The Kicking the Bucket List by Cathy Hopkins

Author:Cathy Hopkins
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780008200688
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
Published: 2017-01-09T05:00:00+00:00

19

Dee

Sunday 14 February, 9 a.m.

So much for Fleur’s comment yesterday about liking our time together and how we’d reconnected, I thought as I ate a bowl of granola that had been laid out for me in the perfect kitchen. Rose had breakfast in her room and Fleur was still giving us the silent treatment. I remembered when we were younger, she could sulk for days after an argument. Mum said she was like a slow burning casserole when she was pissed off about anything. No point in trying to talk her round, and I wasn’t going to let her spoil things. I had a makeover session to look forward to and money to spend. It had been years since I could afford a new outfit. Most of my wardrobe was made up from charity shop finds, something that Anna and I excelled in, though Anna called hers vintage. ‘Sounds classier.’

Sunday 14 February, 11.30 a.m.

We took a taxi to the store where our sessions had been booked. I was whisked up to the first floor by a tall, dark stick insect who introduced herself as Kristin.

When we got to a private plush changing room area, she looked me up and down. ‘Are you looking for work clothes or casual?’

‘Casual.’

‘For summer or winter?’

‘Oh … summer, I think. I tend to wear big old jumpers and jeans in the winter.’

‘Evening or day wear?’

‘Day.’

‘And how would you describe your personal style?’

‘Er, comfortable, layered.’

Clearly the wrong answer, because her mouth shrank to resemble a cat’s bottom. She continued to assess me. I smiled. She didn’t return it. She ordered coffee for me, showed me to an area with a sofa, tables and magazines, then disappeared. Bliss. I didn’t care if Kristin didn’t approve of my style. I was in heaven.

Twenty minutes, Kristin was back laden with armfuls of clothes. She pointed at a cubicle. ‘Strip off and we’ll see what works.’

I had to hand it to her, she had my size down perfectly, and although a few things were too garish for my taste (a silk dress with huge red flowers and ferns), she had picked a few things that I liked. I looked at the labels: Sahara, Masai, Grizas, in lovely soft fabrics; they all had a quirkiness about them. I settled for a pale green knee-length tunic with three-quarter sleeves that was cut like a dream and a pair of white linen trousers to go under them. She finished the outfit off with a soft white cotton shawl to be worn pashmina style. ‘Layered and comfortable to wear but elegant,’ said Kristin.

I looked in the mirror. I looked Joanna Lumley elegant. ‘Job done, Kristin,’ I said.

Kristin was delighted and packaged up my new clothes in tissue. ‘Takes years off you,’ she said as I paid up. Cheeky sod.

Sunday 14 February, 1 p.m.

I was directed to the beauty salon where Paris, another tall stick insect, blonde this time, lectured me about the state of my skin. ‘You must must exfoliate, madam, and always moisturize your neck,’ then went on to recommend all sorts of products for ‘the older’ client.

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