Chapter 10
‘You’ll never do it,’ I said, beginning to feel desperate. ‘It’s hopeless. I am Ugly Git from Uglygitland.’
‘Roma wasna builta in a day,’ said Nesta, tugging her way through my hair.
‘The darkest hour is just before dawn,’ said Lucy, who was kneeling on the floor next to me, retouching my nails.
‘Suppose,’ I said, looking gloomily at my reflection in the mirror in Nesta’s bedroom. My hair was a frizzy mess, I had an aloe vera face mask on that made me look like a ghost and a big spot threatening to erupt on my chin.
‘Lack of self-esteem,’ said Izzie. ‘That’s your problem, TJ. You are a babe, but you don’t know it. Look, you have fabulous hair that you always scrape back in a plait, long long legs that you never show, a fab figure that you hide in baggy tracksuits and a great mouth that all those thin-lipped models who have collagen injections would die for.’
Always one to accept compliments graciously, I said, ‘Humphh. And you clearly have the observational skills of a brain-dead gnat.’
We’d already done the ‘before’ shot in the morning at Lucy’s house. Steve had offered to be photographer with his new camera and it was hysterical. I’d worn the ‘dress from hell’ that Mum had bought me and Izzie had done my hair in two bunches high on either side of my head. Lucy had stuck dog hair from Ben and Jerry’s brush on to my legs with Evostick so that I’d look like I had hairy legs (I put my foot down when she got carried away and tried to stick some on my upper lip to give me a moustache though.) And Nesta had given me some lessons in bad posture so I looked even more frumpy.
‘All beautiful women have great posture,’ she’d said. ‘It’s one of the first things they teach at modelling school. To stand up straight. So for these shots, stoop, like you have round shoulders.’
Lucy raided her mum’s jumble sale bargain bags and produced some seriously tasteless jewellery. Big dangly earrings and an Indian necklace.
‘But they don’t go with the dress,’ I’d said.
The girls had looked at me as if I was stupid.
‘And the object of this exercise is?’ said Nesta.
By the time they’d finished, I looked like a sack of old potatoes. With hairy legs.
‘You look awful,’ Steve’d said approvingly when I came down the stairs, then walked across the hallway like a duck. A round-shouldered duck.
‘Yeah, like Queen of Slobs from Slobville,’ laughed Lal.
‘I want to do the shots round the back garden near the bins,’ said Steve.
‘What, like I’m on the scrap heap?’ I asked.
Steve gave me a look as if to say ‘yeah’, then he grinned. ‘You don’t look that bad,’ he said. ‘It’s only that dress that makes you look like a frump.’
‘But the bins in the background give a sort of subliminal message, like I’m a load of rubbish,’ I said.
‘Yeah,’ said Steve. ‘Exactly. We’ve been doing it in film class, all about how surrounding images register with the subconscious and can reinforce what you’re trying to say without people realising.’
‘What are you on about?’ said Lucy. She did an enormous yawn as though bored out of her mind, but I found what he was saying interesting.
We had a great laugh as Steve clicked away and I assumed the most unattractive positions and facial expressions I could.
At one point, Mr and Mrs Lovering came out to see what we were up to. They watched for a moment as I cavorted for the camera doing my sumo-wrestler position, then a bit of karate chopping. They looked very puzzled to hear Steve say in a French accent, ‘And look as miserable as you can. Like your durg ’as just died and gone to durgee ’eaven avec les autres chiens. That’s it. Eh bien. Marvelleuse mon ooglee légume . . . Diable mon sooth, chins up, chins down. Mais oui, bien sûr. Degoûtantamont.’
Clearly languages were not his thing, I thought, as his parents both shrugged and went back into the house.
The second part of the make-over wasn’t a laugh. Oh no-ho, not at all. The girls were taking it seriously. As in mega-seriously. They were on a blooming make-over mission.
I was plucked, waxed, massaged, moisturised, conditioned, manicured, pedicured, blow-dried, made-up, made-over and dressed.
‘OK, you can look now,’ said Nesta, removing her dressing gown from the mirror where she’d draped it so I couldn’t see.
The reflection of a brunette Barbie doll gazed back at me. I was wearing one of Nesta’s dresses, a short pale blue number and her mum’s Jimmy Choo grey strappy heels. Nesta had given me ‘big’ hair, loose and flowing over my shoulders and Lucy had made up my face with a little shadow, blusher and rusty lippie.
‘You shall go to the ball, Cinders,’ said Nesta. ‘You look fab.’
‘Yeah, a top babe,’ said Lucy. ‘Do you like it?’
I wasn’t sure. I did look good. And I had to admit that my legs looked really long. But I wasn’t sure that looking like such a girlie girl was me. Mind you, I didn’t know what was me.
‘What do you think, Izzie?’
‘Watch out boys,’ she sang. ‘There’s a new kid in town.’
Nesta’s mum gave us a lift to Hampstead High Street where we were meeting Steve to do the ‘after’ shots.
She dropped us halfway down Heath Street and as we got out of the car, someone did a long wolf whistle. I looked over to where it was coming from and there was Scott. He was with a bunch of his mates sitting at a table outside Café Nero.
‘TJ Watts. Cor bloody cor,’ he said, as he looked me up and down and then up and down again, his eyes finally resting on my legs. ‘You’re a girl.’
‘Uhyuh,’ I said, as I noticed all the other boys round the table also oggling me. I felt exposed standing there in my shorter than short dress and I wasn’t sure I liked the attention I was getting. Everyone was staring and there was nowhere to hide. Even an old bloke in his forties was gawping as he went by. Served him right, I thought, when he walked smack into a woman with her dog and got all tangled up in the lead.
Scott took my hand and introduced us to his friends. He seemed to be enjoying himself immensely. Then he was all over Nesta and acting like he’d known her for ever. All his mates sniggered when she dismissed him saying, ‘In your dreams’.
He didn’t seem to mind though. In fact, I think he took it as a come-on.
Lucy spotted Steve coming down the street and waved. He waved back and, when he saw me, he did a slow whistle under his breath.
‘See they’ve done a number,’ he said.
‘Wow,’ I said to Izzie as we walked or rather they walked and I tottered. ‘Is it really this simple? A bit of lippie, high heels, show your legs and boys turn to jelloid?’
Izzie nodded. ‘And even more so if you show a bit of cleavage. It’s amazing to watch. Hysterical. You see boys’ cheekbones twitching with the effort not to look at your chestie bits, but their eyes keep zinging back there as if pulled by an invisible magnet.’
‘Not a problem I have,’ said Lucy, ‘being a 32 triple A myself.’
‘Lucy’s bros call her Nancy-No-Tits,’ confided Nesta.
‘We can’t all be Dolly Parton like you,’ laughed Lucy, punching her arm.
We went down to the bottom of Heath Street with Scott and his mates trailing after us and sat at a table outside House on the Hill. Nesta ordered drinks and Steve took some shots as he said he wanted them to look natural rather than posed. This time I didn’t have to do much, he did all work. He was much quieter this time, not acting as loony mad as he had been in the morning. He wasn’t as much fun. In fact, he seemed to want to get it over with, as though he’d lost interest.
‘Why did you choose Hampstead for the “after” shots?’ I asked, in an attempt to get him talking.
‘Trendy place. It’s glam. Rich,’ he said, then he clamped up again.
He didn’t hang around after he’d got his photos and muttered something about having to get back to finish homework.
Something had clearly upset him since this morning. He was really subdued. I must ask Lucy if she knows.
email: Outbox (1)
From: goody2shoes@psnet.co.uk
To: hannahnutter@fastmail.com
Date: 24 June
Subject: The new moi
Hey Hannahlooloo
Had brill time today with make-over. Steve took photos on his new camera. Will send copies. Nesta made me look very girlie girl but not sure it’s me. Felt uncomfortable for a few reasons. I never realised before that you can be invisible in big baggy clothes and no one takes too much notice. It’s kind of safe. But going out in Hampstead today, everyone was staring. I felt exposed. Nesta said to ‘strut my stuff, girlfriend’, but people act differently to you if you do. Girls can be bitchy. Boys disturbed. Scott went all googly-eyed at me. But mainly people stared. I wasn’t sure if I liked it. Talking of which, we bumped into Wendy Roberts coming out of Accessorize. She did a double-take when she saw me and almost spat out her Magnum. Then she said that dressed like I was, I should go far, the further the better. I wasn’t sure what to make of her reaction.
Spika soon
Love TJ
PS Yes, yes. More book titles, as I’m definitely going to put some in the mag. Body Parts by Anne Atomy
email: Inbox (2)
From: hannahnutter@fastmail.com
To: goody2shoes@psnet.co.uk
Date: 24 June
Subject: The noo vous
Ole le noodley noodles baby
I think the word to describe Wendy’s reaction is envy. God, I wish I’d been there to see her. And you. I do miss Hampstead and Highgate and hanging out. I bet you looked the business. Don’t worry about looking girlie. You’ll find your style. Today was just the beginning of TJ as Sex Queen of North London. Remember Confucius he say, every journey start with first step. That is, unless step going sideways or backwards.
Have been to Luke’s posh pad avec pool this weekend. Some consolation for missing Ingerlandie.
May your flobbalots be mighty
HannahXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
From: hannahnutter@fastmail.com
To: goody2shoes@psnet.co.uk
Date: 24 June
Subject: d’oh. Steve?????
Er exscooth me?? But I just re-read your email. Have you been holding out on me? More about Steve? Details? Height? Weight? Fanciability? Etc etc.
Immediatetment.
Hannah
email: Outbox (1)
From: goody2shoes@psnet.co.uk
To: hannahnutter@fastmail.com
Date: 24 June
Subject: d’oh. Steve?????
Gordy flobbalots. I told you already. Lucy’s elder brother. Fanciability. I guess he’s nice-looking, but not in a drop-dead way like Scott, who I think I may be in love with. And at last he’s noticed I am a girl. It’s different with Steve. He’s easy to talk to. I don’t go peculiar when he’s around. He’s a mate.
TJ
Book: Strange breasts by Won Hung Low
email: Inbox (1)
From: hannahnutter@fastmail.com
To: goody2shoes@psnet.co.uk
Date: 24 June
Subject: d’oh. Steve?????
Zoot allors. Snog him anyway and get in some practice!
HXXXX
Book: Drink Problems by Imorf Mihead