Читать книгу Don't You Forget About Me - Liz Tipping - Страница 13

Chapter Five

“How old are you, Liv? Nineteen? Twenty?” I’d barely given chance for her to take her coat off. I don’t suppose it was very fair of me to bombard her with questions this early on a Monday morning. I was sat at the desk, updating my CV. I was determined to have something in place before April’s reunion, to be doing something I was proud of.

“I’m twenty-five,” she said.

“Oh,” I said.

“I’ve worked with you for years,” said Liv, pleading with me to understand. I knew that she had, but sometimes I struggled to comprehend how the years had gone so fast. How had so much time passed and nothing really happened?

I wondered how things had been at school for Liv. She didn’t seem to fit into any particular type.

“Oh yeah, course,” I said to Liv, studying her for a while, wondering if she had been popular at school, wondering whether Daniel would have asked her out. She certainly fit the part: glamorous, fashionable but with her own quirky colourful style. I looked down at my own clothes: a long black tunic over a pair of trousers and another pair of block-heeled shoes. When I started working here in the summer before sixth form, it was the first time I’d been able to buy my own clothes and it felt so good to choose things for myself, but I hadn’t really changed my look since. Fashion struck me as particularly exhausting and yet here was Liv who made it look effortless. She must have been popular at school.

“So were you one of the popular girls at school?” I nodded, waiting for her to tell me like Molly Ringwald in The Breakfast Club how it was such a challenge being so popular and having to fit in with her friends.

“No. Goth.”

“Goth!? Like full goth? Black hair, eyeliner, the lot?”

“Yeah.” Liv nodded and laughed. “I had a long leather coat with Sisters of Mercy painted on the back and I wore German army boots and hardly anyone talked to me, but I didn’t talk to them either.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. How could Liv, this religious follower of YouTube beauty bloggers, ever have worn black lipstick?

“So,” I said taking a sidelong glance at Ally Sheedy, “were you, would you say, a basket case?”

Liv laughed. Being the athlete clearly wasn’t for me, and I wondered whether you were allowed to suddenly turn into a goth in your thirties.

“Probably yeah. Come here,” said Liv, “I’ll show you the pics.”

Liv scrolled through Facebook on her phone, and showed me a photo of her in full goth make-up at what looked like a family meal in something like a Toby Carvery. She was sat on the end of the table, everyone else smiling and raising their glasses in a toast, while Liv looked like the undead. I burst out laughing.

“So what happened, Liv? How did you escape from the goth cult?”

“Spots,” she said.

“Eh?”

“The main reason I started wearing loads of white make-up was because I had acne at school. It was the only thing that covered it up and stopped people noticing, and then one thing led to another and soon I was full goth with a mop of dyed black hair to hide behind every day. Once I left school, the spots cleared up and I could wear what I liked, which is good because I can’t stand the Sisters of Mercy. Give me Taylor Swift and Justin Bieber any day. But it did the job at the time. I’ve still a few scars, mind, so I still have to have big hair,” she said giving a flick of her curls, smiling and making herself smaller in her seat.

“Well, I think you look lovely, Liv. And I don’t think you are a basket case at all. And you were a very pretty goth. I wish I’d been a goth. Or something.”

Liv smiled shyly and shrunk even further down behind her computer before popping up and brightly saying, “Well this is the thing about school isn’t it? No one’s who they think they are. Hey, do you want me to goth you up?”

“Erm…” While I had thought about trying to see if some Ally Sheedy eyeliner was my thing, I wasn’t sure about going full goth.

“I can’t, Liv, I have all these jobs to apply for,” I said. Before the shop had opened, I’d already filled in two application forms and contacted a number of agencies. There was an assistant events job in a stately home nearby and an agency in Worcester had advertised a receptionist job with responsibility for events. It was in Penarth, near Cardiff, not far from where the hotel chain was. It came with live-in accommodation and the start date was soon – the week after the party.

“Come on, it will be a laugh,” said Liv, giggling.

“Go on then,” I said.

Liv rifled through her make-up bag and pulled out loads of eyeliners and some white colour correction cream and highlighter.

“I tend to go for more neutral colours now,” she said and winked. She got out of her chair and offered it to me and I sat down.

Ten minutes later, she showed me my reflection in her mirror. She’d made my face so pale by covering it in Touché Éclat and face powder, and had drawn on some ridiculous dark eyebrows and used an eyeliner to colour my lips black. Once I had gotten over the shock, I laughed so much I was shaking. There was no way I was going to be a weird goth basket case. If I turned up to the ball like this, they’d think I’d gone in fancy dress.

“Ooh, hang on a bit,” she said before grabbing some liquid eyeliner and painting on my face. “Finishing touches.” She showed me the mirror again when she’d finished.

“Liv!” She’d drawn a huge pretend Frankenstein scar on my head. I didn’t look like I was a goth and instead looked like I was going to a Halloween party. Perhaps it was time to give the whole finding my subculture a rest. I screamed laughing and so did Liv when the shop bell rang and in walked the owner, Alan.

“Having fun girls?” he said.

“We’re just…” I started. I should have kept my mouth shut because me talking had attracted attention to myself and Alan was now staring at the pretend eyeliner scar on my head.

“…doing a Halloween promotion.”

“In May? I see,” he said. “Well, you’ll need to do a lot more than that, girls. Sorry to tell you but I’ve had an offer.”

Liv looked at me with a concerned face. “What kind of offer?” she said.

“For the building. From a big supermarket. They want to open one of those little convenience branches.”

I let out a deep breath. It was no surprise the shop would close at some point. Even in Broad Hampton, things had to change. I couldn’t help feeling sad but this was another kick up the backside I needed. If they wanted the building, the flat would go too. I’d have to move on.