elegant, but she got very grumpy if they mentioned it; it embarrassed her to look lovely, she only did it for Giorgio. In the last few weeks theyâd all eaten a lot of pasta, for Giorgio, and drunk a lot of chianti, for Giorgio.
Alison suggested that they have a dummy make-up run after breakfast. Nick couldnât wait. This was it! His transformation was beginning. It was the first day in the existence of Nicola Divot.
He no longer needed to pretend. Never again. Yesterday in Stratford had been a nightmare. Today in number thirty-three was a dream come true.
He tried hard that day to prove that his fabled insensitivity was a myth. Alison and he had spent more than twenty years together. He couldnât let her see how eager he was to become a woman, how eager he was, therefore, in essence, to cease to be her husband. âCanât I read the papers first?â he asked. Luckily Alison wouldnât have it.
They went up to the en suite. First, of course, he had to shave. He took his blouse off. He didnât want to get shaving cream on it. Alison was touched by the sight of his bra. It was poignant that he had so little to put in it. Maybe with the continuing hormone treatment, and the psychological impetus of living as a woman â she didnât know.
While he shaved, she laid out the make-up products she had bought. She had chosen Estée Lauder as the right look for Nicola, who gawped at them. âWhat?â he said. âAll those?â
âNow youâre going to find out why Iâm always late,â Alison joked. He was so tense. She longed to put him at his ease.
A wave of excitement shuddered through Nicola. I feel like a little boy in a ⦠he thought. No, what am I thinking? ⦠a little
girl
in a sweet shop. He had to take a very deep, slow breath to stop himself hyperventilating. He clung to the washbasin. He was frightened of passing out. Alison was very concerned.
âAre you all right?â she asked.
âFine,â he said bravely. âJust fine.â
She took him gently and carefully through the process: showed him how to smooth moisturiser over his face and neck, how to apply foundation liquid â she thought he might preferthat to cream â over his face, finishing well under the chin, how to brush face powder over the entire area. His face began to look more feminine. It was an eerie moment for Alison. She began to see the man she loved ⦠yes, loved, she might no longer have been his lover, nor he hers ⦠but, yes, loved ⦠she began to see him disappear before her eyes. She began to see the woman he would become. She didnât know what she thought about it. She tried not to think about it. She had a job to do.
She showed him ⦠her? ⦠the intricacies of applying eyeshadow, deeper on the outer upper eyelid, and into the socket, and a lighter shade on the inner upper lid, finishing the eyes with a highlighter on the brow bone. Her eyes did look more feminine, they were a very pale blue, it was a very intense moment, there in the en suite, separated from the rest of the world by frosted glass. She wanted to give her a quick kiss, but she couldnât without ruining the very make-up she was teaching her to apply.
She showed her how to brush any surplus powder off the eyebrows, how to apply two coats of mascara to the lashes, how to brush the blusher on to the cheek and up towards the outer area of the eye, how to apply a lip-liner and then the lipstick. Not half bad. A good, thorough job. Anyone could see heâd been meant to be a woman.
Alison turned away and rushed to the bedroom, and lay on the bed, on his side of the bed, and sobbed. She didnât really know why, that was the silly thing. For her lost husband? Images of their early days when they seemed almost normal flashed through her mind â the honeymoon in Crete, a midnight swim in Cornwall, the birth of Emma â heâd been there to witness it
Alison suggested that they have a dummy make-up run after breakfast. Nick couldnât wait. This was it! His transformation was beginning. It was the first day in the existence of Nicola Divot.
He no longer needed to pretend. Never again. Yesterday in Stratford had been a nightmare. Today in number thirty-three was a dream come true.
He tried hard that day to prove that his fabled insensitivity was a myth. Alison and he had spent more than twenty years together. He couldnât let her see how eager he was to become a woman, how eager he was, therefore, in essence, to cease to be her husband. âCanât I read the papers first?â he asked. Luckily Alison wouldnât have it.
They went up to the en suite. First, of course, he had to shave. He took his blouse off. He didnât want to get shaving cream on it. Alison was touched by the sight of his bra. It was poignant that he had so little to put in it. Maybe with the continuing hormone treatment, and the psychological impetus of living as a woman â she didnât know.
While he shaved, she laid out the make-up products she had bought. She had chosen Estée Lauder as the right look for Nicola, who gawped at them. âWhat?â he said. âAll those?â
âNow youâre going to find out why Iâm always late,â Alison joked. He was so tense. She longed to put him at his ease.
A wave of excitement shuddered through Nicola. I feel like a little boy in a ⦠he thought. No, what am I thinking? ⦠a little
girl
in a sweet shop. He had to take a very deep, slow breath to stop himself hyperventilating. He clung to the washbasin. He was frightened of passing out. Alison was very concerned.
âAre you all right?â she asked.
âFine,â he said bravely. âJust fine.â
She took him gently and carefully through the process: showed him how to smooth moisturiser over his face and neck, how to apply foundation liquid â she thought he might preferthat to cream â over his face, finishing well under the chin, how to brush face powder over the entire area. His face began to look more feminine. It was an eerie moment for Alison. She began to see the man she loved ⦠yes, loved, she might no longer have been his lover, nor he hers ⦠but, yes, loved ⦠she began to see him disappear before her eyes. She began to see the woman he would become. She didnât know what she thought about it. She tried not to think about it. She had a job to do.
She showed him ⦠her? ⦠the intricacies of applying eyeshadow, deeper on the outer upper eyelid, and into the socket, and a lighter shade on the inner upper lid, finishing the eyes with a highlighter on the brow bone. Her eyes did look more feminine, they were a very pale blue, it was a very intense moment, there in the en suite, separated from the rest of the world by frosted glass. She wanted to give her a quick kiss, but she couldnât without ruining the very make-up she was teaching her to apply.
She showed her how to brush any surplus powder off the eyebrows, how to apply two coats of mascara to the lashes, how to brush the blusher on to the cheek and up towards the outer area of the eye, how to apply a lip-liner and then the lipstick. Not half bad. A good, thorough job. Anyone could see heâd been meant to be a woman.
Alison turned away and rushed to the bedroom, and lay on the bed, on his side of the bed, and sobbed. She didnât really know why, that was the silly thing. For her lost husband? Images of their early days when they seemed almost normal flashed through her mind â the honeymoon in Crete, a midnight swim in Cornwall, the birth of Emma â heâd been there to witness it
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