Total pages in book: 149
Estimated words: 138965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 695(@200wpm)___ 556(@250wpm)___ 463(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 695(@200wpm)___ 556(@250wpm)___ 463(@300wpm)
I balk, astounded. ‘I know,’ she agrees, as I shake away my exasperation and open up the box of tricks. And I stare at it for a few minutes, the endless items of makeup stimulating memories from my past. Lipsticks in every colour, primers and fixing sprays, eye shadows and pencils galore. Everything a woman needs to look perfect when her life is anything but. I swiftly push those thoughts away and grab what I need, turning to Alex.
She remains perfectly still as I blot and dab at her, though her eyes watch me carefully as I work. My ability to apply makeup as perfectly as I wore it hasn’t left me. I smoke her eyes, draw a perfect line of liquid liner across her lid, adding a tiny flick at each corner, and highlight her cheeks. A bit of contouring, a dash of blush and bronzer, and the perfect shade of nude lipstick to make her blue eyes pop.
I sit back as she rubs her lips together, admiring my work. And as Alex grabs a mirror and inspects herself, I realize that I’ve just created a version of my old self. ‘Oh, wow!’ she blurts, checking herself out at every angle. ‘I don’t look like a clown.’
I smile, though it’s strained, and close the box. ‘Turn around.’
She does as she’s told quickly and I gather her long hair up, messily pinning it here, there, and everywhere. ‘How come you’re so good at makeup but you never wear it?’ she asks, and my working hands falter as I push a grip into her hair.
‘I used to wear it,’ I tell her. ‘It doesn’t interest me anymore.’ I tap her shoulders and spin her around to face me. ‘There, you’re done.’ She twirls, and though her face and hair are a major improvement, the dress still sucks. ‘Perfect,’ I say anyway. I’m still expecting a freak-out from Darcy, since Alex’s face is no longer an inch thick with cosmetics and her hair isn’t stiff ringlets.
Ryan appears around the back of the stage. ‘Tell me you’re fin—’ He steps back. ‘Wow.’
‘I know.’ Alex curtsies. ‘I look pretty, right?’
‘You always look pretty.’ Ryan stares at me questioningly, but I brush it off and stand, giving him a quick kiss.
‘Now I really must go.’
He pouts, disappointed, and I smile as I leave them to go set up the painting competition. I make it to my shop and slip the key into the lock.
‘There you are!’ Molly strides into the shop with me and grabs some of the stacked chairs.
‘I’m sorry, we had a disaster with Alex’s pageant outfit.’ I follow her out onto the street and set out the chairs.
‘A disaster?’ We head back inside to get the easels.
‘Don’t ask. How’s everything going?’
‘No disasters here.’ She places a few easels and gives me a quick peck on the cheek. ‘Can you finish up alone? I’ve got to go set up the sack race before Lord Hampton declares us open.’
‘No problem.’
She hurries away, claiming a pint of cider from Bob as she passes, and I finish setting up the competition area, giving each place a palette of paints and a blank canvas before rushing up to my apartment and quickly changing out of my dress and into my dungarees.
When I make it back down, I look up the street as I fix my scarf in my hair, seeing every stall and stand swamped with locals. A country dancing pole is next to the stage, a few kids dancing around it, entwining their ribbons, and Mrs Heaven is outside her café dishing out her famous muffins to anyone who passes. It’s bustling, smiles are on the faces of all, and the atmosphere is alive. It’s wonderful.
I spot a kid hovering nearby, maybe nine or ten, eyeing up the paints. My first contender? ‘Hey.’ I grab an apron off the closest chair and hold it out to him. ‘Want to enter?’
‘What do I have to paint?’
I point up the street. ‘Paint what you see. Lord Hampton will announce the winner at the end of the day.’
‘I’m so gonna win.’ He’s in his apron and on his stool a few seconds later, loading his brush up and taking in the street before him. I smile and leave him to it, set on finding kids to fill the other stools.
Half an hour later, my class is full and paintbrushes are swiping furiously at every canvas. I weave through the stools, checking out the works in progress, offering small tips here and there if I feel they need advice. There are some seriously talented kids in Hampton, and Alex is one of the most brilliant. I bend over behind her and put my mouth to her ear. ‘Please, please, please don’t get any paint on your dress.’
‘Seriously, Hannah.’ She peeks out the corner of her eye to me. ‘You’ve wrapped me up in three aprons and a raincoat. No paint is making it to my clothes.’