you leave. Otherwise, like…” She trails off in her vague way.
“I will,” I say hastily. “And thanks!”
As she heads out of the room, I pick up the wand. I wind some hair around it, trying—unsuccessfully—not to burn my fingers, then release it and stare at my hair in dismay.
I’ve made it curl backward somehow. It looks totally weird.
I try one more time—burning my fingers again—then give up. I can’t sit here struggling with a hair wand when Mum’s doing all the work. I’ll shove my hair in a clip. It’ll be fine.
I switch off the wand, blow out the candles, straighten a plaque which says, BELIEVE YOU CAN AND YOU’RE HALFWAY THERE, then leave the room. I go to my bedroom, grab one of my new hair clips, and wind my hair in a knot. I put on my shortest black dress, because Ryan once said to me, “Great legs.” I do my makeup as quickly as I can and peer at myself, trying not to think how pale and English I look compared to Ariana.
Then I hear a noise from Mum’s room and turn away from the mirror, impatient with staring at myself. Enough brooding. I’ll go and see if Mum needs any help.
* * *
—
Mum only has two smart dresses and she never goes shopping. (“Not for me, love.”) But she’s so slim, she can’t help looking lovely in her trusty blue linen shift and matching heels from the charity shop. She’s sitting in front of her kidney-shaped dressing table and I perch on the bed, passing makeup to her out of my makeup bag. (Mum’s had the same No. 7 palette forever, and all the good colors have worn away.)
“Tell me about the day,” she says, as she squirts foundation onto her fingers.
“Oh, it was pretty good. A couple came in this morning to stock their whole kitchen. They bought everything.”
“Excellent!” Mum’s eyes sparkle with the fire she always gets when we make a good sale.
“Only I had to get rid of Greg,” I add. “He kept asking them how often they cook at home and what they make. You know, quizzing them about risotto. He was trying to be helpful, but it freaked them out.”
“Poor Greg.” Mum shakes her head ruefully. “He does try.”
“And then Jake brought round his olive-oil people….You know, he has all these really grand ideas, Mum,” I say, feeling a knot of tension rise. “He wants to open a branch in Notting Hill. He wants to rename the shop the Notting Hill Family Deli; can you believe it? We’re not even a deli!”
I’m expecting Mum to be as wounded by this idea as I am. But she just nods thoughtfully and says, “That’ll never happen. You know Jake. He needs his little schemes. Always has done.” She glances at me and smiles. “Don’t worry, Fixie. I’ll have a word.”
She sounds so easy and unruffled, the knot in my stomach starts to unclench. Mum is magic like that. She’s like one of those therapists who know where all the pressure points are. A word here, a hug there, and everything eases. Sitting here with her, I feel like all the threat has melted away. Our shop will never be anything but Farrs. And Jake will never get his stupid pretentious schemes past Mum.
“Ryan’s coming tonight, I hear?” says Mum, brushing shadow vaguely onto her eyelids with the air of someone who really doesn’t care how it comes out. It’s not that she can’t do makeup—she used to do mine perfectly when I competed in junior skating competitions. Eye shadow, glitter, the works. But when it’s herself, she hardly bothers.
“Yes.” I try to sound casual. “Apparently he is. I wonder what brings him to the UK.”
“Fixie, darling…” Mum hesitates, brush in hand. “Be careful. I know he hurt you last year.”
Not Mum too.
“He didn’t!” My voice shoots out before I can stop it. “God! I mean, I wasn’t hurt. We had a thing, we ended…no big deal.”
Mum looks so unconvinced, I don’t know why I bother.
“I know Ryan’s always been there in your life,” she says, applying highlighter. “And we’re all fond of him. But there are lots of other men in the world, love.”
“I know,” I say, although a voice in my brain is instantly protesting, Yes, but not like Ryan.
“He may be nice-looking,” Mum continues resolutely, “and he may be a big success in Hollywood, but when it comes to emotional matters, he’s always been a bit—” She breaks