The Woman Who Met Her Match: The laugh out loud romantic comedy you need to read in 2018. Fiona Gibson
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items such as gardening gloves, jam jars and obsolete chargers.
Stu saunters in, pulling off his crash helmet. ‘Still in a sweat over your French fancy?’
‘I’m not in a sweat,’ I retort. ‘Just a bit taken aback, that’s all.’
He peers down at my face. ‘Yes you are. You’re all flushed and your pupils are dilated …’
I laugh awkwardly and try to angle my laptop so he can’t see the message. Too late. His eyes light upon the screen.
‘Ooh, he’s messaged you. Are you going to reply?’
‘I might …’
‘What are you going to say?’
Jesus, it’s like having another teenager about the place. Any replies from datemylovelymum yet? Let me see! ‘Just … you know,’ I murmur. ‘Normal stuff …’
‘Tell him what an amazingly handsome, adorable housemate you have. Go on. Make him regret running off with that French girl, what was her name …’
‘Nicole …’
‘… And realise what a fuck-up he made of things. Make him pine for you, Lorrie …’ He guffaws loudly.
For Christ’s sake, is my entire private life to be held up for everyone else’s cheap entertainment? I try to radiate calm – and mentally compose a suitable message – but it’s impossible now with Stu hanging over me.
He extracts a Magnum ice cream from the freezer and rips off its wrapper. ‘You know what you should put? You should say—’
‘Stu, please!’
‘Whoah, I’m only trying to help …’
‘Yes, but you’re sounding exactly like my mum. You know she used to tell me what to put in a thank you letter? “Don’t just say thanks for the sweater, Lorrie. Say what you like about it – be specific about how you love the colour, the feel of it, how it goes with your jeans …”’
He licks the ice cream slowly. ‘Please don’t say I’m like your mum.’
I stand up and go to touch his arm, but he steps away. ‘Oh, of course you’re not. I just meant—’
‘I was only trying to help,’ he cuts in like a petulant child.
I look at him, embarrassed now for acting like a lunatic over a casual friend request. ‘Look, I know you were. But I really don’t need anyone’s help to message someone …’
‘Yeah, I know.’ He tries for a smile, but it falters. ‘He uses a photo of an orange for a profile picture.’
I chuckle. ‘Yes, he does. Seems like a bit of a jerk.’
Stu drops his Magnum, only half-finished, into the bin. ‘You don’t really mean that,’ he adds, affecting a teasing tone as he saunters out of the kitchen. ‘Anyway, if you’re going to obsess over someone who broke your heart thirty years ago, then I’m not going to stand in your way.’
It’s a cool and breezy Wednesday morning and, after Stu’s prickliness, I’m looking forward to throwing myself into a day at the store.
I didn’t bother replying to Antoine’s message last night. Instead, I went straight to bed, finally drifting off to the muffled chatter and laughter of Cam and Mo in Cam’s room. No one had surfaced by the time I got up. I dressed quickly in my La Beauté tunic and the required smart black trousers, and applied my make-up – dark eyes, red lips, my professional face – on autopilot.
As I emerge from the tube station a text pings in from Cecily: I have a theory about the lovely Antoine. He’s newly divorced and thinking, hmm, who can I contact from my past? And you were top of his list!
I smile, amused by her line of thinking. The thing is, when you’re single, married friends are especially keen for you to ‘get out there’ and enjoy some dating adventures. Perhaps they miss that flurry of excitement, and want you to have some fun for them to enjoy, safely, from the sidelines.
I stop outside a closing-down Rymans and reply: Top of the list? Very much doubt it. Will keep you posted! And so to work, where I know precisely what my role is, and what’s expected of me – unlike with the rest of my life.
*
‘The lovely thing about this day cream,’ I say, spreading a little across my customer’s finely boned face, ‘is that it’s like wearing nothing, but all the time it’s keeping the cells plumped up for at least seven hours, whilst helping to stop moisture evaporating from the surface …’
‘You mean it doesn’t sink in?’ she asks.
‘Well, yes, it does, but a very fine layer sits on top of the skin, acting as a protective barrier.’
‘Do you actually know this?’
This takes me aback. I was surprised, actually, that this older woman agreed to come to the counter as I approached her. She’d glided in – tall, perfectly poised with erect posture – just after we opened this morning. I’d expected a brisk ‘no thanks’ and for her to saunter straight past.
‘All our products have taken years to develop,’ I explain, ‘and when something new is launched we all try it over a few weeks. This is the cream I use every day.’
She smiles knowingly. ‘Of course it is, but then, you have to say that.’
‘I’d never recommend anything if I didn’t feel confident that it works.’
She touches her cheek. ‘It does feel rather nice, I have to say.’
I smile. ‘Would you like to try some of our new make-up colours too?’
‘Oh, is there any point at my age?’
I study her for a moment. What a face she has: almost sculpted, with an amazing complexion, her green eyes as striking as a cat’s. In her mid-sixties perhaps, she is a vision of elegance in a simple blue cotton dress and a lace-knit black cardi. Her silvery bob, not a hair out of place, hangs neatly at her pointed chin.
‘I think there’s a point at any age,’ I say, ‘if it makes you feel good about yourself.’
She frowns briefly. ‘Oh, go on then, why not? It’s just, I’ve never been a make-up person, I’ve never actually worn lipstick …’
‘No, well, I can do something very subtle for you.’
‘And I do have something coming up – an important presentation which I’m actually quite nervous about. Silly, I know, at my age …’
‘Not at all,’ I assert.
She blinks at our array of eye shadows, looking quite baffled. ‘Anyway, I’m thinking that make-up is somewhat necessary for such an occasion. It’s just expected, isn’t it, that one looks … polished these days? Could you give me some advice on that?’
‘I’d be delighted to,’ I say. ‘I’m Lorrie, by the way …’
‘Gilda.’
‘Don’t worry, Gilda, I won’t do anything outlandish. Neutrals are best when you want to look professional. So, I’ll start with our new primer …’
A small frown. ‘I have no idea what primers do.’
‘They just form a smooth base for make-up,’ I explain, ‘and contain tiny light-reflecting particles—’
‘I don’t want to look like a mirrorball!’
‘Oh,