty and she has the most beautiful skin, and she used a cheap cold cream from the chemist for decades,’ she tells me. ‘She was gutted when they discontinued it, so I thought I’d buy her a new one. Never mind, maybe I will buy her a new dressing gown instead,’ she says, but not before dipping her fingers into the sample jar and rubbing it into her hands. She wanders off towards the clothes department then, leaving me googling hyaluronic acid which it turns out is perfectly safe.
I’m thinking about the Christmas party at the community centre, and wondering if I ought to add a little extra gift for the pensioners? There are drawers full of scent and make-up samples, so I’m sure the store manager won’t mind. And how lovely it would be for them, alongside the box of fancy chocolates they usually get inside a little goodie bag. I can’t wait to see their happy faces when we serve them lunch and hand out presents.
‘I’ll text you,’ I hear a good-looking bloke in gym gear say as he hands Gemma her phone back, before heading towards the door. I also notice his wedding ring as he does so. I vaguely recognise him from the pub, but I can’t be certain as everything was a bit of a blur after the third gin. Gemma slides her phone back into her pocket before serving a young man holding some tartan slippers in a box, probably a present for his dad.
I don’t have time to dwell on the married bloke though as a mum and daughter head to my counter, the mum asking for some advice about a foundation. I direct her to a chair at a make-up station to try out some samples.
‘I never used to be this pale,’ says the mum. ‘Everything fades when you get older.’ She sighs.
‘Nonsense, you have lovely eyes,’ I tell her and mean it. They are a rich brown. ‘And great eyelids. Not hooded at all, which is unusual as you get older.’
‘Oh, thanks.’ She smiles.
‘And don’t worry, we can look at fixing any paleness you’re unhappy with using the correct colour foundation,’ I tell her.
‘Oh lovely, I can’t wait to see you work your magic,’ she says excitedly. ‘But don’t worry, I’m not expecting miracles.’
Having selected a suitable shade of foundation and applying it to her face, she selects a bronze-coloured eyeshadow. After a swirl of mascara and a slick of caramel lip gloss, I pass her the mirror and she is delighted with the results.
‘How lovely, is that really me?’ She smiles, clearly pleased. ‘I should come here every week.’
‘Well, these products suit your colouring. I’m sure you will do just fine applying them yourself, with a little practice,’ I reassure her.
‘Thank you so much.’ She can’t resist taking another look at herself in the mirror and smiling.
‘That was just the tonic,’ the daughter whispers to me. ‘Mum’s been a bit down in the dumps lately, since her brother passed away. We’re off to the theatre now. Mum looks fantastic, I can’t thank you enough.’
‘Happy to help.’ As the daughter hands over her card and pays for the make-up items I slip a couple of free samples into her bag.
Watching the daughter thread her arm through her mum’s and head off, the mum still smiling broadly, I think of my relationship with my own mum.
Mum has never been one for the girlie shopping and lunch thing, preferring to catch up at the green café for an oatmeal decaff, or at the local food bank where she volunteers. Occasionally, we will take a beach walk to look for driftwood that she fashions into all manner of things and sometimes sells to shops. I must admit it would be lovely to have a spa day together, lounging around and chatting in between some beauty treatments and sipping a glass of something, but that isn’t really Mum’s thing. Still, we are very close, and I have happy memories as a child, doing lots of family stuff, before she and Dad broke up.
Mum almost has a heart attack every time she calls in to Bentham’s to say hi, wondering how people can spend money on such luxuries, including some fancy Christmas crackers with an eye-watering hundred-pound price tag.
‘What’s inside?’ she had asked last time she was in the shop as she examined the box. ‘Gold jewellery?’
‘No, but there is a very expensive bottle opener. Oh, and a pair of nice cufflinks. None of your plastic frogs in there.’
‘I think I can live without those,’ she had said, placing them down and shaking her head. ‘And who would I give the cufflinks to? Maybe I will have a go at making my own crackers this year.’
‘You don’t need to do that, Mum. I’ll buy some good crackers, although maybe not quite so expensive,’ I reassure her.
Mum and Dad separated six years ago and, if I’m honest, I think towards the end of the marriage Dad got a bit fed up with getting a lecture every time he bought a new shirt instead of buying one from a charity shop. Not to mention being dragged to protests about the destruction of the planet. When Mum glanced through the window of a local restaurant and caught him furtively eating steak and chips, you would have thought poor Dad was single-handedly responsible for the hole in the ozone layer. He told her he was sick of lentil stew and sleeping in recycled fabric bed sheets that felt like sleeping on a kitchen scourer and brought him out in a rash.
Looking back, I think the public row was the beginning of the end for them. Apparently, the poor waitress stood open-mouthed, unsure what to do with the impressive-looking ice cream sundae she was about to deposit at Dad’s table, that he told Mum was made with ‘proper milk and not that soya shite’.
Thankfully, I enjoy a pretty good relationship with both of my parents, and even though they can be in the same room together, I can’t imagine they will ever really see eye to eye, a fact they have come to accept.
Saying goodnight to everyone at the end of my shift, I head to the local Sainsbury’s to buy the ingredients I need for the red velvet cake from Bake Off . I do sometimes like to bake a traditional Christmas cake, but with Christmas puddings already sorted, I do like to have an option for people who don’t want an alcohol-soaked dessert, so might decorate the red velvet cake with Christmas cake toppers instead.
I fall into step with Gemma as we leave the store and into the twinkling lights of the high street. Gemma keeps glancing at her watch, I can’t help noticing.
‘Do you have to be somewhere?’ I ask her.
‘What? Oh yes, I’m meeting someone in the pub at eight,’ she says, not giving much away.
Gemma is a good friend and we have no secrets. Usually.
‘Who are you meeting?’ I ask as we walk.
‘Some bloke I met. I wasn’t going to say anything until I know how the date goes,’ she says casually.
‘It wouldn’t by any chance be the bloke you were talking to at the shop, would it?’
We have stopped outside Sainsbury’s.
‘Yes, as it happens.’ She smooths down her hair, something she always does when she’s nervous.
‘The one wearing the wedding ring?’ I raise an eyebrow.
‘Oh, Lauren, don’t judge me, please.’ She sighs. ‘He just seems nice. It’s a long time since I’ve been attracted to anyone.’ She looks down at the pavement.
‘Wait, you think I’m judging you?’ I tell her. ‘That’s not it at all. How about I’m a little concerned about you, that’s all. Is he at least separated?’
‘He says so, yes, although only recently. I’ve served him a few times now, and he seems genuine enough,’ she says, meeting my eyes.
‘Right.’
‘Right what?’ asks Gemma.
‘I was just wondering why he still wears his wedding ring if he is separated?’ I press.
I know she doesn’t want to hear it, but she’s my best friend and I do not want her getting hurt, or messed around by anyone.
‘I don’t know! Anyway, the truth is I’m getting a bit fed up staying in on a Saturday evening alone,’ she huffs. ‘I know that we go out sometimes’ – she holds her hands up – ‘so no offence, but I just want to have a little fun, that’s all.’
‘This is the second time you have told me I’m boring.’ I stick my nose in the air.
‘What? When have I ever said that?’ She looks aghast.
‘When you dragged me out for drinks after work yesterday. It messed up my baking session, not to mention my ice-cold shower. Oh gosh, that does sound really boring, doesn’t it?’
We both burst out laughing.
‘Yes. Do you tell people you can’t go out because you are washing your hair? And as for a cold shower, in this weather, really?’ She gives a little shiver.
‘The scientific benefits are well proven. Cold water therapy releases hundreds of endorphins that can set you up for the day,’ I inform her.
‘So can a bacon sandwich and a mug of tea and I know what I would rather have.’
I hope I haven’t become boring lately, although I did turn down a date from a guy I met at a pub recently, as I wanted to spend the evening cleaning the oven after a cake mix had spilled over. I simply could not leave it any longer, the fact I hadn’t had time to do it before heading to work had already stressed me out. I find ironing quite therapeutic too. And, let’s be honest, who doesn’t love a list that can be ticked off with satisfaction once a task has been completed?
I don’t turn down dates with female friends though, so maybe I just can’t be bothered with men. At this point in my life, at least.
‘Each to their own, I guess. I really am just concerned about you, that’s all,’ I tell Gemma softly. ‘What kind of a friend would I be if I wasn’t? Let’s hope it’s a real separation and he doesn’t go back to his wife.’
‘I promise to be careful. I’ll be off like a shot if he’s lying about his marital status, don’t you worry,’ she assures me.
‘Good, because I don’t want you to be implicated in someone’s divorce proceedings.’
‘I know, and I am grateful for your concern, really I am.’ She touches me lightly on the arm as we head towards the supermarket. ‘Anyway, what are you buying from here?’ she asks, changing the subject as we step through the sliding doors at the entrance.
‘Ingredients for a red velvet cake. You?’
‘A bottle of gin.’
We look at each other and burst out laughing again.
‘I think my evening may just be a little more exciting than yours,’ she teases.
‘You may be right… Just be careful.’ I sigh once more.
‘I will,’ she reassures me, but I get a feeling she will not heed a single word I say.
I love Gemma, but we are so different. I couldn’t be involved with someone in such a complicated situation.