Never Mind The Botox: Rachel (3 page)

‘Oh, they’re not coming,’ said Rowan. ‘Naomi is waking up a bit early at the moment, which Laura is trying desperately to sort out. She thought moving her about might set her back a bit. They’ll come next time.’

Rachel knew how disappointed her mum would have been when she found out.

Rowan seemed to read her mind. ‘It’s no reflection on you, Mum, honestly,’ said Rowan. ‘It’s just the way the timings worked out. Laura normally would have loved to come.’

Rachel’s eyes gleamed. Her brother on his own for the weekend. It had been ages!

‘Shall we pop to the pub after supper?’ Rachel suggested.

‘Good idea,’ said Rowan, trying to hide the relief in his voice.

After they’d eaten, Rachel and Rowan headed off to the local pub.

‘God, what are they like!’ said Rachel.

‘They mean well,’ said Rowan. ‘We’ll probably be just like them one day.’

‘What an awful thought! Do you think we’ll see anyone from school at the pub?’ Rachel asked, keen to get away from the idea of turning into her mother.

‘Probably,’ said Rowan. ‘Loads of them still live and work round here.’

The local was a traditional style pub with low-beamed ceilings that worked hard to make itself look more olde worlde than it really was − brass plates by the fire, the odd scythe stuck on the wall and a series of big fireplaces. Rachel bought them a bottle of wine and brought it over to the quiet corner of the pub that Rowan had chosen.

‘Not the greatest but at least it’s cold,’ said Rachel. She poured them both a large glass. ‘Cheers. How is Laura? Shame she’s not here.’

‘She’s fine,’ said Rowan, but Rachel could tell from his voice that she wasn’t. ‘Actually, we’re having a bit of a tough time. The last few months since Naomi was born have been pretty stressful − not like I’d imagined it at all. Laura’s been so uptight and I can’t seem to get anything right. If Naomi is crying, anything I suggest is bound to be wrong. I know Laura’s tired but she won’t let me give her a break. She’s convinced herself that she’s the only one who can look after Naomi properly. This whole waking up early thing is just another example; she’s completely neurotic about it.’

‘You’re a great dad and I’m sure it will blow over,’ said Rachel, aware that her ability to give advice in this area was not the best.

Rowan didn’t seem to hear her and carried on. ‘The other morning, I had to get an early flight to Stockholm and I got up at five a.m. to have a shower. The noise woke Naomi up and Laura went mad, shouting about how selfish I was and that now she would have the whole day with a grumpy baby whose routine was all mixed up. I pointed out to her that the toughest thing she had to do all day was have coffee in Starbucks with all the other mums, whereas I had six hours of meetings with three hours of travelling either side.’

‘Helpful,’ said Rachel.

‘Yeah, not really,’ said Rowan. ‘It just cost me a large bottle of perfume and two nights in the spare room.’

‘Have another glass of wine,’ said Rachel, lost for anything else more useful to say.

They sat in silence for a few moments. Then across the bar Rachel spotted someone familiar.

‘God, Rowan, look − it’s Dawn Hunt. I haven’t seen her for ages. Let’s go and say hello.’

Dawn and Rachel had been in the same class at school. Before Rowan could answer, Rachel was up and heading across the pub. Dawn was with a group of friends, most of whom Rachel either knew or vaguely recognised.

‘Hey, stranger, long time no see! You look well,’ said Dawn, getting up and hugging Rachel. She saw Rowan hovering behind. ‘And your lovely brother too. We’re lucky! Come on, sit down.’

They both sat down and Rowan was quickly engrossed in watching the football on the TV with a couple of the other guys at the table.

‘So, how are you, city person? Still loving the big job?’ asked Dawn.

‘Yes I am, really enjoying it actually, and very busy at the moment, so that keeps me out of trouble. Plus I get to meet lots of interesting people, so I can’t complain,’ said Rachel.

‘I’ve never really understood what you do,’ said Dawn.

‘It’s not that tricky really,’ said Rachel. ‘You know when you buy a house and you get a survey done? Well, we do the same thing, just for people buying and selling businesses.’

‘How many businesses do you see that need new windows and a damp-proof course?’ Dawn was laughing.

‘More than you might imagine,’ said Rachel. ‘Mostly, though, they just need some decent management. Anyway, talking of management, how is the salon doing?’

Dawn had left school to train as a beautician. Once she’d qualified she got a job working at the local beauty salon and had steadily progressed to become the salon manager. She was likable, streetwise and understood what it took to run a small business.

‘God, really well actually. You’d be amazed what people will pay for a scrub down with some warm mud. We’ve also just started this new cleavage facial that I read about it in a Swedish beauty magazine. We give the old pair a bit of a birthday at the same time as a standard facial and then finish off with firming cream and a light coating of fake tan all over. It’s so popular that we’ve had to take on an extra girl on Saturdays.’

Rachel was slowly realising that there was a whole world of beauty treatments and cosmetic surgery that she knew nothing about.

‘What’s the most unusual thing you do?’ Rachel asked, feeling slightly like someone from one of those car crash TV shows that Natalie had talked about. All in the interests of research, she thought weakly.

‘It’s got to be Hollywood waxing,’ said Dawn, ‘which actually isn’t that unusual any more but it is a bit of a weird concept. All that talc and getting on all fours, just to get rid of every hair God gave you. I really don’t get it, but it brings in plenty of regulars, so who cares? If that’s what they want, that’s what we do.’

‘Do you find many of your customers have also had some work done − you know, the odd lift or tuck here and there?’

‘Quite a few actually. Loads have had Botox or fillers, even though they’re dead expensive. No idea where people get the money to keep doing them every few months. You can always spot those with boob jobs too, especially when you’re doing massages.’

Dawn and Rachel sat chatting until the wine and the football were finished.

‘We’re off to Club Tropicana after closing time,’ said Dawn. ‘Fancy joining us?’

Club Tropicana was a nearby nightclub so stuck in the eighties even the building had shoulder pads. The seats were arranged around circular tables under plastic palm trees, connected by a series of intertwining bridges leading to a black and white mirrored dance floor. They served two-for-one cocktails, made with watered-down spirits and adorned with huge umbrellas. It had been the scene of so many nights out for Rachel over the years − nights either spent in dark corners, or in tears, or in the ladies’ throwing up.

It had been ages since she’d last been dancing − well, apart from last night, but that didn’t really count. That had just been a pub band, not a proper nightclub. Rachel had a busy few weeks coming up and she deserved a good night out. She knew that baby-free Rowan would be up for it too.

‘Yes, why not,’ said Rachel. ‘Let’s go.’

The next morning Rachel woke up when her mum knocked on her door.

‘Tea, darling,’ her mum said as she entered the room.

Rachel groaned and rolled away from the light that came streaming in the gap in the open door.

‘Gosh, you were late back,’ her mum said. ‘I’m sure I heard you around three a.m.’

‘Not really sure. Thanks for the tea,’ said Rachel, praying her mother would then leave.

Instead, she sat on the side of her bed. ‘It’s so lovely to have you here, darling. I do miss you,’ her mum said, stroking her head. She clearly wanted to chat.

With great effort Rachel sat up and picked up her tea. Waves of nausea swept over her.

‘It’s lovely to be home too, Mum. What time is it?’

‘Just after eight. I know how early you normally start at that job of yours, so thought you’d appreciate the lie in.’

You have no idea, thought Rachel, recalling her two o’clock start the previous day.

‘Thanks.’

‘Did you have a good night?’

Rachel thought for a moment. She could vaguely remember some very dodgy dancing and persuading some lanky builder that she had a boyfriend, but mostly she remembered laughing − Rachel had no idea what about, but that didn’t seem to matter.

‘Yes, it was a real laugh, thanks. We ended up at Club Tropicana.’

‘Oh not that awful place,’ said her mum. ‘I’m surprised it hasn’t closed down by now. Anyway, your father and I thought that we could all have a trip to Hayfield House today. Have a wander round, maybe get a pot of tea and a scone. Then we could pop into the garden centre on the way back. I need to get a few new bedding plants. What do you think?’

Rachel thought that she would rather stick knitting needles in both eyes.

‘Er, sounds great. Maybe I could have another hour first? Get my energy up.’

‘Yes, of course, dear. I’ll wake you again in an hour or so. And don’t forget to drink your tea. I’m sure it will make you feel better.’

And with that, she shut the door.

Two hours later Rachel and Rowan were in the back of their parents’ car heading for Hayfield House. As they were getting ready, her dad had packed two litres of water and an emergency pork pie ‘just in case’, even though it was a sunny day and the journey would last no more than half an hour. Rachel had no idea what type of disaster could befall them in which they were likely to be saved by a pork pie, but she knew there was no point asking.

‘What did we do in life to deserve this?’ Rowan whispered as the car wound its way slowly through country lanes.

‘Too little sleep, too many cocktails,’ Rachel whispered back. ‘And please don’t let me be sick, I couldn’t bear it,’ she added.

In the front of the car, her parents were having an in-depth discussion about the best route to take.

‘We should stay off the main road,’ said her dad. ‘All those Saturday shoppers: we’ll be stuck for ages. I suggest we take the B139 and then cut up past the old vicarage and then down to that T-junction. You know, the one with the sign for the lavender shop.’

‘Yes, dear, whatever you think,’ said her mum. ‘We should avoid the road up to Lanes School as well. Grace said that they’ve a car boot sale on today and there’s bound to be a queue.’

‘Ah yes, good point. I’ll turn off by the supermarket,’ said her dad.

Rachel put her head in her hands in despair.

Rowan looked over and squeezed her leg. ‘Nearly there,’ he said.

The day was pretty much as bad as Rachel thought it would be: hours of trailing round dusty rooms full of old furniture. Her parents stood and admired the craftsmanship, while she and Rowan pretended they were presenters on
The Antiques Road Show
to relieve the boredom. The only high point was the enormous piece of chocolate cake that she had in the cramped tea shop.

On the way back, as promised, they stopped at the garden centre. Her parents ended up arguing as her dad refused to ask where the daffodil bulbs were, preferring to look for them himself. He was still looking for them fifteen minutes later, by which time Rachel’s mum had asked someone, been through the tills and was loading them in the car along with her new bedding plants.

Eventually they got back home and Rachel and Rowan both fell onto the sofa to watch TV. As they sat there watching sad Saturday game shows, Rachel suddenly couldn’t wait to get back up to London. After all, she had a big day on Monday to prepare for: first day out at Beau Street and she needed to be ready. On time and on the case, as Carl Stephens had said. She could do that, she thought. No problem.

Chapter 3

Rachel got back to her flat on Sunday evening. As she opened the door she was
hit by the smell of stale pizza. Harry had left after her on Friday and hadn’t bothered to clear up. She stared wearily at the mess. How hard was it to put a few things in the bin? Just as she finished clearing up, Harry rang.

‘Hi, how were the Dullards?’ he said.

‘My parents are not dull,’ said Rachel defensively, still cross about the pizza.

‘Since when?’ said Harry.

‘They just like their routines; nothing wrong with that,’ said Rachel, not in the mood to have a debate about the dullness or otherwise of her parents.

‘No, nothing at all,’ said Harry.

‘Also, the flat really smelt of pizza when I got back. You could have put it in the bin, you know,’ said Rachel.

‘Sorry, I went back to sleep and ended up leaving in a bit of rush. Anyway, I was ringing to see if you fancy a drink?’

‘No, no tonight. I’m really tired and I’ve got an early start. Maybe tomorrow,’ Rachel said.

‘Oh come on, Rach, just a quick one. I haven’t seen you all weekend. I promise to get you home on time.’

Rachel hesitated. Harry didn’t often admit that he missed her. But she needed a clear head in the morning. ‘Sorry, Harry, not tonight. I’ve got stuff to get organised.’