Chapter 8
I’m at Mel’s house, sitting on her living room floor, surrounded by beauty supplies. Outside, rain taps softly against the windows, so it’s actually quite cosy that the whole house smells faintly of fake tan and the vanilla candles that are burning to mask the smell.
Angie is on the sofa, scrolling on her phone, waiting for the two of us to get ready.
I did think I had turned up ready but, no, Mel doesn’t agree.
Mel who is currently buzzing around, preparing her waxing kit, while I try to find the right words to say to get her to back off.
Unsurprisingly, saying ‘no’ didn’t work.
‘Lia, trust me, you’ll feel amazing once it’s done,’ Mel says as she stirs hot wax with a wooden spoon.
‘Mel, I really don’t think I need a full-body wax,’ I insist, sitting up straight.
‘Trust me,’ Mel insists again. ‘We’ll start with your eyebrows and work our way down. I’ll even do your toes if you need it.’
Do my toes need waxing? I don’t think I’ve ever looked at them that closely.
It’s been two weeks since our first night out, which means it’s been two weeks of Mel practising her beauty services on me.
‘Okay, how about we just do my legs?’ I suggest, negotiating, because the thought of having my bikini line done here in the living room, in front of Angie, sounds horrendous.
‘Well, all right, we’ll do your legs,’ she tells me. ‘You won’t regret it. You’ll want the rest done. You’ll be begging me.’
I don’t doubt that last part. I’m just glad she’s stopped messing with the hair on my head.
Maybe freshly waxed legs will bring me luck tonight – maybe tonight might finally be the night I bump into Mr L again.
It’s been two weeks since we got locked in the toilets together, and I’ve spent every moment since trying to find him.
It’s ridiculous, and now I really do feel like Joe from You, hanging around at the pub, keeping an eye out for him.
At this point, I’ve spent so many chilly evenings in The Hopeful Ghost pretending I casually fancy a mulled cider that the staff probably think I’ve got problems at home – which isn’t technically untrue.
I even turned to Google, to see what I could find, before realising that not only is that unhinged behaviour, but I don’t have enough info to look him up anyway.
He hasn’t been back to the pub, at least not when I’ve been there.
I know almost nothing about him – just a bit of his name and his love for The Godfather so, unless the local cinema hosts a screening of it, I’m not sure where else I can hope to bump into him.
‘All right, first strip,’ Mel announces excitedly, snapping me out of my thoughts. She applies the wax and places the strip on my leg. ‘Ready?’
‘No,’ I say, bracing myself.
Mel yanks the strip off, and I scream.
‘Fuck, fuck, fuck – why is that so painful?’ I cry out.
Angie looks up from her phone, amused.
‘Do you want something to bite on for the next one?’ she asks.
I shake my head vigorously.
‘No, I can’t do this,’ I tell them, finding my voice. ‘I’ll stick with my mostly stubbly legs, thank you very much.’
Mel looks disappointed but nods.
‘Fine, fine. Some people can take it, some can’t,’ she says. ‘How about I do your make-up instead? I’ve been practising my smoky eyes, and I have a lip stain that will go perfectly.’
She holds up a little palette full of warm browns, burnt oranges and copper shimmer that actually looks quite nice.
I sigh with relief. Anything but more waxing.
‘Okay, sure,’ I say. ‘Just… gently, please.’
Mel smiles triumphantly.
‘It’s going to look fab, trust me,’ she says, grabbing her make-up bag. ‘And tonight is the night we’re going to find you a man, any man, to go home with. Honestly, you’ve been home two weeks. Single-me would’ve had at least five men by now.’
I don’t trust her at all. Not with my make-up or finding me a man.
As Mel starts on my make-up, I close my eyes and try to relax. Anything is better than the waxing.
Thank God I didn’t let her near my bikini line.