mother.
Alice, rather more hesitant than I’d hoped, says, “Er, you’re not a frump.”
I breathe a sigh of relief and feel myself sinking back into the comfort zone of drawstring waists. “But, well, put it like this.” Alice pauses, choosing her words carefully. “You don’t exactly make the best of yourself.”
“No?”
“No,” she says firmly. “You really don’t, Amy.”
“But I have no time, Alice. When am I meant to beautify myself? Between feeds? At four A.M. when she’s roaring in the dawn chorus? It’s hard enough to take a shower, for God’s sake.”
“It’s a question of priorities.”
“Exactly. Which is why, well, I’ve let things slide. I always imagined feeding Evie was more important.”
“Oh rubbish!” laughs Alice. “What could be more important than liking what you see in the mirror?”
I laugh nervously and hope she’s joking. “Er, Alice, at the risk of appearing like a complete twit, I’ve written a list.”
“A list? What sort of list?” I hear her swallow a scoff.
“A list of everything that is wrong with me. Well, not everything. The main bits, hair, belly . . . I know, I sound like a neurotic freak.”
Alice snorts with laughter. “Only you would write a list!”
“Unfortunately, it’s not a short list.”
“No?” I can hear her voice shaking with suppressed laughter. I’m sure there’s someone else there.
“No, Alice, I suspect I need a whole body transplant, but I’m unsure where to start.”
“This phone call is a good place.”
“Because you know what? I’ve had enough of being invisible.”
“Invisible? Silly. Of course I’ll help. I’d love to. Project Amy! We’ll turn you from downtrodden mother into a glamazon. Promise!” She bites into something loud and crunchy. It sounds like a locust eating crops on a wildlife documentary.
“I don’t care about being a glamazon, I just want to look a bit less crappy, a little more like how I used to, a bit less budget retailer discount bin, if you know what I mean.”
A pause. More distracted crunching. “Hey, you know what? There’s no point doing this halfheartedly. We’re going to turn you into a sexpot! We’ll need some money, though. . . .”
“We haven’t got much spare cash at the moment,” I say. Alice sighs, disappointed. I want to appease her. And my thigh is stretching the orange stitching on my jeans. “But I’m sure I can dig into a few savings.”
“New jeans, new hair,” chirps Alice. “Oh, we’re going to have such fun.”
“It’s more than that.”
“Gosh, you do sound serious.”
“I need to sort myself out.”
“O-kay.” Alice knows I mean much more than a haircut. She’s already guessed I’m unhappy.
“I need a plan, my confidence back.” No, I won’t let the past crush me down into frumpdom. If Joe wants a safe dowdy hausfrau, he’s not going to get it. And if he did ever leave, which he probably will, like Dad, like most men, then at least if I’m a bit less of a fright I’d have a minute chance of finding someone else, one day, perhaps.
“Great, Amy. We’re moving forward. You around next week?” she asks slightly impatiently, like she needs to clear the phone.
“I think so.” I’m always around. Alice dictates where and when our meetings take place. They invariably mean me coming to her. This would irritate me more if she weren’t quite so beautiful. She’s somehow exempt from normal social rules.
“We’ll draw up an action plan!” She munches again. “Bye, honey.”
“Bye, Alice.”
I put down the phone and skim through the
B
s—banks, builders, and breast-feeding helplines—in my ancient Filofax for a beauty salon number. The future starts here! Time to harvest the legs. Ah, Klass Beauty. I dial, but just as I’m about to book, Evie explodes, the scream tunneling into my ears, then screeching through my entire body like a braking train on a track. I tell the receptionist I’ll phone back. Evie has needs
Alice, rather more hesitant than I’d hoped, says, “Er, you’re not a frump.”
I breathe a sigh of relief and feel myself sinking back into the comfort zone of drawstring waists. “But, well, put it like this.” Alice pauses, choosing her words carefully. “You don’t exactly make the best of yourself.”
“No?”
“No,” she says firmly. “You really don’t, Amy.”
“But I have no time, Alice. When am I meant to beautify myself? Between feeds? At four A.M. when she’s roaring in the dawn chorus? It’s hard enough to take a shower, for God’s sake.”
“It’s a question of priorities.”
“Exactly. Which is why, well, I’ve let things slide. I always imagined feeding Evie was more important.”
“Oh rubbish!” laughs Alice. “What could be more important than liking what you see in the mirror?”
I laugh nervously and hope she’s joking. “Er, Alice, at the risk of appearing like a complete twit, I’ve written a list.”
“A list? What sort of list?” I hear her swallow a scoff.
“A list of everything that is wrong with me. Well, not everything. The main bits, hair, belly . . . I know, I sound like a neurotic freak.”
Alice snorts with laughter. “Only you would write a list!”
“Unfortunately, it’s not a short list.”
“No?” I can hear her voice shaking with suppressed laughter. I’m sure there’s someone else there.
“No, Alice, I suspect I need a whole body transplant, but I’m unsure where to start.”
“This phone call is a good place.”
“Because you know what? I’ve had enough of being invisible.”
“Invisible? Silly. Of course I’ll help. I’d love to. Project Amy! We’ll turn you from downtrodden mother into a glamazon. Promise!” She bites into something loud and crunchy. It sounds like a locust eating crops on a wildlife documentary.
“I don’t care about being a glamazon, I just want to look a bit less crappy, a little more like how I used to, a bit less budget retailer discount bin, if you know what I mean.”
A pause. More distracted crunching. “Hey, you know what? There’s no point doing this halfheartedly. We’re going to turn you into a sexpot! We’ll need some money, though. . . .”
“We haven’t got much spare cash at the moment,” I say. Alice sighs, disappointed. I want to appease her. And my thigh is stretching the orange stitching on my jeans. “But I’m sure I can dig into a few savings.”
“New jeans, new hair,” chirps Alice. “Oh, we’re going to have such fun.”
“It’s more than that.”
“Gosh, you do sound serious.”
“I need to sort myself out.”
“O-kay.” Alice knows I mean much more than a haircut. She’s already guessed I’m unhappy.
“I need a plan, my confidence back.” No, I won’t let the past crush me down into frumpdom. If Joe wants a safe dowdy hausfrau, he’s not going to get it. And if he did ever leave, which he probably will, like Dad, like most men, then at least if I’m a bit less of a fright I’d have a minute chance of finding someone else, one day, perhaps.
“Great, Amy. We’re moving forward. You around next week?” she asks slightly impatiently, like she needs to clear the phone.
“I think so.” I’m always around. Alice dictates where and when our meetings take place. They invariably mean me coming to her. This would irritate me more if she weren’t quite so beautiful. She’s somehow exempt from normal social rules.
“We’ll draw up an action plan!” She munches again. “Bye, honey.”
“Bye, Alice.”
I put down the phone and skim through the
B
s—banks, builders, and breast-feeding helplines—in my ancient Filofax for a beauty salon number. The future starts here! Time to harvest the legs. Ah, Klass Beauty. I dial, but just as I’m about to book, Evie explodes, the scream tunneling into my ears, then screeching through my entire body like a braking train on a track. I tell the receptionist I’ll phone back. Evie has needs
Similar Books
