Authors: Kirsty Greenwood
“
Hello, my name is Steven from Wondrous Windows. I'm calling to offer you a very special, unprecedented discount on a set of windows for your home. With every set bought you get a free carpet cleaner. Would you like me to arrange an appointment to visit you discuss your window needs further?
”
“
Oh Steven. No. I do not wish to make an appointment. Why on earth would I invite you, a veritable stranger, into my home? I do not need new windows. The chances of you calling on the very day, the month even, that I naturally come to the decision to purchase new windows are ridiculously slim. Do you understand that, Steven?
”
“
Certainly Miss Butterworth. Can I ask you when you are due to review your window situation?
”
“
Yes. You can ask me that Steven. You just did. I think I'll next be reviewing my window situation around the time that I review the situation of my doors and the situation of my walls. Saves time assessing all the situations together, I find. By the way, I'm being sarcastic. I don't think I'll ever review the situation. I'm sorry.
”
“
Um. It really is a very good offer Miss Butterworth. Are you sure I can't persuade you to give me your address? Make an appointment with me?
”
“
No. I'd rather pierce my own tongue with a rusty nail. Now fuck off, Steven.
Zoo
Vets at Large
is on and you're making me miss it.
”
Mum has barely spoken to me since our conversation on Saturday night. She just wafts around the house sniffing and sighing as if I'm getting in her way. Plus her eyes are permanently watering like she's about to start sobbing which makes me feel horribly guilty.
I suppose the good thing is that she's not asking me any more
questions.
So yes. I've been locked in my house for an entire week, watching Jeremy Kyle, baking cakes and feeling very sorry for myself.
On Thursday morning Dionne insists that my (fake)
lurgy
is no longer reason enough for me to stay locked up indoors. She bursts into my bedroom, pulls open my childhood Care Bear curtains and bounces on my bed, prodding at my shoulders annoyingly.
“
Wake up, biatch! It’s snowing!
”
“
Gnahh.
”
It’s been about ten years since I was last excited by the snow. What is there to be excited about? It’s just rain that’s gone solid.
“
Come o-on.
”
Dionne prods me again.
“
I got the day off work. We have things to do.
”
Hmmm. I open one eye at this. Dionne never takes days off from her job at the travel agents on the High Street. She loves her job.
“
Olly rang me last night.
”
Okay. This wakes me up completely. In the absence of me being able to fix my troubling brain flaw he’s probably decided to go ahead and cancel the wedding. I sit up, fear booting me right in the belly.
“
I’m awake. I'm awake!
”
“
Nice hair. It looks like shredded wheat.
”
I roll my eyes and pat down my erratic sleep hair.
“
What did Olly say? Is everything all right?
”
“
I’m not going to tell you until you get up.
”
“
Seriously? I’m up now. Look.
”
I make my eyes wide.
“
I’m wide awake. Timmy Mallet style.
”
“
You have to get up and get dressed. I don’t know what’s going on with you, you blatantly don't have a cold, but you’re never going to sort things out with Olly if you just hide away like some kind of
arachnophobic
.
”
“
You mean agoraphobic?
”
“
Whatevs.
”
She pulls at my arm, but I pull back.
“
Dionne,
”
I say as sternly as I can manage this early in the morning.
“
This isn’t a game. Olly isn’t some high school boy I kissed in the park last Friday after too much gazillion percent cider. He’s my fiancé. I need to know what he said.
”
Dionne nods sincerely.
“
Yes, I see what you mean… but… I’ll tell you when you get up. Soz!
”
She jumps off the bed and flounces out of my bedroom.
“
Wrap up warm!
”
she sings from the hallway.
Arrrrrgh. Infuriating.
I pull myself out of the toasty bed and squeal as the cold air hits me. Jeez it’s freezing!
Following an uncomfortably chilly shower I dig in my wardrobe and select a rather fetching outfit of a vest, one woolly jumper (white) and a woolly cardigan (blue)
,
my boyfriend jeans and my favourite pair of thick, polka dot socks.
I attempt to dry my hair into some semblance of style, but Barbara’s brutal haircut means it just falls straight back into the pudding bowl bob. Pah.
I slouch downstairs to where Dionne is sat at the kitchen table, hands curled around a cup of coffee, Jean-Paul Gaultier settled on her knee.
“
Did you make me one?
”
“
No. Soz.
”
I nod and spoon some coffee into the cafetiere.
While I’m waiting for the coffee to brew Dionne chatters away.
“
…and I don’t even know why you argued, and
I’m not really interested. But M
um is seriously mad at you. Not what I need right now, being chief wedding planner and all. I need her help. I’ve got so much to do and the wedding is only two weeks away. Olly
-
”
“
What did he say?
”
“
He called last night to see how you were.
”
“
And?
”
“
He said you were depressed.
”
I sigh. I consider telling Dionne that I’m not depressed at all. But, I realise that even if I wasn’t before, I certainly am after this past week.
“
He said something about you pretending to be hypnotised!
”
she squawks with laughter.
I take a breath. There is no point trying to avoid it anymore.
“
Well… I
was
hypnotised
”
“
Really?
”
Dionne looks up from her coffee.
“
When did that happen? Was it to stop you from eating so much? Was it expensive?
”
“
It happened last week. No - it was to make me tell the truth whenever I’m asked a question. It was free.
”
She doesn’t even notice the strange way I blurt out all the answers to her. But that’s Dionne for you. In her own sparkly Dionne world.
“
Oh, that’s rubbish. They should have done it so, I don’t know, you’d be better at drawing or something. That would have been well more fun than telling the truth.
”
She shrugs.
“
Anyway, Olly said I was to cheer you up.
”
“
Did he say anything else?
”
“
No.
”
“
Oh.
”
Dionne notices my sad face and pats me lightly on the shoulder.
“
He wants you to cheer up! He obviously still cares.
”
I smile grimly. That’s true, I suppose. If he truly hated me he wouldn't give a crap if I was miserable.
“
Also, he knows we’re still planning the wedding. He hasn’t, like, told us to stop.
”
My heart leaps at the thought of this. Olly is many things but wasteful he is not. He couldn’t bear the thought of money being spent on a wedding that wasn’t going to happen.
Dionne grins, slurping down the last of her coffee.
“
We’re going out.
”
“
I can’t go out.
”
“
Why not?
”
“
Well, because of the truth-telling thing. It’s embarrassing. I’ll embarrass you. I know it.
”
“
Are you on glue?
”
she frowns.
“
No.
”
“
Dionne Butterworth does not get easily embarrassed. Now stop being such a drip and get your coat on.
”
I obey. I’m sick of staying in. Dionne’s right. There are only two weeks until the wedding. I have so much to do. Plus, she did take the day off.
“
Where are we going?
”
I ask, pulling on an unflattering but super cosy puffa jacket while Dionne lifts Jean-Paul Gaultier into her handbag.
“
We’re going to get you a pre-wedding makeover.
”
That sounds easy enough. I smile and put on my hat.
“
Brilliant. Let's go!
”
After a pit stop at the Trafford Centre so Dionne can get some ‘fucking amazing’ earrings she’d seen in Topshop, and a brand new pair of furry knee high boots, we arrive at the beauty salon, which is situated on an industrial park in deepest Salford. I balk slightly when
I see the sign. ‘Serious Beauty’
is flashing in pink neon lights.
“
This is the best place in town,
”
Dionne says, noticing my expression.
“
Trust me.
”
She pushes open the door and we enter one of the weirdest places I’ve ever seen in my life.
Seriously. It’s like a spaceship. In the middle of the vast, factory like room is a huge steel desk manned by a perfectly quaffed, platinum blonde lady in a red air hostess-y uniform. The edges of the room are taken up by rows of large
pods that look a bit like over
sized portaloos. In the distance I hear the sound of a woman screaming.
“
Bikini wax,
”
Dionne nods knowledgeably.
“
What the hell is this place?
”
I hiss, as we walk to the front desk.
“
It’s a cutting edge European concept. Serious beauty.
”
“
I’m frightened.
”
Dionne laughs.
“
Sonja!
”
She greets the blonde woman at the desk with a kiss.
“
Here she is. My sister, Natalie!
”
Dionne gestures towards me as if I’m a prize cow for sale.
“
What can you do to help?
”
“
Dionne, darlink!
”
Sonja drawls before looking me up and down.
“
Ah, I see vat you mean,
”
she says with a foreign accent and a look of deep sympathy. I bristle at her scrutiny and wonder what Dionne’s been telling this woman about me.
“
I think she is rrripe for the From Drab to Desirable program.
”
“
That’s, like exactly what I was thinking!
”
Dionne nods earnestly.
Drab to Desirable? What am I? A chuffing living room?
Sonja reaches from underneath the desk and hands me a starchy white gown. It looks like a hospital nightie, a fact that doesn't exactly fill me with confidence.
I’m not really an expert on beauty salons, having only been to one about three times in the past ten years, but I’m pretty sure there is supposed to be champagne. And why is there no radio playing in the background? Where’s the friendly lady who will chat to me about her children while doing my nails in pretty pearly pink?
“
I don’t know if I can afford all this,
”
I whisper to Dionne, as Sonja types my details into an expensive looking computer.
“
Oh, no worries. Bull knows someone. It’s on the house.
”
“
Oh.
”
A gangster salon!