eyes wide open at him, her watery green glare so vicious he decided to whimper instead.
‘Cholera. Right. Got it. I’ll be right back.’
He fled from the room in a blur of black, and I heard him squeaking to himself in horror as he ran back along the corridor.
I stood up, feeling my knees crack after squatting down for so long, and walked to the dressing table. I found a packet of baby wipes—make-up artists never leave home without them—and handed them to Vogue, keeping a safe distance just in case she started chucking up again. I unscrewed the lid to a fresh bottle of water from the mini-fridge, and passed that to her as well.
She nodded gratefully and took a few sips, before using the baby wipes to start cleaning herself up. I looked on, fascinated, as the layers came away. The make-up and the lashes and the fake beauty spot and the now-smeared lippie. The wig was long gone, and she was snapping open the fasteners at the back of her tight leather bustier so she could breathe better. She tugged out her earrings and lashed them down on the dresser. She used one finger to poke out her intense green contact lenses, revealing her own huge brown eyes. Her thigh-length patent leather stiletto boots followed, slung across the room, where they settled into a shiny, creaking heap.
By the time she’d finished, she looked … well, still gorgeous, in all honesty. But gorgeous in a way that wouldn’t have looked out of place down the market on a Saturday morning. Gorgeous in a way that you could look if you were doing theshopping, or going to church, or picking the kids up from school. Gorgeous like a normal, genetically blessed young woman—who’d just endured a major vomiting fit.
Underneath the slap and the bling she emerged like a different person—one who looked very much like she needed to go and crawl under a duvet for a few weeks to recover.
‘Are you all right?’ I asked, holding forward the waste-paper bin so she could throw her crumpled up wipes away. ‘Can I do anything else for you, Vogue?’
I could, of course, have offered her a smoked-salmon twist—but somehow I didn’t think that was a cure for cholera. Or whatever it was that Vogue actually had.
She took a deep breath, and another long drag on the water, before looking up at me. She gave me a sad, tired smile.
‘Nah,’ she said. ‘Thanks, though, sweetie, you’ve been awesome. Sorry if I caught you with any splash back. I don’t know what’s happening … my little sis had a tummy bug earlier this week, as did half the other kids at her birthday party. I probably should have stayed away, but, well, you know—it’s family. I don’t see enough of them as it is, and it was her tenth. I couldn’t skip that, could I? They’d have killed me, apart from anything else.’
‘I understand,’ I answered. And I did. Family was family—and it had to come first, even if it made you quite literally throw up as a result of spending time with them. ‘But are you feeling any better now?’
I looked nervously at the door, wondering when Neale would finally be able to find Jack and bring him back here so he could sort everything out. Jack would know what to do—he wasthat kind of guy. He’d have a masterplan, I was sure. He was probably a qualified doctor as well as a music-industry guru.
‘A little bit,’ she said, voice wobbling and cracking, ‘but I don’t think I can go on stage tonight. Even if I didn’t look like the Joker after he’s been in a sauna, I couldn’t sing. Not the way my throat is hurting right now. Plus, I couldn’t dance—I know this is probably TMI, Jess, but I have my suspicions the puking was just the start … I think it’ll be both ends soon, if you get my drift.’
I pulled an ‘eek’ face that hopefully conveyed both my confirmation of the fact that yes, I definitely got her drift, and also my sympathy. We’ve all been there, let’s face it—nobody is immune from the levelling power of Having the
‘Cholera. Right. Got it. I’ll be right back.’
He fled from the room in a blur of black, and I heard him squeaking to himself in horror as he ran back along the corridor.
I stood up, feeling my knees crack after squatting down for so long, and walked to the dressing table. I found a packet of baby wipes—make-up artists never leave home without them—and handed them to Vogue, keeping a safe distance just in case she started chucking up again. I unscrewed the lid to a fresh bottle of water from the mini-fridge, and passed that to her as well.
She nodded gratefully and took a few sips, before using the baby wipes to start cleaning herself up. I looked on, fascinated, as the layers came away. The make-up and the lashes and the fake beauty spot and the now-smeared lippie. The wig was long gone, and she was snapping open the fasteners at the back of her tight leather bustier so she could breathe better. She tugged out her earrings and lashed them down on the dresser. She used one finger to poke out her intense green contact lenses, revealing her own huge brown eyes. Her thigh-length patent leather stiletto boots followed, slung across the room, where they settled into a shiny, creaking heap.
By the time she’d finished, she looked … well, still gorgeous, in all honesty. But gorgeous in a way that wouldn’t have looked out of place down the market on a Saturday morning. Gorgeous in a way that you could look if you were doing theshopping, or going to church, or picking the kids up from school. Gorgeous like a normal, genetically blessed young woman—who’d just endured a major vomiting fit.
Underneath the slap and the bling she emerged like a different person—one who looked very much like she needed to go and crawl under a duvet for a few weeks to recover.
‘Are you all right?’ I asked, holding forward the waste-paper bin so she could throw her crumpled up wipes away. ‘Can I do anything else for you, Vogue?’
I could, of course, have offered her a smoked-salmon twist—but somehow I didn’t think that was a cure for cholera. Or whatever it was that Vogue actually had.
She took a deep breath, and another long drag on the water, before looking up at me. She gave me a sad, tired smile.
‘Nah,’ she said. ‘Thanks, though, sweetie, you’ve been awesome. Sorry if I caught you with any splash back. I don’t know what’s happening … my little sis had a tummy bug earlier this week, as did half the other kids at her birthday party. I probably should have stayed away, but, well, you know—it’s family. I don’t see enough of them as it is, and it was her tenth. I couldn’t skip that, could I? They’d have killed me, apart from anything else.’
‘I understand,’ I answered. And I did. Family was family—and it had to come first, even if it made you quite literally throw up as a result of spending time with them. ‘But are you feeling any better now?’
I looked nervously at the door, wondering when Neale would finally be able to find Jack and bring him back here so he could sort everything out. Jack would know what to do—he wasthat kind of guy. He’d have a masterplan, I was sure. He was probably a qualified doctor as well as a music-industry guru.
‘A little bit,’ she said, voice wobbling and cracking, ‘but I don’t think I can go on stage tonight. Even if I didn’t look like the Joker after he’s been in a sauna, I couldn’t sing. Not the way my throat is hurting right now. Plus, I couldn’t dance—I know this is probably TMI, Jess, but I have my suspicions the puking was just the start … I think it’ll be both ends soon, if you get my drift.’
I pulled an ‘eek’ face that hopefully conveyed both my confirmation of the fact that yes, I definitely got her drift, and also my sympathy. We’ve all been there, let’s face it—nobody is immune from the levelling power of Having the
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