I’d already packed up the urgent Chocolate Wishes orders at the crack of dawn, so I could dash to the post office with them before driving out to Stirrups and picking Poppy up for our Day of Beauty.
When I arrived, she looked terribly nervous. You’d think we were going to spend the day having major dental work done, rather than being glammed up!
She needn’t have worried because when we came back several hours later, exhausted but happy, we’d had a wonderful time.
It wasn’t something either of us could do on a regular basis – high maintenance we were not – but it would be fun as an occasional treat and we decided we’d repeat it every six months or so.
I’d acquired a subtle new makeup and had my hair cut in a shorter, more feathery style, which suited me, though it was the same very dark brown as before, just shinier. And my eyebrows were reshaped, which made an amazing difference. I mean, I like them natural, but they had started to look too natural, like escaping hairy caterpillars.
Poppy was the real revelation, though: her hair had been given golden highlights and now fell into long, natural curls rather than the damp-sand-coloured frizz. She had lots of new makeup too, though in different shades from mine, being so fair. But the most stunning difference was that her eyelashes and brows had been dyed brown, which made her eyes seem brighter and the blue much deeper.
She has a good figure, even if it is a bit sturdier than the current fashion for lollipop-shaped women dictated, but her everyday garb of quilted jackets and gilets made her look top heavy and thick-waisted, which she really wasn’t. Her attempts to look smart usually involve bunchy skirts and pussycat bows but now, in slim dark jeans and a pretty jersey top, she looked lovely.
It had taken us ages to find dresses we actually looked good in, the current fashion being all ruched and smocky, like baby clothes. What had happened to fashion for adults since I’d last looked? Did designers not think women over thirty bought clothes? This is why I subscribe to Skint Old Northern Woman magazine – it’s for real women who aren’t necessarily thin, teenage, rich, London-based or almost entirely self-absorbed. I now advertise my Chocolate Wishes in it too, since they’re the thinking woman’s after-dinner mint.
Eventually we went to a shop known for having very individual stuff, and spent more than the rest of the day had cost us put together, on an outfit each. I only hoped Janey’s cash flow was up to it. I wasn’t sure about mine, unless the bank had inserted some elastic since I’d last checked.
‘I’ll see you in the Falling Star at eight,’ I said, dropping her off at Stirrups in the late afternoon, laden with shopping bags. ‘Don’t wash the makeup off, or brush the curl out of your hair, or do anything to your face before you come. And wear the dark jeans with the white and blue floaty top and the chunky necklace. We’ll save our dresses for something really special.’
‘Yes, boss,’ she agreed, ‘but my hair feels funny.’
‘It doesn’t look funny, it looks great. You’ll have to keep using the conditioner and serum, because you can’t possibly go back to frizz, now.’
‘I do like the way it looks,’ she admitted.
‘OK, I’d better get off so I’m not late for the birthday dinner with the family, so I’ll see you and Felix later – and don’t forget, tonight is the blind chocolate tasting.’
‘Should be fun!’
Janey, who had just come out of a loose box with a bucket, and the usual fag hanging out of the corner of her mouth, gave a scream at the sight of her daughter. As I drove away, I tried to decide whether it was from delight, or dismay that suddenly Poppy had turned into a younger, fresher version of herself. Or maybe it was a combination of the two?
Back at the cottage, Zillah had taken in a flower delivery for me from David, one of those tortured arrangements featuring a couple of dark and diseased-looking orchids and a twisted sprig of bamboo. I don’t think he has any taste at all.
Even when we were house-hunting, his ideal of a lovely home looked more like a factory unit than a cottage. If he bought something with original features it would be gutted like a fish in no time, so he might as well stay in his minimalist flat in the first place.
He was clearly not a wellies-and-chicken-run sort of man.
Chapter Twenty-seven Pure Criollo
Zillah had stuck my birthday candles (way too many) into the top of a lemon cheese Pavlova, a recipe culled from one of her favourite magazines. It was…interesting, shall we say, but I appreciated the effort and thanked both her and Grumps for their presents too. I was wearing the little gold cocoa bean at the neck of my new black pleated chiffon tunic top and it went nicely with the low-slung chain belt around my hips. My new, big leather bag was gold too – maybe I should have married a man with the Midas touch?
Poppy was feeling really self-conscious about her new image and so she called for me after dinner so we could go to the Falling Star together. Jake, who was just about to go up to Kat’s house, where he was staying the night, looked gobsmacked when he saw her. Mine can’t have been such an amazing transformation, since none of the family had commented on my changed appearance, except to hope I had enjoyed my day.
When Poppy and I walked into the snug, Felix was standing at the bar. He looked up with his usual welcoming smile, then his jaw dropped and his eyes practically came out on stalks – and it wasn’t me he was looking at but Poppy, all pink, blonde and delectably feminine.
‘Poppy? ’ he gasped.
She blushed. ‘Hello, Felix. I’ve had a makeover – we both have.’
‘I can see that,’ he said slowly, still gazing at her. I don’t think he’d looked properly at me once and I was so amused by this, that at first I didn’t even notice that Raffy was sitting in our usual window seat.
Then Felix, recovering his wits with an obvious effort, asked him what he wanted to drink, then said to me slightly challengingly, ‘I invited Raffy. That’s OK now, isn’t it?’
Before I could answer, Raffy was on his feet. ‘Actually, no, I’m not stopping, thanks. I didn’t want to butt in on your celebration, Chloe, only Felix mentioned that it was your birthday and I wanted to wish you many happy returns and give you this.’
‘This’ was a small, rectangular parcel and it’s hard to tell someone to go away when they’ve just handed you a present…especially when they’re standing looking down at you with grave, hopeful eyes, a bit like a large dog who knows he’s done something wrong, is not entirely sure what, but hopes to be forgiven anyway.
‘No, do stay,’ I said resignedly. ‘We’re going to have a blind chocolate tasting session in a bit. You can be an extra guinea pig. But you shouldn’t have bought me a present – you’ve already given me that lovely angel.’
‘Which lovely angel?’ Poppy asked, as we sat down around the table.
I coloured slightly. ‘I forgot to tell you: Raffy gave me a carved wooden angel the other day, for my collection.’
‘Yes, you did forget to tell me that – how lovely,’ she agreed, looking at me strangely. ‘You should have seen the disgusting flowers David sent her, Raffy!’
‘They weren’t disgusting, just weird,’ I said. ‘I’d rather have had a pot of geraniums. Oh, and David has gone to have dinner at Badger’s Bolt tonight with some of his friends, and he invited me to go too! I told him what Mann-Drake was like, but he didn’t believe me. He’s met him at the Green Man