Caught in the Act by Gemma Fox Page A

although it was hard to work out exactly who it was. Painstakingly Netty filled in her lips with a tiny brush. ‘It is going to be all right, you know,’ she said, eyes still firmly fixed on her reflection.
    Carol looked up in surprise. ‘What is?’
    Netty’s concentration didn’t waiver. ‘This whole weekend, the play—you meeting Gareth again.’
    Carol stiffened and then attempted to sound casual. ‘It’s no big thing,’ she lied.
    â€˜Yeah, right. You’re not fooling anybody, you know. Relax, it’ll be OK. Forty-eight hours on a magical mystery tour down memory lane and then nothing. Zilch, zippola. We meet up, we all cry buckets and on Sunday afternoon we’ll all go home back to our own lives. And before you say I’m being cynical I’m not—not at all. I just know it’s true. I went to a tech reunion last year with the crew I’d learned hairdressing with. Panda-eyes, mascara and big snotty hugs. It’s all very lovely but, trust me, it won’t make a blind bit of difference to your real life.’
    Carol felt her colour draining. ‘What won’t?’
    â€˜Old passions, old pleasure—old boyfriends. People change. They move on. They grow up.Even if you shag Gareth Howard blind all weekend, chances are that Monday morning, half-past seven, when you look in the bathroom mirror, nothing will have changed. Trust me, I’m a hairdresser.’
    Carol felt a lump catch in her throat. ‘I—’ she began.
    â€˜You what?’ said Netty, gaze swivelling to fix Carol’s eyes reflected in the mirror. ‘You are still carrying a torch for him, aren’t you?’
    Carol nodded, not trusting herself to speak. How very silly it sounded spoken aloud.
    â€˜Trust me, you’re way better sticking with the fantasy.’ Netty glanced over one shoulder in case there was anyone within earshot. ‘I’ve never told anyone this, not even Jan, but I had a crush for years on one of the boys in our year. Even after we left I used to fantasise about him and me. Sometimes it was wild sex and lots of snogging, but mostly it was all that happy-ever-after stuff. Two kids, him going off to work with me in a pinny. He worked in the bank in Belvedere for a while after we all left school. I’d volunteer to go and bank the takings from my mum’s salon. Twice a week, come rain, come shine, I’d toddle off down to Barclays in full makeup and an outfit to die for, and thenafter about a year he moved away. I was so gutted, I can’t tell you. And you know what? He’s going to be here this weekend.’ She smacked her lips and admired the effects.
    â€˜re ally?’ said Carol incredulously. It hadn’t occurred to her that anyone else was dreaming about might-have-beens. ‘Why on earth didn’t you say something? Are you excited about seeing him again? How come you never told anybody? Who is it?’
    Netty wound up a lipstick and dibbled the brush over the end to touch up a bald patch. ‘Peter Fleming.’
    â€˜No, re ally? re ally? Not Peter Fleming?’ Carol couldn’t quite keep the incredulity out of her voice, despite trying re ally hard. Peter Fleming was real dyed-in-the-wool ginger, with hair the colour of bright copper and skin the colour of skimmed milk, and enough freckles to keep a dot-to-dot fanatic happy for hours. She had never dared let her mind wander to where exactly the freckles might stop—did freckles fade just below the collar or were they an all-over thing? Netty had them too but in a cute all-over-the-nose way. Carol tried to drag her mind from what might happen if two freckly people had kids. Was there an optimummoment when they just had one big all-over freckle?
    â€˜Peter Fleming?’ she repeated.
    He was nice enough but he had never struck Carol as sex on a stick, and certainly not the kind of man or boy that someone like Netty would be