I think. ‘About one and a half grand.’
‘Then let’s spend it.’
I gawp at her. ‘Are you insane?’
‘Are you?’ she retorts. ‘Maybe you’ve forgotten but you are marrying one of the richest men in England.’
We both glance down at my ring.
‘You want to get that new job, don’t you?’ Janet presses. ‘You want to look like a film-biz person?’
I nod.
‘Then don’t argue with Jay-Me,’ she insists. ‘Follow me!’
Fuck it. Why not, eh? I’ve got nothing better to do.
* * *
We take a taxi to New Bond Street, Janet’s personal Mecca. Crammed to the gills with scary designer clothes and shoe shops, as well as those expensive knick-knack places where a scented candle costs ten pounds. She’s as excited as a child at Disneyland, jumping up and down and going ‘Ooh’ and ‘Aaah’ all over the place, keeping up a one-woman monologue.
‘That’d be perfect on you … Ideal for covering the upper arms … V-necked cashmere, perfect … Leather skirts with a panel, brushed stretch cotton, low-risers … Red’s very smart with cream. It’s the new navy…’
‘But Janet,’ I wail. ‘Look at these prices.’ I pick up a tiny scrap of cashmere pretending to be a sweater. For whom? Barbie? ‘This is three hundred and eighty. And those shoes are five ninety-five.’
‘They’re Armani,’ she says.
‘But at this rate I’ll only be able to buy three things.’
‘Hmmm.’ Janet acknowledges. ‘Don’t you have a marital credit card or something?’
‘No I do not,’ I say stiffly. ‘And I don’t want to spend Charles’s money anyway.’
‘Are you mental?’ Janet asks.
‘I don’t want to be a kept woman.’
‘You’re not, you’re a bride-to-be. It’s so romantic.’ Janet sighs. ‘And remember, with all his worldly goods he thee endows. And that’s quite a lot of worldly goods.’
I shake my head, mutinously.
‘Oh bloody hell, all right,’ says Janet crossly. ‘No Voyage, then. No Armani. No Donna.’ She sighs. ‘No Chloe.’
‘I get the picture.’ Gloom settles over me again. ‘So it’s no good?’
‘I didn’t say that,’ Janet says, brightening. ‘We can get you one or two nice pieces anywhere. I’m thinking H&M, I’m thinking Zara, I’m thinking Banana Republic. You just have to know what to look for.’
‘And what are we looking for, exactly?’ I ask.
Janet nods disparagingly at my favourite pair of black 501s with my comfy big black sweater from M&S. It hides my massive boobs perfectly.
‘Not that,’ she says, firmly. ‘Ah. Here we are. Banana Republic. First stop. Now,’ she says, pausing in front of the revolving doors, ‘you have to agree to put yourself entirely in my hands.’
‘Whatever you say, Trinny,’ I tell her.
Janet tosses her sleek black hair. ‘Those two? Amateurs,’ she says, dismissively. ‘Ready?’
I may have mentioned before that I absolutely hate shopping. And I hated it this time too. Struggling in and out of clothes, trying not to look at my naked thighs in the mirror, trying to tell myself it isn’t all a colossal waste of time. Plus, it’s embarrassing getting changed with Janet standing right in the cubicle watching me. I know she’s a girl and she’s my mate. But she’s also an incredibly slim, beautiful girl with perfect skin, luminous eyes, and nothing jiggling anywhere.
I don’t look in the mirrors. I don’t really have a chance to. As soon as I pull anything on, Janet says, ‘Yes, OK,’ and snatches it from me, or, ‘No. Gross!’ and removes it from the cubicle. In fact I’m bending over and pulling on and struggling in and out of clothes so much it’s quite a workout. I get dragged from store to store, getting more red-faced and tousle-haired each time, until I just can’t take it any more.
‘Yes, OK,’ says Janet for the millionth time. ‘We’ll take those.’
I unzip yet another pair of flat-front camel-coloured trousers and hand them wearily to her. We’re standing in the changing room at Zara, and it’s already one fifteen and I’m sick of trying not to look in mirrors.
‘Please,’ I beg. ‘Haven’t we got enough now?’
Janet considers.
‘Water,’ I croak. ‘I need water.’
‘Well,’ she concedes. ‘The bags are a bit heavy, I suppose.’
Heavy? Arnold Schwarzenegger would have trouble hauling them around. Janet couldn’t possibly carry them, so yours truly, being a strapping lass, has to strain and grunt her way into each successive shop like a pit pony hauling a cart full of coal.
‘I’ll just pay for these,’ she says, holding her hand out for my Visa. ‘Meet you out front. We’d better get a taxi,’ she adds judiciously.
I flag one down. I can’t really afford it, not any more. Who knows how anaemic my bank account is right now? But on the other hand I also can’t fight my way into the tube. I wait for Janet and look at the huge bags groaning with clothes, laid out on the taxi floor. The clothes are all folded and look sort of boring and innocuous. And there are tons of them. The hopeful feeling I had this morning is starting to evaporate. I have no idea why I let myself be talked into this.
‘There.’ Janet climbs in and shuts the door.
‘Where to, darlin’?’ asks the driver, looking her over appreciatively. Despite the fact I’ve already told him where to. I sigh. How I wish, how I just wish I could look like Janet, if only for five minutes.
I glance down at my ring for reassurance but it doesn’t help. Charles is offering me a life raft, but he doesn’t fancy me, does he?
I know I’m being selfish and demanding, but I just want someone to want me. Not simply like me. How would that feel? I haven’t a clue …
‘What’s the matter?’ Janet asks, concerned. ‘Why are you crying?’
‘I’m not crying,’ I say firmly, wiping away a tear. ‘It’s just dusty in here.’
‘It’s your job, isn’t it?’ she says.
Oh, Yeah. My job. Forgotten about that.
‘Don’t worry so much,’ she says, seeing my expression. ‘We’ll go home and dump the clothes and then you’ll see the results.’
‘Can’t we go for some lunch?’ I plead. My stomach rumbles embarrassingly and I cough to cover it, but that never works, does it?
‘I’ll pop out for a sandwich,’ says Janet firmly. ‘No time for lunch.’
Twenty minutes later we’re home. I’m sitting on my bed, gloomily, wrapped in my ratty towelling dressing gown. I’ve had a shower and washed my hair, and now Janet’s blow-drying it. My new haul of clothes is laid out carefully around the room, and Janet has my make-up bag next to her.
‘If you’re going to cheer me up with a makeover why can’t we use your cosmetics? You’ve got all the good stuff.’
‘No. This isn’t a makeover,’ Janet says, authoritatively. ‘This is about changing your life. We have to use what you’ve got so you can do the same.’
‘Don’t get me wrong, this is really sweet of you,’ and I give her arm a little squeeze to show that it is, ‘and it’s nice to get your hair and make-up done and get some new frocks but it doesn’t exactly change your life.’
‘Look.’ Janet puts down the hair-dryer. ‘I know I’m not clever like you, Anna. Or ambitious,’ she says. ‘And I’m not focused like Lily is. That’s why you two are so successful and I’m not.’ Her voice sounds thick.
‘Janet, you’re very successful. You’re a model!’
‘Yeah, me and thousands of other girls,’ Janet says. ‘Anyway, this isn’t about that.’ She shakes her head as though to drive the thought away. ‘It’s about you and what I’m telling you is that I am an expert about some things. I’m an expert about clothes.’
‘I know,’ I say meekly. ‘I didn’t mean anything by it.’
‘You meant it,’ Janet says. ‘But that’s because you don’t understand. I know how you feel about how you look, but i
t’s all in your head. If you could just see that.’
‘Please don’t tell me beauty comes from the inside.’ I sigh. ‘You know, that with a bit of self-confidence I could be mistaken for Britney Spears.’
‘I’m not saying that. You’re never going to be petite or, you know, pretty. In a conventional way,’ she adds hastily.
I sigh. ‘You’re not making me feel much better.’
‘But you don’t have to be pretty to be sexy, Anna. You’ve got a sort of fire about you. And you have great skin, and you’re tall, and you have lovely eyes and hair.’
‘And Gonzo’s nose.’
‘Your nose is distinguished.’
‘I’m going to get it fixed.’ I say fiercely. ‘Soon as I’ve married. I know I said I wouldn’t spend his money but I will for that.’
‘Don’t do that,’ Janet says in horror. ‘You’ll take all the character out of your face.’
‘I don’t want character. I want to be pretty.’
‘Why?’ Janet asks. I look at her sharply but she doesn’t seem to be joking. ‘Why do you want that? Every other girl is like that. You look different.’
‘In a bad way.’
‘Only you think that.’
‘I look like a bloke,’ I say despairingly. ‘All huge and tall and strong.’
Janet laughs. ‘You look nothing like a bloke. You’re more feminine than you think. Let me show you, OK?’
She continues to blow-dry and I just sit there. I’d love to go and get a cup of tea and put on Oprah and stop all this rubbish, but I know I can’t. Janet’s being so nice. I just have to take it.
* * *
‘There you go,’ she says.
I’m sitting in front of the mirror in Janet’s bedroom. Janet has a kidney-shaped dressing table with a framed picture of J-Lo on it and a mercilessly lit mirror with lightbulbs all around it, like in theatre dressing rooms. I wince when I see my skin. It emphasizes every line, every large pore.
‘Don’t worry, everyone looks like that before foundation,’ says Janet. ‘OK, Look. Are you looking?’
‘I’m looking, I’m looking.’ She’s laying the contents of my make-up bag out in front of me as though she’s a surgeon and these are her implements.
‘Sponges.’
‘Check.’
‘Foundation.’
‘Check.’
‘Stop saying check and pay attention!’
‘Sorry,’ I say meekly. I’m grateful, really I am.’
‘Bronzing powder. Where’s your blusher?’
‘I use the bronzer.’
‘That’s good, but you’ll need something for winter. A pink. Throw out these browns, they do nothing for your skin tone. Here.’ She retrieves a small plastic square with a rose colour I’d never dare to try and gives it to me. ‘You can keep this.’
‘Maybelline? Don’t you have all those fancy brands?’
‘Maybelline are excellent,’ Janet says. ‘I read books. Don’t Go to the Cosmetics Counter Without Me. You can get it in the States. It gives the chemical composition of the stuff. Mostly it’s just packaging.’
‘Oh,’ I say. I had no idea she took it so seriously.
‘So, blusher, mascara, lip gloss, eyeliner. Lose the black, too heavy for you. Go with a light brown. Picks out the blue in your eyes.’
‘Wouldn’t blue do that?’
‘Blue? Hell, no,’ Janet says, severely. ‘Do you want to look like Banarama from the eighties? Well, do you?’
‘No.’
‘First we start with moisturizer. It should be non-comedogenic and contain a sunscreen.’
‘You what?’
‘Doesn’t give you spots,’ Janet says, dabbing some on. ‘Oil of Olay is fine. OK, so wait until it’s sunk in. Good.’
Good? My face is as shiny as Rudolph’s nose.
‘Next, concealer. This goes under foundation not over it. That gives a more even look. Here you go,’ she says, dabbing my long-lasting Max Factor under my eyes and gently rubbing it in with a sponge. All of a sudden I do look a bit less tired. ‘And then foundation, you sweep up and away, up and away, blend it in at the hairline.’
She gives a practical demonstration. I watch her in the mirror. OK, well, yes, I can see my face is smoothing out a bit. Fair enough.
‘Next do your blusher.’ She considers. ‘There are a few techniques but you’re a bit of a beginner, so tell you what, we’ll just go with fail-safe. You dab some on the apples of the cheeks, here, and sweep a touch under the jawline – and brush lightly on the chin – and I’d go on top of the forehead for you. There,’ she says, satisfied. ‘You following, Anna?’
‘Yes,’ I say. ‘I am, actually.’
It’s really quite impressive. I turn my face from side to side. My cheekbones sort of stand out more, and my face looks slimmer. And I have this rosy glow, and all my eyeshadow bags have gone.
‘Don’t overdo it. Just a light hand for day. OK? Less is more. And the eyes,’ she says, moving on. ‘You’ve got great eyes, don’t overdo them. Just this light brown shadow or a nude, one shade, just on the lid. Like this, super-simple. And you’ve quite dark lashes. I wouldn’t ever wear mascara in the day. For evening just a coat on the upper lashes only, like this…’ She swipes. ‘Makes them look even bigger. See?’
‘Yes. Gosh, you’re really good at this,’ I say.
‘Liner – you don’t need any if you’re using mascara, it’d be too much. So that just leaves lips. Yours are very sexy,’ she says. Is that actually a note of envy in her voice? ‘Very full. For day, what you do is basically nothing. You dab on a tiny bit of Vaseline or a clear gloss at the most. OK?’
She demonstrates. Suddenly I actually notice my lips. They are quite big and soft. Who’d have thought it? With the clear gloss they look as though I’ve been licking them.
‘For night you can use a nude colour, make sure it tends more to pinks than browns. And absolutely no lip liner. Nothing looks worse than a girl whose make-up’s worn off and she’s got a ring of liner on her lips and nothing else. That’s total porn star,’ Janet says.
‘I’ll remember.’
‘Then perfume. You want a signature perfume. Mine was designed by J-Lo. Do you want some? It’s the shiznit,’ she promises.
‘Um, I’m sure it is the shiznit,’ I say, backing away. ‘But I’m not a scent sort of girl.’
‘Bullshit,’ says Janet. She reaches behind me and before I can stop her, sprays me with something from a white flowery bottle.
‘Get off – what is that?’ I sniff. It doesn’t smell that bad, actually. Sort of light and floral.
‘Anais Anais,’ says Janet.
‘That stuff?’ I protest. ‘That’s so uncool.’
‘It’s a gorgeous perfume. Totally floral. Very feminine. And that’s what you are, Anna, you are very feminine. Don’t be such a snob,’ Janet says firmly. ‘Do you think Charles will know what the smell is? No, he’ll just think Anna smells like a lovely bunch of flowers.’
‘OK,’ I say humbly. I keep staring at myself in the mirror. Is that me? Truly? I look like a new person. And there isn’t even any shading around my nose. I’ve got big eyes and rosy cheeks and glossy, sexy lips, and OK, I’m still not pretty, or even normal, but I don’t think I look ugly either. I look – what’s the word – striking.
Yeah. Striking.
I turn my head around.
‘Not bad, huh?’ demands Janet with a certain amount of pride.
‘It’s really great,’ I tell her. ‘Thanks.’
‘You haven’t seen the clothes yet,’ she says, excitedly. ‘Come on!’
I get up and go with her, refusing to feel bad. I know I have to look at my body now. No hiding from it. But at least there won’t be changing room lights overhead, and I know how to do my make-up now. I can distract from my body with my face! And Janet’s being incredible, no way do I want to rain on her parade.
‘All right,’ I say, forcing some enthusiasm. ‘Let’s go!’
Janet looks at me shrewdly. ‘It’s amazing,’ she says.
‘What?’ I ask guiltily.
‘I make you over twice, you look incredible both times, and you still don’t trust me. It’s like you don’t think Jay-Me knows wazzup.’
‘I know you know what’s up.’
‘Then what’s that weepy look on your face for?’
‘I’m just thinking you can’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear.’
‘Man,’ Janet says. ‘You really do have problems. You’re not a sow’s ear. How can you walk around thinking of yourself like this?’
‘Because other people think of me like that,’ I mutter.
‘What other people?’
‘Boys. Men. Everyone, really.’
‘Oh, excuse me,’ Janet says with heavy sarcasm, ‘and you the girl marrying one of the most eligible bachelors in England?’
I want to burst right out and tell her. Charles doesn’t fancy me. Nobody fancies me. But I keep quiet. Somehow, I know it wouldn’t be fair to him to say anything. But I know what he thinks, don’t I? What he said about my diet and my jogging. That there was no point, basically. I’m sure he’d think there was no point to this either. I know Charles. He’s the kind of bloke who settles for his woman looking modest and presentable. I’m sure he pictures me in, ooh, I don’t know, a tweed skirt and sensible brown brogues. Old lady clothes.
‘I suppose,’ I say. ‘But love is blind, you know that.’
Janet purses her lips. ‘Girlfriend, I think you’re blind. OK. First thing, try on this,’ she flings me one of the Zara flat-fronted trousers, ‘and this.’ A very ordinary-looking cream jumper from H&M.
Reluctantly I shrug off the dressing gown and step into the trousers. They fit very well, at least they’re comfortable. But the sweater …
‘I can’t.’ I look at it despairingly. ‘Why did you pick this? It’s all fitted and it’s got a V neck.’
‘Because it’s fitted and it’s got a V neck.’
‘But that will show my boobs,’ I point out.
‘Exactly,’ says Janet, triumphantly. ‘Now put it on.’
I pull it over my head. I’m still turned away from the mirror, she isn’t going to reveal the full horror to me yet.
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