yesterday’s breakfast. I catch sight of myself in the kitchen mirror. Under my eyes are dark circles. My skin looks sallow and my wrinkles all seem really prominent. I look five years older than usual. I grab my make-up bag and launch for the Touche Eclat. I need the big boys if I’m not going to go for the ‘extra in Thriller video’ look.
I arrive at the train station at eleven sharp. Of course Monique looks like she’s stepped off the cover of InStyle. She’s dressed in a V-neck knitted purple tunic, with a tan belt at the waist and some slightly flared indigo jeans. This is set off by a pair of tan ankle boots that make her look taller than ever. She has a matching purple Samsonite spinner and a little shoulder purse in tan, no doubt carrying just the bare essentials. This girl knows how to travel. I, in contrast, have my ‘free with a catalogue’ navy wheeled holdall, my Levi’s, one of the V-neck tees she is always taking the piss out of me for in red, my black footglove flats (they’re comfy) and a large fluffy black cardi, even though it’s quite warm today. I feel a bit pants still and want a material hug.
Monique looks at me from top to bottom for a few minutes. ‘Well, it could be worse under the circumstances,’ she drawls. ‘Let’s go.’
When we are on the train she fetches me a coffee and gets a water for herself. She passes me a Berocca. ‘The coffee ain’t decaf,’ she says.
At twelve she fetches me a bacon butty and I’m ready for it. I scoff it greedily. ‘You not having one?’
‘I ate a good breakfast.’
I sit back satisfied, and feeling a lot better, though if someone passed me a pillow right now, I’d marry them. Monique opens her shoulder bag and brings out a small carrier bag from Accessorize.
‘You owe me eleven pounds for the repair kit’. She takes out a comb and sidles in the seat alongside me. ‘Right, let’s sort that bloody mop out.’
She plaits my hair and twists it up onto the back of my head, fixing it in place with grips. She sprays it with an industrial strength mini hair spray and curls up a few tendrils around the front of my face.
I point to the carrier bag. ‘Is that a small carrier bag, or the Tardis?’
‘I just know how to shop, and you do realise I’ve carried a plastic bag for you? The sacrifices I make.’
‘It’s like that bag Hermione had in Harry Potter, where she could reach in it over and over and get out whatever they needed. What else you got in there?’
She pulls out some black beads and fastens them around my neck, then hands me a pair of black drop earrings. ‘Get them in.’
‘Yes, Boss.’
She looks over me appraisingly. I feel like I’m about to be introduced to my future husband as part of an arranged marriage. ‘Much better,’ she says, and heads back to her own seat.
I take out a copy of Good Housekeeping magazine from my Betty Barclay.
‘What the fuck is that?’ Monique grabs it and throws it down the train. It narrowly misses an elderly gentleman’s head and lands on an empty seat. She moves down to the luggage rack and opens the front compartment of her case, taking out issues of Grazia and Vogue.
She rolls her eyes at me. ‘Read one of those. At least you can appear to have some style.’
‘God, are you going to be like this for the entire journey?’ I snap. ‘I know I’m not looking my best but I’ve been sick and you’re being a right bitch about it. What’s got into you?’
‘A fucking baby, that’s what’s got into me,’ her nostrils flare. ‘And being sick’s not an excuse because I’ve been puking for the last three days now and I look divine.’
Chapter 10
‘Fuck.’
‘Yes, well that’s how it usually gets in there.’
‘You know what I mean.’
Monique sighs and fiddles with the bag the jewellery came out of. ‘This is why I wanted to come away, so you can help me decide whether I’m keeping it or not.’
My voice softens. ‘You
I arrive at the train station at eleven sharp. Of course Monique looks like she’s stepped off the cover of InStyle. She’s dressed in a V-neck knitted purple tunic, with a tan belt at the waist and some slightly flared indigo jeans. This is set off by a pair of tan ankle boots that make her look taller than ever. She has a matching purple Samsonite spinner and a little shoulder purse in tan, no doubt carrying just the bare essentials. This girl knows how to travel. I, in contrast, have my ‘free with a catalogue’ navy wheeled holdall, my Levi’s, one of the V-neck tees she is always taking the piss out of me for in red, my black footglove flats (they’re comfy) and a large fluffy black cardi, even though it’s quite warm today. I feel a bit pants still and want a material hug.
Monique looks at me from top to bottom for a few minutes. ‘Well, it could be worse under the circumstances,’ she drawls. ‘Let’s go.’
When we are on the train she fetches me a coffee and gets a water for herself. She passes me a Berocca. ‘The coffee ain’t decaf,’ she says.
At twelve she fetches me a bacon butty and I’m ready for it. I scoff it greedily. ‘You not having one?’
‘I ate a good breakfast.’
I sit back satisfied, and feeling a lot better, though if someone passed me a pillow right now, I’d marry them. Monique opens her shoulder bag and brings out a small carrier bag from Accessorize.
‘You owe me eleven pounds for the repair kit’. She takes out a comb and sidles in the seat alongside me. ‘Right, let’s sort that bloody mop out.’
She plaits my hair and twists it up onto the back of my head, fixing it in place with grips. She sprays it with an industrial strength mini hair spray and curls up a few tendrils around the front of my face.
I point to the carrier bag. ‘Is that a small carrier bag, or the Tardis?’
‘I just know how to shop, and you do realise I’ve carried a plastic bag for you? The sacrifices I make.’
‘It’s like that bag Hermione had in Harry Potter, where she could reach in it over and over and get out whatever they needed. What else you got in there?’
She pulls out some black beads and fastens them around my neck, then hands me a pair of black drop earrings. ‘Get them in.’
‘Yes, Boss.’
She looks over me appraisingly. I feel like I’m about to be introduced to my future husband as part of an arranged marriage. ‘Much better,’ she says, and heads back to her own seat.
I take out a copy of Good Housekeeping magazine from my Betty Barclay.
‘What the fuck is that?’ Monique grabs it and throws it down the train. It narrowly misses an elderly gentleman’s head and lands on an empty seat. She moves down to the luggage rack and opens the front compartment of her case, taking out issues of Grazia and Vogue.
She rolls her eyes at me. ‘Read one of those. At least you can appear to have some style.’
‘God, are you going to be like this for the entire journey?’ I snap. ‘I know I’m not looking my best but I’ve been sick and you’re being a right bitch about it. What’s got into you?’
‘A fucking baby, that’s what’s got into me,’ her nostrils flare. ‘And being sick’s not an excuse because I’ve been puking for the last three days now and I look divine.’
Chapter 10
‘Fuck.’
‘Yes, well that’s how it usually gets in there.’
‘You know what I mean.’
Monique sighs and fiddles with the bag the jewellery came out of. ‘This is why I wanted to come away, so you can help me decide whether I’m keeping it or not.’
My voice softens. ‘You
Similar Books
