Lost Angel (The List #1) (7 page)

My only moment of weakness was drunkenly texting
Mike in the taxi on the way home, asking him if he’d removed his ring yet. I
wish it didn’t matter to me. He didn’t reply but then again it was after 2am!

Wednesday 18
^th
March 2015

9:00am

“
I
t's Raining Men” by The Weather Girls
disturbs
my alcohol infused deep sleep. Well, it seemed like a great idea for an alarm song
six hours ago. But now, it’s piercing straight through my delicate ears, activating
a beast of a hangover. It was indeed raining men last night, they were
everywhere. I did go out and I dipped my toe in but I categorically did not get
absolutely soaking wet, as the lyrics may suggest. All in good time I suppose.

Feeling slightly guilty, I chastise myself as I
would usually be an hour into a working day by now but instead I’m rolling out
of bed, hung over. Oh how quickly the tables can turn…

I slept in my underwear and find last night’s
clothes inside out, screwed up on the floor as though I’d had to wrestle myself
out of them. I slip into my dressing gown and make a beeline for caffeine.
Wills is up and about fixing breakfast, looking far less delicate than me.

“Morning pisshead” She says, kissing my cheek
as she breezes past me on route to the fridge. “Coffee and toast to soak up
some of those beers? Or would you prefer hair of the dog?” She flashes a bottle
of beer at me from out of the fridge.

“Morning beautiful, coffee and toast would be
perfect please. How do you still manage to look so fresh?” I grab a quick glass
of water. “I know I’m not used to burning the candle at both ends like you, but
jeez I’m such a lightweight in comparison. Rest assured, I’ll be a cheap date
for you on Friday!” I take a headache tablet, finish the rest of the thirst
quenching cool water and take a seat on the opposite side of the island.

Wills flicks the switch to boil the kettle and
drops four slices of wholemeal bread into the toaster. “Well, actually… about
that—”

“Whoa, hold up, you’re not ditching me for a
better offer are you?” I hope not, I had such a good night last night and I’m
really looking forward to Friday.

“No, no, not ditching. Just thinking of
changing our plans slightly… If you’re up for it, how about we go clubbing
instead. You know, a proper night out where we’re more interested in eating
breakfast instead of a kebab on the way home?” Wills dramatically flutters her
eyelashes at me trying and failing to look endearing.

My face screws up like I’ve tasted something
horrid. “I don’t know about that Wills. I’ve only ever been to all nighters
with Mike a few times and never really enjoyed them. Why the change of heart or
is this how you woo all your dates; dinner and a romantic rave?” I’m smiling
but she knows she’s got some convincing to do if she really wants to do this.
As much as I love dancing, I can’t imagine a rave is a very sociable night out when
you can’t even hear yourself think. I’d much prefer repeating something similar
to last night.

“Well firstly, I said clubbing not a rave, I’m
not even sure people say that word anymore or ‘all-nighters’.” Wills shakes her
head dismissing my terminology. “You know in 2015, it’s deemed a standard night
to be out ‘til 6 in the morning. It’s no biggy, come on.” At Uni, if you were
out past 2am you were a rebel – 6am and you’d be considered out of control. “Secondly,
the problem with your past experiences is completely down to
who
you
were with. Would you have had such a good night last night if you’d been with
anybody but me?” I shake my head smiling at her confidence. “
Exactly
…. I
have been to enough clubs to know where to go and who with. Trust me, I know what
a top night looks like—” She must see from the look on my face that I’m
wavering so pushes further.

“Look, when we arranged to go out this Friday
it was supposed to be your ‘I’m-single-and-ready-to-mingle’ night. But that
randomly happened last night, which has taken the edge off Friday now. Don’t
get me wrong; I’m glad we went out last night because it’s proof of the
goodness that comes from living in the moment and not planning everything in
fine detail. I just want to take Friday to the next level, so you’re
experiencing new things, meeting new people—”

“Okay, okay. I get it. You win.” I interrupt
and shrug. “Let’s do this.”

“Are you kidding? That was too easy.” The look
on her face is priceless. “Earth to Bethany, come in Bethany—”

“Nope, not kidding. I‘m up for it. Just living
in the moment baby. Fuck It!” I shrug and enjoy Wills reaction.

She can’t help but take advantage of the mood;
her tone still suspicious of my carefree attitude. “Ooookay… as you’re being so
reasonable and open… How about we up the ante a little and you agree to free
yourself of that noose around your finger on Friday too?” She points the butter
knife towards my left hand.

I look down and rub the bottom of my wedding
ring with my thumb, which is ironically a habit I have when deep in thought. I
raise my eyes to meet Wills. “Fine... I agree.” My Miss Sensible frantically
palming through her research to find evidence to prove it’s too soon and
doesn’t fit with her predicted timescales according to matrimonial separation guidelines.

I continue in a cocky tone. “Hey, I’m just
being decisive and dominant… now where’s my breakfast biatch?”

Wills arches an eyebrow, calmly cuts the toast whilst
she prepares to pull me back to reality. She bends over the island to me,
holding a triangular piece of buttered toast out between her manicured
fingertips.

“
Would you like me to put it in your mouth sweetheart
?”
Sending my cocky tone back to where it came from by dropping one simple line… My
jaw drops and I cover my face with both hands like a toddler pretending to
hide. I start to remember parts aloud and Wills happily fills in the blanks
over breakfast. Apparently I was quite impressive on the dance floor. I’d forgotten
how much I escape when I’m dancing. My apparent Miss Alter Ego taking that
compliment as her cue to start twerking her way down the full length mirror she
was buffing – I really like this part of me. I think that what I refer to as my
alter ego is probably more to do with the parts of me that I’ve hidden away or
ignored as they didn’t fit in with my life at the time. 

Wills talks me into some yoga and after I get
over my urge to giggle, it was actually great. It did wonders for my headache,
well that… and the painkiller… and coffee… and litre of water. I take a long shower
and get ready. Feeling refreshed I log on to catch up on work emails and make
some business calls.

I allow work to consume me for the rest of the
day. I make some promising headway on streamlining some of the electronic
records we keep. I also spent time looking into how feasible it’d be to extend our
opening hours once a week and introduce a late night book club or studying
session. I’m still just brainstorming at the moment but I have already been
reaching out to a few of the lecturers from the nearby Uni that I’ve met
through work. I’m considering putting a proposal together to link in with the
University on a more formal basis. It’s going to need a lot more work yet but I’m
glad I’ve made a start.

Soon enough its dinnertime. I’m really hungry now
after only grabbing some cheese and crackers and fruit for lunch so I head to
the kitchen.

4:49pm

“Chop chop B, we’re gonna be late—” Willow
glides past me, swatting my ass, she grabs her car keys and makes her way to
the front door.

“Late for what? I need to eat. Where are you
going?”

“WE are going to
your
waxing
appointment, which I wrote down on the wipe board in the kitchen and I also
bellowed a reminder to you this morning. Hurry up, grab your shoes.”

“Shit, I totally forgot. I didn’t hear you this
morning, I must’ve been in the shower. I can’t just go… I’ve gotta at least
have a
wash
, you know—” Gesturing between my legs.

“You’ve showered already, so unless you’ve been
up to something other than
work
in your bedroom I think you’ll be fine
babe. Let’s go.” She opens the door with a look that’s taking no prisoners.

“Sorry, I’ll be one minute I promise, you go
and start the car.” She exaggerates her exhale and leaves.

5:25pm

After grabbing some food on the way, we eat in
the car. On the drive over, Wills tells me to decide between French or
Brazilian, giving me the low down for each. She kindly offers to show me her “
Brazi
”,
which I decline, having already decided on the less intrusive landing strip
option as oppose to my usual trusty bikini line trim.

“What are the beauticians like? I don’t wanna
be made to feel uncomfortable and awkward like when I’m having my smear done.”
I always feel compelled to fill the awkward silence with ramblings of utter
shite. If it were possible, I would gladly learn how to perform a smear test on
myself just to avoid the awkwardness. “Or when I have my bikini line done, the
girl I usually end up with makes me feel like a hairy monster that’s
inconveniencing her.” Wills shakes her head at me in annoyance.

“B, why on earth would you continue going to a
salon that makes you feel that way?” Then switches to a sarcastic tone. “No
wait let me guess, because it’s
convenient
and fits in with your neat
little
schedule
.” She growls in frustration and pretends to throttle me.
My Miss Sensible nodding enthusiastically eyeballing and shrugging as if to say
‘
And?’

She continues more serious this time. “I hope
you’re slowly starting to realise how little of your
schedule
was
actually dedicated to you. Not Mike, not work, not your family or friends—”

We drive in silence whilst I digest and accept
the truth in her words. I have kept myself at arm’s reach for so long, it’s
second nature now, until Wills points it out. Even the house was higher than me
on my list of priorities. I don’t know how to put myself first or be a priority
in my own life, which sounds ridiculous. There’s no excuses now. I will start
working in that direction from now on.

“In answer to your question; there’s a good reason
I’ve driven past at least five other salons. This place is fab and the staff
are all lovely. They’re chilled and non-judgemental.” Wills pulls into a car park
and stops the car outside the salon; it’s called ‘Bella’. I don’t know Italian
but I do know that means ‘Beautiful’.

We’ve arrived just in time for my 5:30pm
appointment. They shut soon so it’s quietening down. The receptionist, Becky,
is super sweet; petite, about a size 14, early 20’s, blonde hair and ocean blue
eyes. Willow introduces us and we stand around the desk chatting casually
whilst I absorb my surrounding.

We get lost in a conversation about Wills gym.
She’s telling us how great it is and persuading me to cancel my current gym
membership and sign up.

I forget where I am for a moment until Wills
nudges me to get my attention and nods her head behind me. Spinning around, I come
face to face with a beautiful woman, maybe mid to late 30’s, tanned skin,
flawless complexion. She has shiny jet black hair with dark chocolate brown eyes.
Her breasts are perfectly shaped and surgically enhanced. Considering she’s
wearing a clingy black V-neck top, it doesn’t look as though she’s even wearing
a bra and her nipples look like she quite possible hires a permanent nipple
erector to tweak them on tap. Between her and Wills, who hasn’t got a bra on
either, it’s feeling like a freakin’ nipplefest in here.

She kisses Willow on the cheek and turns to me.
“Bethany? ‘Ello darling, I am Marcella, owner of Bella’s. Welcome, please, come
with me this way.” She has a mesmerising Italian accent that makes me think I’d
do just about anything she tells me to. I follow, entranced, and to my surprise
so does Wills. She chats to Marcella as though they’re good friends, leaving me
to try and suss out if it’s the kind of friendship that comes with or without
benefits.

The Italian goddess leads us into the large
treatment room decorated in pure crisp white and lavender. It has an instantly
relaxing vibe about it with a beautiful piano piece oozing out of some
discreetly placed speakers. There’s two treatment tables in the centre of the
room with some comfy chairs either side of the large window that’s frosted for
privacy but still allow plenty of natural light to fill the room. Opposite the
door is a wall of cupboards and drawers, presumably where treatment supplies
are kept. There must be cinnamon sticks or maybe essential oils nearby, it’s
subtle and lovely. I notice a four-panel fold away screen embellished with
intricate yet simple pictures of purple and white lavender.