The Look of Love (11 page)

Bella smiled. ‘I’m not seeing him any more. Bastard turned out to be still married and … well, it just wasn’t going to work.’ Work? Ha! Understatement. Three months they’d been together and he hadn’t even, after the final debacle, had the manners to be in touch to apologize. Not so much as an email. Even ‘Sorry’ on Twitter would have been something (an insultingly small something, but still …) but he’d vanished from the site.

‘
Really
? I assumed he was divorced! Strange, he was kind of half based over here for two years and he’d never
mentioned a wife. I mean, as far as I know, not to
anybody
. But what if he hadn’t been married? Would you two have …’

‘Even if he hadn’t been, it wouldn’t have lasted. There were clues we were never going to be long-term – I should have listened to my own head. God knows it’s old enough by now to know a thing or two about men.’

Rick wasn’t the first mistake since James had left, she reflected. There’d been the literary agent who constantly (and sometimes wrongly) corrected her grammar; the accountant who still lived with his mum and who had brought his laundry round to Bella’s when his mother went away for a week. When she’d asked him why, exactly, he expected her to deal with it, he’d seemed not to understand the question. And then there was the rather sweet burly one who was evasive about the nature of his job but assured Bella he had friends who’d ‘look after’ her if she ever felt unsafe. But Rick had been a real wine-and-dine grown-up; the one she’d least expected to be a mistake. Just shows, she thought now.

‘Oh, I’m not sure we ever learn,’ Charlotte laughed. ‘Look at me, divorced and child-free, yet still I assume there’s a soulmate out there with my name on him. I’d blush to tell you how many frogs I’ve kissed in the past two years. And when I say “kissed”, I – well I don’t have to spell it out. Let’s have more wine.’ She smiled at the nearest waiter, who came over immediately. ‘We’ll
toast all men to hell!
And
, do tell me what you’re doing, work-wise. You know we’re still going to be able to use bigger freelance pieces from you. This revamp might even be a good thing for you, in some ways. Of course there won’t be that comforting regular cheque, but …’

‘Well – I’ve still got the teen books. That’s a regular, two a year, though not madly profitable income. But … er, while I’m here, there’s one thing I’d like to pitch here and now.’ Bella sipped her wine, then took a deep breath, feeling this was
the
important moment of the meeting. ‘Don’t know if you’ll like the sound of it though.’ She heard herself laughing nervously and wished she wasn’t such a wuss.

‘Now let me stop you
right there
,’ Charlotte interrupted, her perfectly manicured
Rouge Noir
nails on Bella’s wrist. Oh no, Bella thought, all remaining confidence sliding away; she really doesn’t want to hear.

‘Always pitch positive!’ Charlotte laughed. ‘You’ve just told me I’m not going to like it – chances are I’ll agree if you can’t be 100 per cent
go, go, go
! OK, now start again! Sell to me!’

‘Makeovers. TV. Programme called
Fashion Victims
.’

‘Old hat, darling,’ Charlotte cut in, frowning. ‘In fact, old hat, old shoes, old dress. Done to death.’

‘What happened to positive?’ Bella felt cross at being so immediately slapped down. ‘I know there’ve been years of
What Not to Wear
and
Ten Years Younger
, but it’s
me
who’s one of the Victims. I can do the personal angle. The production company are using my house too, and there are some people called Daisy and …’

‘Not Daisy and Dominic?’ Charlotte squealed.

‘Well yes, as it happens. Why? Who are they?’ Bella was mystified by Charlotte’s reaction.

‘Oh-my-god, Bella! Have you never
heard
of them? They are
major
fashion players!’ Charlotte had gone quite shrieky and people were looking – most were sending condemnatory
uncool
judgement vibes, but three pouty young women on the next table swivelled round to do some brazen listening in.

‘Well … er, no. Who are they? I look at
Vogue
in the hairdressers, for the pictures only and to go “wow” at things I can’t afford. And I generally keep up with celeb gossip, obviously, because of work, but whoever these two are they’ve missed my radar.’

‘Well no, maybe you wouldn’t know of them. Fashion isn’t really your thing, is it?’

Bella smiled, but inside experienced a distinct ouchy nettle-sting moment and wondered if Charlotte had intended it to be one.

‘They are just
so
amazing,’ Charlotte gushed. ‘I’d heard they were going to do something – there was a press release a while back, but we were to put it on hold so nothing’s been announced yet. Daisy and Dominic are personal stylists who dress
everybody
who’s anybody, but
nobody really knows all about the who-and-what because they’re sworn to discretion. After all, celebrities don’t want it widely known that they can barely match their bra to their knickers. Without proper guidance they’d have Primark and Prada all mixed up – most of them not being what you’d call
pedigree
. Anyway, according to the press statement, this is their first go at a TV thing, something about sharing the star-treatment secrets, filtering down to the plebs. Though it’ll be all Daisy, believe me. Dominic is well known for hardly saying
a word
. He’s a tad spooky with the silence thing but the perfect foil for
her
. So – how on earth did you get this? And why
you
?’

Another sting – closer to wasp than nettle this time. Bella could feel Charlotte’s eyes taking in her appearance, as if she hadn’t really noticed her before. She felt conscious of her too-low neckline showcasing her unevenly sun-scorched cleavage on which perched the wrong necklace (years-old Tiffany heart on a chain), because she couldn’t find the red and cream beads that
would
have gone with her slightly too girlish floral dress. She also wore a lacy cream linen cardigan that was a bit twee for anyone over thirty, and would have looked far better on Molly. Charlotte even glanced down to the side of the table, quickly taking in Bella’s three-year-old heeled scarlet espadrilles with the age-bent flower on the front, shoes chosen for Tube-travel comfort rather
than style. At least her toenail polish was perfect, although Charlotte’s expression suggested the shade might be last year’s pink.

‘Probably because I need it? I think I just got lucky – if that’s the word. Right place, right time. Anyway, if I write about it, are you likely to be able to use it? Because otherwise …’

‘Sweetie, of
course
we can!’ Charlotte assured her. ‘Just make it funny and in-depth and go as all out on the unfilmed side as any contract will let you.
Gossip
is all. Like how much improvement is down to starving their victims for the duration, whether they let you have any say at all in the clothes or if there’s a product-placement deal. You’ll probably have to sign something, but the production will be
desperate
for the publicity. They’ll give you carte blanche, I just know. Daisy and Dominic! Wow!’

‘Maybe …’ Bella said hesitantly. ‘I was thinking … If I’m going to make a total tit of myself on national TV, I was wondering about getting ahead slightly, so that not every single bit of me gets ritual humiliation. I’ve already decided I’ll absolutely refuse to be seen in my knickers, but I’ll get myself a good haircut before the off, and I’ll have my teeth brightened up.’

‘Oh absolutely; good plan, darling – do everything you can not to look a total duffer. I’m
completely
amazed you haven’t before,’ Charlotte agreed with less
than flattering alacrity. ‘Now, shall we risk pudding?’

‘It would help if the mirror was upright,’ Jules complained, pouring a big shot of wine into her glass. She put the bottle (half empty already, how did that happen?) back on the chest of drawers. They were in Bella’s bedroom, having decided over an early-evening drink in the kitchen that in order to prepare themselves for the inevitable scorn of these hyper-chic Dominic and Daisy people, they would give each other an honest once-over so they were already armed with proper knowledge of their problem body areas. They would be positive, be supportive and be ready to face the worst that any perfectly dressed, perfectly proportioned sadist could throw at them.

‘I wouldn’t want to be one of those poor women who cry when they get a good look at themselves,’ Bella had mentioned nervously, wondering how stoic she would really feel when faced with herself in a 360-degree mirror and far too many cameras for comfort. Saul had promised it wouldn’t be like that, but suppose they’d changed their minds? Suppose Daisy was a stroppy foot-stamper and got whatever she wanted? Were you allowed to say no?

‘And think of someone hiking up your drooping tits. In their horrible critical hands,’ Jules had added. Almost as one, they had raced up the stairs for the big-mirror moment.

‘Sorry, the mirror’s too heavy to move and it’s kind of grown into the carpet. James managed to wangle it into place years ago with the help of two mates but even when the room was repainted, the decorator leaned it forward against a chair. He said he had a bad back and gave me that “I’ll sue you” look, so I didn’t dare push it.’

‘Hmm. Well I suppose it will do. And anyway,’ Jules smiled at Bella’s reflection, ‘we’ve got each other – for absolute truth! No holds barred! I’ll go first.’

Bella looked at her reflection, seeing nothing but teeth that weren’t quite white enough. Damn that foxy little Fliss – till her so-kind ‘advice’ she’d never given them a thought. Kept clean with a six-monthly scrub from the hygienist, they’d always looked OK. Now all she saw when she smiled in the mirror was middle-age beige.

Jules pulled her dress over her head and faced the mirror in her bra and knickers. The bra was pink and white girly gingham and her breasts seemed to be struggling to escape from it; her knickers were black and so plain, big and sensible they reminded Bella of games lessons at school.

‘Oh Lord,’ Jules said, closing her eyes against the sight of her own flesh, ‘I’m so
not
doing this. Pass my dress back, quick. I don’t have a spare tyre, I’ve got a whole new set of wheels. For a tractor.’

‘No you haven’t – you’re not at all bad.’

‘For a short, circular beachball. Thanks.’

‘Look, stand up straight and it mostly flattens out. Don’t you make your yoga class do that?’

Jules readjusted her posture.

‘You see? Now you’ve got fabulous tits and there’s a definable waist.’

‘Only bloody just … I only get away with keeping my job because I’m still so bendy. Besides, they like a fat teacher – makes them feel better from the start.’ Jules pushed her hands into the flesh each side of her body, inhaled hard and held her breath.

‘You’re fine. If you were wearing matching underwear it would help the overall look. It’s just …’ There was no other word for it, Bella had to come out with it. They’d promised each other honesty, hadn’t they? A thirty-two-year friendship surely couldn’t be killed stone dead by a bit of invited body-honesty?

‘Go on,
what
? We did say honesty.’ Jules’s head nodded encouragingly, her spiky red hair flicking up and down.

‘It’s the saddlebags.’

‘
What
saddlebags?’ Jules leaned forward, peering at herself. ‘That’s not saddlebags, it’s just … hip bones!’ She prodded her thighs. ‘See? Solid!’

‘Then your pelvis has slipped!’ Bella giggled. ‘And hey, they’re perfectly normal, just a bit … er … obvious. So whatever you wear on day one for the Big Appraisal, if
that’s what happens first, they’ll need … well, to be
accommodated
. As will your tits. That bra is at least two cup sizes too small. If we invest in good underpinnings before we become victims, we’ll be halfway there. OK, my turn.’

Jules topped up their glasses again. Bella peeled her skirt and top off, keeping her shoes on. A bit of heel elongated the calf, her mother had always said. Jules was small to start with and had kicked her shoes off, which, with the leaned-back mirror, had given an exaggerated impression of dumpiness. Maybe that was another ‘before’ trick they should watch out for. Bella was taller and leaner, but definitely pear-shaped. Both women, standing side by side, had a bit of stomach overhang, so Bella pulled in her muscles, which helped, and said, ‘If we do this kind of contracting thing properly, we should end up well toned.’

Jules looked disbelieving. ‘So how long do we have to keep it up for to get a result?’

‘Er … for life, I think,’ Bella laughed. ‘Got a feeling it’s the only way to make it work.’

‘Chrissake, I’ve had two Caesareans,
and
one baby was a ten-pounder! No one can expect me to look like Kate Moss! So OK, smart-arse – any ideas how I can disguise the saddlebags and you can make your bum look like a neat little Cox’s apple instead of a whopping great Bramley – all in a matter of days?’

Bella sat on the bed, took a big slug of wine and pulled her top back on, feeling suddenly dispirited. It wasn’t just the teeth thing, it was the all-round exposure. What was she letting herself in for? Well, she’d seen similar programmes; she had some idea. She quite liked her privacy, contrary as that might seem in a journalist, but it was too late to pull out now – in her head she’d half spent the location fee.

‘You know, I so wish I hadn’t got us into this!’ she confessed. ‘I don’t even
like
those programmes; they’re just ritual humiliation. I’ve thought that ever since I saw one where Gok Wan held a woman’s hand and ran her round a department store, showing her what would suit her. The camera followed, from behind and just below her.’

From the depths of her dress, which she was pulling on over her head, Jules said, ‘Sounds all right; what was to object to? I like Gok, except when he rummages his face in women’s tits. If he tried that on me, I’d slap him.’

‘Oh, I like him too. But this victim hadn’t got a skirt on. Boots, jacket, yes. And then just these big beige knickers and big white cellulite thighs. It just seemed so cruel. I was thinking, when she sees this later, she’ll sob into the sofa cushions. Perfectly nice-looking woman,
why
couldn’t she have been allowed a skirt? How did she let herself be cajoled into it? That’s why we need to promise to back each other up, so we don’t get
persuaded to look like complete prats, however much they bleat on about what makes good television. We’ll get classy underwear, Jules. Bras that fit, matching knickers that hold us in a bit. That’s definitely all you need, all we
both
need. And me, I need to get my teeth whitened. If we’re sorted with the basics, they can then do their worst. With luck, no one will be watching anyway.’