Chapter 17
Helen stepped off the bus and walked along Baker Street.
It was the last day of the summer term and a beautiful bright morning.
As she went to cross the road, the sound of two young lads wolf-whistling caught her attention.
She looked up at the scaffolding, and the men’s eyes seemed to be fixed on her.
Scanning the area, she confirmed that there were no other young females in sight.
The ‘compliment’, as offensive as some others found it, must have been meant for her.
She smiled in secret delight and thought how much she’d accomplished since she’d first taken this short walk from the bus stop to college.
No longer was she the plain, gawky girl from Ballymore.
Feeling a surge of confidence, Helen blew the men a kiss, to rapturous cheering. She giggled.
Of course, it was both sad and ridiculous that people took you on face value.
Helen’s startling change of image some months back had opened the door to friendship and acceptance from other girls in her class that had previously been closed.
That, coupled with the fact that her reading and writing abilities were improving by the day, meant her self-belief was growing.
The transformation had taken the most enormous amount of discipline.
Helen was not blessed with a fast metabolism, plus most fatty foods brought her face out in spots and meant her skin swam in a sea of grease.
She had shown herself no mercy. It had worked.
She was fiercely proud. Helen chuckled as she thought of going back to Ireland in two weeks’ time.
In truth, she wondered how many locals would recognise her.
Helen sprang up the steps and into the college. Nodding a hello to her fellow students, she made her way to the classroom at the very top of the building – the room she would always remember as the starting point of her metamorphosis.
‘Hi, Helen. Looking forward to the holidays?’ Samantha White, a blonde girl whom she sat next to in class, smiled at her.
‘Yes.’ Helen put her bag down and removed her jacket.
‘What a lovely suit. That colour really looks good with your skin tone. Another new one, is it?’
‘I got it from Biba last Saturday. Do you really think it suits me?’ Helen blushed with pleasure.
‘Yes, it’s fab.’
‘Thanks. Hi, Mags.’
‘Morning all.’ Mags sat down at the desk on the other side of Helen. She yawned loudly.
‘Heavy night, was it?’ Samantha raised her eyebrows.
‘Yep,’ nodded Mags.
‘Ah, well, you can lie in from tomorrow,’ said Helen by way of comfort.
‘Huh, I only wish I could. I have to be up to go to Devon at six o’clock in the morning with my parents.
It’s the annual summer holiday. A month of wet weather in a damp house by a windswept beach, surrounded by cousins I can’t stand.
’ Mags shook her head morosely. ‘This is the last time I go. I made a deal with Dad. I turn eighteen in November and I’m past family holidays. ’
Helen looked at Mags, her lovely face a mask of displeasure, and thought how she’d love to be going on a holiday with her own family.
‘You’re going to miss my end-of-term party then,’ said Samantha.
‘That’s a shame. It’s going to be a blinder.
My brother’s inviting loads of his dishy friends and even our beloved tutor said he’ll make an appearance.
Talk of the devil – here he comes,’ she whispered.
‘Mr Sexy himself. Blimey, he looks worse than you do, Mags,’ she giggled.
Tony Bryant walked to the front of the class. As usual in his presence, Helen felt her heart rate increase and the palms of her hands become sweaty.
‘Morning, all.’ Tony slapped his battered brown briefcase onto the table, then leant on the edge of it himself.
‘Well, well.’ His eyes surveyed the class.
‘I’ve not seen you all looking so bright-eyed and bushy-tailed at any point over the past year.
’ He opened up his briefcase and took out a sheaf of papers.
‘Sam, love, would you save my weary legs and hand these out, please? The names are on the top left-hand side.’
‘Of course, Mr Bryant.’
Samantha stood up, took the papers and began to place one on each desk.
‘These, my dear scholastic ones, are your marked and corrected first-year exam papers. And if I were most of you, I would not be smiling this morning. This time next year, the marks will be for real. Based on what you have just produced, eighty per cent of you would fail miserably. I know it’s the last day of term and I don’t want to be a killjoy, but I think a good few of you should take a serious look at whether you’re prepared to come back in September and work doubly hard to make up for lost time.
Anyway’ – Tony shrugged – ‘it’s your money you’re wasting, not mine.
’ He slapped his thighs. ‘Okay, lecture over. Now I’m going to tell you who has scored the overall best marks for the year.
This is the only person that I feel is entitled to a good eight-week holiday, and a serious celebration of her achievements over the past nine months.
’ Tony pointed. ‘Helen, come and collect this amazing prize of a box of Milk Tray to mark your victory.’
Helen knew she was the only student with that name in the class, but she was so staggered, she found she couldn’t move.
‘Come on, Helen.’ Tony was smiling at her, proffering the box of chocolates.
She stood up and the class broke into spontaneous applause.
Blushing madly and hardly able to look Tony in the eye, she took the box of chocolates.
‘Well done,’ he smiled at her warmly.
‘Thanks,’ she muttered and went back to her seat.
The rest of the day passed in a blur for Helen. That night she went home and put the Milk Tray on the table by the window, sat in her chair and stared at the box. She wondered how long chocolates lasted, because she would never eat them. She wanted to frame them instead.
The next morning, Helen went to Mary Quant and bought herself a bright lemon mini-dress to wear to Samantha’s party.
After, she went to her usual salon to have her hair trimmed and blow-dried, then spent the afternoon painting her nails, bathing in scented water, and trying out different make-up looks to see which went best with her new dress.
By seven o’clock she was ready. Helen hailed a taxi so as not to have the wind spoil her hair.
‘Where to, love?’
‘Er, Sydney Street. It’s just off the King’s Road.’
‘Righto.’
Helen enjoyed the ride across London. The evening was sunny and warm and the world was fast becoming a very nice place to be.
She slipped out of the taxi in front of a tall, white, terraced house. There was music blaring from an open window on one of the upper floors. The front door was ajar, and Helen made her way up the stairs, clutching her four bottles of Babycham.
‘You made it! You look great.’ Sam was at the door, shouting above the music. ‘If you can get in, come in,’ she giggled. ‘I’m afraid it’s a bit of a scrum.’
The small entrance lobby was overflowing with guests, and the cramped interior of the flat was no better.
Helen pushed her way through the sea of bodies, not quite sure where she was heading.
Eventually, she found herself in the kitchen, having lost Sam altogether.
After she had put her alcoholic offerings down on the sticky, beer-stained worktop, Helen was unsure of what to do next.
‘Hi, gorgeous, who are you?’
Helen turned around to see an extremely tall young man leering over her, his breath fetid from beer.
‘Helen,’ she said quietly.
‘Who?’ he boomed.
‘Helen!’
‘Oh.’ The young man burped. ‘Hi, Helen. Wanna drink?’
‘Er, I was just getting myself one.’
Helen turned her back on him purposefully, and opened one of the Babychams. At the moment the bottle reached her mouth, she felt a rogue hand pinch her bottom.
Helen gasped in horror, and the Babycham went down the wrong way.
She coughed helplessly. The tall man placed a large hairy hand on her back and began to thump it, causing the Babycham to spill out of the bottle and down the front of her new dress.
‘Stop it, stop it!’ she shouted. ‘Now look what you’ve done!’ She turned to him, her face a mask of red-hot anger.
The man held his hands up in a drunken apology. ‘Okay, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.’
‘Excuse me.’ She glared as she moved past him.
‘I get you.’ The man burped again. ‘You’ve got a flabby bum anyway, love,’ he mumbled as she pushed her way out of the kitchen.
When she finally found the bathroom, Helen opened the door and locked it behind her.
She sat on the edge of the bath, trying to control her breathing.
Her cheeks were burning with embarrassment and anger.
It didn’t take long for her to conclude that she would go home.
That awful man had completely ruined her confidence.
She was furious at him. She was furious at herself, too – no matter the transformation she had undergone, underneath the expensive clothes and the make-up she was still stupid, plain Helen.
She unlocked the door and headed for the exit, hoping she could sneak out unnoticed. Helen reached the landing outside without being stopped and had begun to walk downstairs when she felt a sudden tap on her shoulder.
‘And where do you think you’re going?’ a familiar voice asked. She stopped, then turned around to see Tony Bryant grinning down at her.
Helen did her best to compose herself. ‘I . . . I need a breath of fresh air. It was stuffy in there,’ she mumbled.
Tony nodded. ‘Me too. Lead the way then.’
Helen turned and resumed walking down the stairs.
‘Blimey, it really was hot up there.’ Tony took out a handkerchief and mopped his brow. ‘I think I must be getting too old for that kind of bash.’ Outside he sat down on the front step and patted the space next to him.
Helen sat down, her thigh lightly touching his. For a while, neither of them spoke. Eventually, Tony broke the tension.