Yours Truly (31 page)

And that makes us laugh even harder.

TEXT FROM: MUM

Olly is in bits. What have you done!

I’m in somewhat of a reckless mood. It could be to do with the double vodka and cranberry juice I’m currently sipping on but it’s more likely the fact that I’ve been dumped by my fiancé that’s making me feel like I could do just about anything and it wouldn’t matter. It’s a bittersweet sensation of pure abandon and a deep ache in the pit of my stomach.

It’s not like I have anything to lose now, anyway.

After many years of her trying and failing to get her hands on me, I’ve finally agreed to give Meg complete control over my ‘look’. Everything. Hair, make-up, outfit, shoes, jewellery…

It’s an effective distraction;
t
he excitement that I might
not
come out of her style renovation looking like a drag queen and the fear that I most probably will.

Meg’s face is full of concentration as she wraps strands of my hair carefully around a set of curling tongs. Her tongue pokes out of the side of her mouth as she focuses on not burning herself.

“
Are you sure it won’t look funny curled? It’s so short.
”

“
No. Trust me.
”

I have no other choice but to trust her. She’s covered all the mirrors in the room with pillowcases,
which
(
apart from being super creepy) makes sure I have no idea whether the curls she’s putting into my hair are Meg Ryan or Justin Timberlake circa 1998.

Speaking of bands.
“
Are you doing the rude stuff with Jasper Hobbs?
”

“
Nat!
”
She pulls my hair with the tongs.

“
What? I can’t be the only one blurting it out about my sex life around here. Fess up.
”

“
He’s nice. Lovely. But no. I’m not doing the rude stuff with him.
”

“
Really?
”

“
Really. Not through lack of flirting, mind. He’s got a girlfriend. It’s annoying because he’s the perfect man.
”

“
That’s not what Riley thinks,
”
I say thinking back to his tale about Jasper Hobbs in the car two years ago. I consider telling Meg the story, but decide against it. It’s kind of sensitive. And I’ve already blurted enough secrets out around here. Besides which, there’s no point in warning her off if there’s nothing going on.
“
Have you met his girlfriend?
”
I ask.

“
No. She’s never around… I wonder if she even exists. Maybe she doesn’t. Maybe Jasper made her up to stop me from coming on to him. Oh Jeez. I bet that’s it. I’m vile.
”

“
Shut up. Robbie fancies you.
”

“
Oh God, I know. He won’t leave me alone. He’s always hanging around trying to do things for me. You know, yesterday he brought me hot water with honey in case the cold weather affected my voice!
”

I laugh.
“
He’s cute. Do you not fancy him?
“

“
Nope.
”

“
But you…
”

“
I know. I was very drunk. He’s definitely not my type. He’s a friend type of bloke. It was kind of sweet with the honey water.
”

“
Very sweet,
”
I say, thinking about Robbie and his cute baby
face.
“
He really is cute. And he was great singing in the band.
”

“
Natty. I see what you’re doing. Stop talking. Time to do your make-up.
”

After an hour of having my face painted, the vodka cranberries I’ve been sipping at are not doing quite enough to keep me from getting antsy.

“
Are you nearly done?
”
I whine.
“
I want to go to the dance.
”

“
Stop moving your mouth, Cinderella,
”
Meg scolds.
“
It’ll make your eyeliner wobbly.
”

I har
rumph as motionlessly as I can -
no one likes wobbly eyeliner - and within a minute or two Meg announces that she is done.

“
About time.
”

I stand from the chair and shake out the pins and needles in my legs; the sudden movement after being sat down for so long making my eyes go bleary.

“
Woah!
”
I say flopping back into the chair.

Meg takes the vodka glass away.
“
Don’t go so fast! You’ll have no room left.
”

I sulk.

“
Let me see then!
”

“
You’re not dressed yet.
”

“
Oh yeah.
”

Meg hurries over to the closet and rifles through, eventually pulling out one of her dresses.

“
It doesn't fit me very well, but it's probably perfect for you,
”
she says handing it over.

I’ve not seen this one before. It’s short and black with delicate beading running through the material in loops. I hold it out in front of me. The top half has a high neck at the front and a low back. The waist is nipped in and the skirt is flippy. It’s lovely. Sexy. But not something I could get
a
way with.

“
Do you have something a bit more…
”

“
Nope. That’s the only one. At least try it on!
”

Well, I suppose I did agree to relinquish all control over to Meg.

I pull the dress over my head. It doesn’t feel tight, which is good. Meg zips up the side panel for me and ties the dress at the back of my neck.

“
Wowsers.
”
She beams, standing back to look at me.

“
Wowsers I look like a chump?
”

She ignores me and pulls out a pair of silver shoes. Dangerously high and a size too big.

“
They’re too big!
”

“
Beauty is as beauty does,
”
she says solemnly.

I don’t think she’s quite got the hang of that saying.

“
You can’t wear your trainers,
”
she continues.
“
You can put your wellies on to walk over to the barn, and then switch into these.
”

“
They’ll fall off!
”

“
We’ll stuff the toes.
”
Meg hurries over to her make-up bag and pulls out a couple of new foundation sponges from a pack. She grabs the shoes and pushes the sponges into the ends.

I try them on again. I do a miniature walk across the room. Little shuffling steps. That’s not bad at all.

Meg hands me a pair of silver drop earrings in the shape of snowflakes before declaring me done.

She positions a mirror in front of me and after counting to three, pulls off the pillowcase with a flourish.

Oh. My. Gosh!

I gaze at my reflection, a slow smile creeping across my face.

I look hot.

My hair isn’t curly at all. It’s in a kind of bouffant at the top and flipped out at the ends and Meg has zigzagged the parting so that the tabby cat stripes are only half as obvious. I peer at my face. My eyes look big and dramatic, the eyeliner wings out and my eyelashes look all fluttery. My mammoth lips actually look very sexy, lined in a way that makes them look slightly smaller, and dabbed with clear lip glass so that there's the merest hint of shine.

And the dress! It flatters my smaller boobs, skims softly over my hips and...
and I have a
waist
!

“
You are GOOD!
”
I hug Meg who is clapping with glee.

“
Told ya! You look like Bridget Bardot.
”

I turn back to the mirror.

“
You know what? I actually do!
”
I chuckle with excitement. Woah.

“
I’m afraid it isn’t
quite
barn dance attire…
”
Meg apologises with a giggle.

“
No, it isn’t,
”
I agree, patting my newly shiny locks.
“
It’s way better!
”

Unable to drive anywhere in the snow, I throw on some wellies and my puffa jacket and trundle alongside Meg, to halfway up the hill to where Mrs Grimes' barn is. We’re carrying a huge rainbow striped golfing umbrella to protect our outfits and hair from the flurry of snowflakes that are still falling thick and fast.

Meg looks gorgeous. She’s donned her favourite cherry red tea dress and put her hair in a sophisticated marcel wave. Her lips are painted in the same red as her dress and she’s brought a black faux fur shrug to put on once we get inside and take our coats off.

As stunning as she looks, I find myself, for once, not feeling like the less impressive sidekick. The feeling of abandon flickering away inside of me and the fact that I know I have never looked as put together as this gives me a sense of confidence I’ve never had. I am rather enjoying it. I’m Audrey Hepburn, graceful and poised. Ooh, or Jessica Rabbit, ginger and sultry. No. Jessica Rabbit is a cartoon. I’m Beyoncé a veritable firecracker of
…

I’m a bit tiddly, I think.

There’s a tent erected outside of the barn where Meg and I change out of our wellies and coats and put them on one of the designated hangers, manned by an old lady reading a Mills and Boon.

Slipping into our high heels we totter across from the tent to the barn and open the door, being careful to shut it again just as quickly so that the blizzard doesn’t enter along with us.

So! This is what a barn dance looks like!

The party is already in full swing. People are milling about with pints of amber coloured ale; some are dancing on a makeshift dance floor in the centre of the room. Ohmigosh, over there is a group of blokes dressed kind of like Morris men, bopping about with swords.

I look around, impressed with what Mrs Grimes has put together. The crooked beams on the ceiling are strung with colourful lanterns and fairy lights, casting a warm, jovial glow upon the room. Chunky bales of hay are dotted haphazardly here and there, tables from the pub are covered in fresh linen and surrounded by chattering locals and right at the front is a big handmade banner, carefully stencilled in electric blue paint and reading ‘Save The Old Whimsy Barn Dance’.

In front of the blue banner, the band is playing. It’s the same band I saw in The Old Whimsy. Robbie, some short redheaded guy I don’t know, and the hairy bass playing nurse who checked on me when I fainted. They’re playing some kind of upbeat folk song, and look like they’re having a hell of a time, dancing and stamping their feet as they play their instruments.

Riley isn’t with them and I instinctively peer around the room trying to spot him.

There he is.

He’s stood behind a long wooden table, carving up a smoky hog roast for hungry dancers. He’s clearly busy and doesn’t notice me come in, which is exactly as I want it to be.

Obviously.

After what I said on the radio, I suspect any interaction with him would probably cause me to spontaneously combust with pure mortification.

I ignore that distressing train of thought and follow Meg to a rough and ready bar area: a table, a few barrels, buckets of beer, bottles of wine and lots of paper cups, and help myself to a cup of wine.

“
The band is brill,
”
Meg shouts over the noise.
“
I’m going to dance!
”

I don’t quite feel like being left alone yet, but Meg looks very keen to bop and I don’t want to put any
more of a downer on things then I already have done.

I wave her off and lurk at the edges of the room, jigging a little in time to the music.

The buzz of partying people and deafening music isn’t doing as great a job of distracting me as I’d hoped, and as I stand on the fringes of it all I find my mind drifting to Olly.

It’s almost as if the whole thing is yet to sink in properly. An entire relationship just vanished with a text message. My stomach lurches as I think about the fact that the brand new perfect family I had been counting on having with Olly, the escape I’ve been wanting for so long, has just slipped away. It surprises me that I’m surprised. Experience tells me that men leave when the going gets tough. That’s what they do. Why should Olly be any different?