Fire by Deborah Challinor

‘They’ve just about had it. Right, are we ready?’
    Allie nodded and Irene took her make-up kit out of her handbag and spread the contents across the bench.
    ‘All right, first we’ll start with foundation, then a bit of rouge and some powder, some eyeshadow, and just a touch of mascara, I think.’
    Alarmed, Allie said, ‘I don’t wear eyeshadow.’
    ‘You don’t wear anything,’ Irene replied. ‘Don’t worry, I won’t make you look like a tart.’
    And Allie didn’t think she would, either. Though Irene did habitually wear quite a lot of make-up, she always looked beautifully groomed and never overdid anything.Well, hardly ever. She never needed to—she already had lovely looks, even with no make-up on at all.
    Allie closed her eyes and let Irene do whatever she wanted.
    When she opened them again and studied her reflection in the mirror, she looked a different person. Well, no, not a different person, but certainly a noticeably more glamorous version of herself. Her freckles had disappeared and her complexion was the same colour all over, even her nose, which was often a bit pink from the sun. And her eyes looked bigger and darker, and her mouth was a pretty shade of rose.
    Irene stood back and appraised her work. ‘Not bad, but you really should do something with your eyebrows,’ she said eventually.
    ‘Such as?’
    ‘Pluck them.’
    ‘I wouldn’t know where to start,’ Allie admitted.
    ‘Well, I would.’ Irene rummaged in her bag. ‘Here we are,’ she said, producing a pair of tweezers. ‘I’ll just tidy them a bit for you.’
    Allie eyed the tweezers nervously. ‘Don’t make me look like Greta Garbo, though, will you? Mum will kill me.’
    ‘Well, hardly. Greta Garbo’s look is very dated. It’s all a lot more natural now. Well, a lot fuller, at any rate.’
    She leaned in close, pressed a thumb against Allie’s temple so the skin there was pulled taut, clamped an errant hair with the tweezers and pulled.
    ‘Ow!’
    ‘Keep still, will you?’
    ‘That really hurt,’ Allie complained, rubbing her eyebrow and blinking back tears.
    ‘Do you want me to do this or not?’
    ‘Not really.’
    Irene sighed in exasperation. ‘Don’t be such a baby, Allie. It only stings for a second.’
    ‘For God’s sake, Irene, it’s only—’
    ‘—the pictures, I know. But you want to make a good first impression, don’t you?’
    ‘He’s already seen me with untidy eyebrows, you know. Every day at work, remember?’
    ‘Yes, but not up close.’
    Allie rolled her eyes.
    ‘Trust me,’ Irene insisted. ‘This will really make a difference.’
    So Allie suffered for another ten minutes, and when Irene had finished she had to admit that the result was quite pleasing, apart from the angry red blotches that Irene guaranteed would be gone before she knew it.
    Allie had to wash everything off again because of Dunbar & Jones’s no make-up rule, but the marks beneath her eyebrows stayed until afternoon tea.
    Fortunately, Sonny wasn’t in the cafeteria.
    Daisy felt sick again. She knew about morning sickness—from her older married sister Iris who’d had it with both her babies—and she’d certainly been getting that. But it wasn’t morning now, it was almost three o’clock. She wondered if feeling sick all day was God’s way of punishing her for falling pregnant before she was married, but decided this was stupid. God wouldn’t be that mean, surely—or that interested in Daisy Farr.
    But then she often had stupid thoughts, or so everyonein her family continually told her. Terry never did, though. Terry only laughed, but in a nice way, when she came out with one of her questions or observations. And her boss, Miss Button, definitely thought she was stupid. When Daisy had started off stitching orange and red feathers onto one side of a hat and had somehow ended up with bright blue ones on the other side, Miss Button had said, ‘No, no , Daisy! That hat is supposed to be a symphony of sunset