Making Up (Short Fiction)
20th May 2012
In: Short Stories
When she heard her husband’s car in the driveway, Lilian picked up the letter from the coffee table and hurried to the front door, ready to present the envelope to him rather as an eager spaniel might offer slippers to its homecoming master.
“You’re back” she said, in a light breathy voice.
“Obviously.” He brushed past her, reaching into the hall cupboard for a coat hanger as she hovered at his elbow.
“Norman, I’ve won a competition. Look, I’ve had this letter...”
He ignored the proffered envelope and bent down to untie his shoelaces, grunting as he removed the heavy brogues and placing them carefully on a newspaper to dry off. “Damn rain!” he muttered then, remembering Lilian, turned and asked “Well, what’ve you won then?”
She handed him the letter and watched him read the contents. His eyebrows undulated several times, his brow creased but he looked
unimpressed. “What, exactly, is a makeover ?” he wanted to know.
“Well, it’s a complete change of image,” she explained, “you know, a totally new look. I’ll have my hair and make-up done at a top beauty
salon and I get to choose an outfit from the latest range at a famous department store.”
“Hmmm. I don’t see why you want to bother with all that at your age — seems like a waste of time and money to me. Pity you couldn’t have won something worth having — like a new car or a decent holiday. I could do with a holiday.”
Stunned by this reaction, Lilian was silent for a moment, her excitement draining away.“It won’t cost anything, it’s all expenses paid” she said quietly.
“You’ll end up like your sister — mutton dressed as lamb” he countered.
Lilian felt her hackles rise.“Pearl always looks wonderful — everyone says so!”
“She should act her age,” Norman snapped,“not try to dress up like Joan Collins. She looks ridiculous!”
“I suppose you’d rather she dressed like me — dowdy and spinsterish. All shapeless tweed suits and sensible shoes!” Lilian allowed the rush of anger to give a sarcastic edge to her words.
“At least you don’t draw attention to yourself.”
“No,” she agreed,“I shouldn’t think anyone has noticed me for the last twenty years or more. Which is why it’s about time I did something about it!”
It was pleasantly warm in the salon, the delicately scented air smelled expensive.
Lilian read the framed diplomas that were displayed high on the wall above a row of shell pink sinks. She felt very relaxed and smiled at the young man’s reflection in the mirror.
“It hasn’t been cut properly for some time,” she ventured.
He returned her smile. “Have you any preference as to style,” he asked, “or may I make a few suggestions?”
“Please do.” She felt with all those impressive qualifications she could safely leave the decisions to him.
He showed her a picture in a style book and explained the benefits of a hair colourant which would lighten her mouse-brown and blend in the few grey streaks. She nodded her agreement and he began to comb and snip, moving lightly and rhythmically as he talked about his clients — some of them celebrities.
When he’d finished the teasing, combing and final spraying, he stood back and asked her what she thought. She gazed at the soft beige-blonde elegance of the new style. “I look so different — not like me at all!” She laughed self-consciously then searched the contents of her handbag, looking for a hankie.
Angela, the senior make-up artist, couldn’t believe Lilian had never worn foundation cream.
“Just a touch of powder, dear, to take off the shine, and then only for special occasions. Besides, my husband doesn’t really approve of cosmetics so I don’t bother usually.”
“I see. Well, perhaps if I cleanse, tone and moisturise your skin first, then we’ll try just the bare minimum of make-up — nothing too dramatic — to add a little colour, highlight the contours — that sort of thing.”
“Yes, why not.” Lilian was feeling rebellious as she recalled Norman’s unkind remarks concerning mutton and lamb.
“You have very good bone structure, you know,” Angela told her, “a firm jaw line and high, well-defined cheek bones. Your natural skin colour may be a shade pale but the texture is fine and even — very few lines or
blemishes.”
Lilian studied the young woman’s face and said, her voice now serious, “Norman always insists that looks aren’t important but I think I’ll
try some eyeshadow and lipstick anyway.”
And so it was that the Lilian who travelled home that evening was not the same Lilian who had left it after breakfast.
As she got off the train it began to drizzle. She looked down at her new court shoes and worried about the rain ruining the pale leather. She’d ring for a taxi. No. She’d ring Norman and ask him to come and fetch her.
He’d been watching golf on TV and sounded peeved at the interruption. She thought he’d probably take his time getting the car out and make her wait as punishment, however, less than ten minutes later, he pushed impatiently through the entrance doors, his eyes already scanning the area.
She noted, with some satisfaction, that he didn’t recognise her immediately.
Then a curious thing happened. He stood motionless, staring at her, his amazement almost comic. She had braced herself for a critical attack
on her new appearance, but he was smiling as he walked towards her.
“Lily,”he said, his admiring tone an echo from their courting days, “Lily, you look beautiful!”
“Why, thank you Norman." She tried to sound gracious and keep the surprise out of her voice, adding “Is that the sweater Pearl bought you
last Christmas?”
“Yes — Not too Noel Edmonds is it?” He glanced doubtfully at the
bright patterning across his chest.
“No,it suits you — quite dashing, in fact.” And she winked at him, making him blush like a schoolboy.
“You’re back” she said, in a light breathy voice.
“Obviously.” He brushed past her, reaching into the hall cupboard for a coat hanger as she hovered at his elbow.
“Norman, I’ve won a competition. Look, I’ve had this letter...”
He ignored the proffered envelope and bent down to untie his shoelaces, grunting as he removed the heavy brogues and placing them carefully on a newspaper to dry off. “Damn rain!” he muttered then, remembering Lilian, turned and asked “Well, what’ve you won then?”
She handed him the letter and watched him read the contents. His eyebrows undulated several times, his brow creased but he looked
unimpressed. “What, exactly, is a makeover ?” he wanted to know.
“Well, it’s a complete change of image,” she explained, “you know, a totally new look. I’ll have my hair and make-up done at a top beauty
salon and I get to choose an outfit from the latest range at a famous department store.”
“Hmmm. I don’t see why you want to bother with all that at your age — seems like a waste of time and money to me. Pity you couldn’t have won something worth having — like a new car or a decent holiday. I could do with a holiday.”
Stunned by this reaction, Lilian was silent for a moment, her excitement draining away.“It won’t cost anything, it’s all expenses paid” she said quietly.
“You’ll end up like your sister — mutton dressed as lamb” he countered.
Lilian felt her hackles rise.“Pearl always looks wonderful — everyone says so!”
“She should act her age,” Norman snapped,“not try to dress up like Joan Collins. She looks ridiculous!”
“I suppose you’d rather she dressed like me — dowdy and spinsterish. All shapeless tweed suits and sensible shoes!” Lilian allowed the rush of anger to give a sarcastic edge to her words.
“At least you don’t draw attention to yourself.”
“No,” she agreed,“I shouldn’t think anyone has noticed me for the last twenty years or more. Which is why it’s about time I did something about it!”
It was pleasantly warm in the salon, the delicately scented air smelled expensive.
Lilian read the framed diplomas that were displayed high on the wall above a row of shell pink sinks. She felt very relaxed and smiled at the young man’s reflection in the mirror.
“It hasn’t been cut properly for some time,” she ventured.
He returned her smile. “Have you any preference as to style,” he asked, “or may I make a few suggestions?”
“Please do.” She felt with all those impressive qualifications she could safely leave the decisions to him.
He showed her a picture in a style book and explained the benefits of a hair colourant which would lighten her mouse-brown and blend in the few grey streaks. She nodded her agreement and he began to comb and snip, moving lightly and rhythmically as he talked about his clients — some of them celebrities.
When he’d finished the teasing, combing and final spraying, he stood back and asked her what she thought. She gazed at the soft beige-blonde elegance of the new style. “I look so different — not like me at all!” She laughed self-consciously then searched the contents of her handbag, looking for a hankie.
Angela, the senior make-up artist, couldn’t believe Lilian had never worn foundation cream.
“Just a touch of powder, dear, to take off the shine, and then only for special occasions. Besides, my husband doesn’t really approve of cosmetics so I don’t bother usually.”
“I see. Well, perhaps if I cleanse, tone and moisturise your skin first, then we’ll try just the bare minimum of make-up — nothing too dramatic — to add a little colour, highlight the contours — that sort of thing.”
“Yes, why not.” Lilian was feeling rebellious as she recalled Norman’s unkind remarks concerning mutton and lamb.
“You have very good bone structure, you know,” Angela told her, “a firm jaw line and high, well-defined cheek bones. Your natural skin colour may be a shade pale but the texture is fine and even — very few lines or
blemishes.”
Lilian studied the young woman’s face and said, her voice now serious, “Norman always insists that looks aren’t important but I think I’ll
try some eyeshadow and lipstick anyway.”
And so it was that the Lilian who travelled home that evening was not the same Lilian who had left it after breakfast.
As she got off the train it began to drizzle. She looked down at her new court shoes and worried about the rain ruining the pale leather. She’d ring for a taxi. No. She’d ring Norman and ask him to come and fetch her.
He’d been watching golf on TV and sounded peeved at the interruption. She thought he’d probably take his time getting the car out and make her wait as punishment, however, less than ten minutes later, he pushed impatiently through the entrance doors, his eyes already scanning the area.
She noted, with some satisfaction, that he didn’t recognise her immediately.
Then a curious thing happened. He stood motionless, staring at her, his amazement almost comic. She had braced herself for a critical attack
on her new appearance, but he was smiling as he walked towards her.
“Lily,”he said, his admiring tone an echo from their courting days, “Lily, you look beautiful!”
“Why, thank you Norman." She tried to sound gracious and keep the surprise out of her voice, adding “Is that the sweater Pearl bought you
last Christmas?”
“Yes — Not too Noel Edmonds is it?” He glanced doubtfully at the
bright patterning across his chest.
“No,it suits you — quite dashing, in fact.” And she winked at him, making him blush like a schoolboy.