A Taste of Love Page 3

  Karen slumped back down on the bed and smiled. ‘That’s just from your eyes. It’s not what I see.’

  Helen took a deep breath. ‘Right, let’s start at the top and work our way down. I’m five foot eight, which I can’t alter – fact. But I’ve always worn flat shoes because Rob was the same height and he didn’t want me towering over him in high heels. But I do love looking at some of your heeled shoes and that is something that I can change – right?’

  Karen enthused. ‘Of course you can, and you don’t need six- inch heels. There are some lovely kitten-heeled shoes in the shops at the moment.’

  ‘Great. I’m not sure exactly what kitten heels are but they sound good,’ she said, grinning. ‘I’ve lost around ten pounds since Christmas and I don’t think my legs look as thick and chunky as they used to, but they’re still pretty darn shapeless. My boobs are small, I’ve got shoulder-length boring, brown hair, my teeth have never been strong and white like yours, my hazel eyes are like narrow slats, but I do think the one good thing I have going for me is my big, full lips…’

  Karen threw herself back onto the bed and howled with laughter.

  ‘You’re supposed to be helping me,’ Helen giggled as she picked up her shower cap from the dressing table and threw it at her.

  Karen sat up and wiped her eyes. ‘Oh, Helen,’ – she joined her in front of the mirror again. – ‘As you say, here we go from the top. The reason you look shapeless is because you walk round shouldered and slumped as if you’re embarrassed about your height. If you pulled your shoulders back when you walked and felt proud that you are as tall as some of the models on the catwalk you’d look totally different.’ She put her hands gently on Helen’s shoulders and eased them back. ‘And I can’t remember the last time I saw your legs and ankles because they’re always covered in trousers, or in the summer, long flowing skirts and dresses. There is nothing wrong with your ankles that a pair of heeled shoes can’t put right and you have the longest legs on a woman I’ve ever seen. Haven’t you heard the expression that men die for legs that go right up to a woman’s bum?’

  Helen fidgeted now as Karen stared at her chest. She flicked the strap on the cream bra. ‘And how old is this?’ Karen asked, raising an eyebrow in disbelief. ‘I know your boobs are small but all you need is the support of a good plunge bra and you’ll have a great cleavage.

  ‘Will I?’ Helen croaked.

  ‘Of course. You can get your teeth whitened at the dentist, then a really good haircut. And the rest,’ – she waved her hand nonchalantly – ‘is nothing that a beautician can’t put right with eye make-up to accentuate your eyes. You’ll look fabulous.’

  ‘I hope so, because I’ve already made an appointment at the salon and hairdresser for tomorrow morning,’ Helen replied, to which they both giggled.

  ‘Now – the shambles that is my wardrobe.’ Helen grimaced, and opened her side of the wardrobe. She closed the doors with a bang on Rob’s empty side. ‘This is where I need the greatest help with my clothes…’

  For the next hour they went through every item of clothing Helen possessed. They were left with a huge pile to throw out, a pile for the charity shop and a small pile of good quality skirts and jackets that could be altered. They’d laughed and teased each other, remembering all the old-style clothes that Helen had hung onto and some of the hilarious fashions from their teenage years.

  As Karen made her way back downstairs to Greg, who was waiting outside in the car, Helen hugged her. ‘Thanks for tonight,’ she said, smiling affectionately. ‘You’ve helped me so much. And just for the record I’m making a pact with myself here and now. This time next year I’ll be one month from hitting the big four zero and by then I will not only look very different I’ll have made every effort to live my life to the full.’

  Karen giggled. ‘That’s fine, but don’t go changing too much. I’m quite fond of my baby sister the way she is…’

  ‘I won’t.’ She waved to Greg while Karen made her way to the car.

  *

  The following morning Rachel arrived home from university and Helen called hello from upstairs as she stepped out of the shower. She was dreading the conversation about Rob that would have to take place and cursed him for leaving it all up to her – he could have phoned and talked to Rachel, she thought, but he’d naturally taken the coward’s way out. She dressed hurriedly in an old tracksuit hoping and praying that Rachel wouldn’t react too badly to the fact that he’d gone. As she imagined the hurt on her daughter’s face when she heard about twenty-three-year-old Stephanie, she cringed with shame.

  Rushing into the kitchen she threw her arms around her daughter and hugged her tightly. It was a lovely spring morning and Rachel had thrown open the patio doors to the garden after dumping two bags of washing on the floor in front of the washing machine.

  ‘Hey,’ Rachel said, detangling herself from Helen’s arms. ‘I only saw you last Sunday…’

  Helen switched on the kettle, feeling flustered. ‘I know. Sorry. It’s just I’ve missed you.’ Rachel had always looked like Karen and her mum when she was little but now the older she became the more striking the resemblance was.

  Rachel jumped up onto the bench in her tatty jeans and swung her trainers against the cupboards like she’d done as a teenager. She wound a tress of her long black hair around her finger and examined it for split ends. ‘Where’s Dad?’ she asked.

  Helen’s stomach slumped. She’d hoped to chat first and then tell her the news gradually, but knowing she couldn’t lie to her daughter she took a deep breath. ‘Darling, there’s something I’ve got to tell you and I’m afraid it’s not good news. Why don’t we make some coffee and go out into the garden while I try to explain what’s happened…’

  Rachel jumped down. ‘Shit. Is he okay? Has he had an accident?’ she barked.

  Helen’s heart began to thump, realising she’d alarmed her unnecessarily. ‘No, oh no, love. He’s fine – he’s not physically hurt. I’m sorry. I should have explained it better but I’m trying to…’

  Rachel sighed heavily. ‘You’re trying to protect me and wrap me in cotton wool as usual instead of just explaining and talking to me in a rational adult manner.’

  Helen added milk to the cups and stirred the coffee. ‘Probably, but I’m hoping to, what they call nowadays, minimise the damage. Come on,’ she said. ‘Let’s take this outside. It’s such a beautiful morning.’

  They strolled into the eighty-foot-long garden that was surrounded by high shrub fencing, and sat together on the wood bench facing the small pond that Rob had built. Helen lifted her face to feel the warm sun and revelled in the peace and quiet. Rachel was right, she thought, it was high time she treated her like the lovely young woman she was and not a vulnerable teenager. She sipped her coffee and told Rachel the whole story, but omitting the details about Stephanie.

  ‘I’m not totally surprised,’ Rachel said. ‘In fact I’m amazed you two have stayed together for so long. You should have left him years ago.’

  Helen was gobsmacked. ‘Wh-what? But how did you know?’

  ‘Oh, I didn’t know about this one.’ Rachel turned to face her. ‘But I saw him with the last one three years ago in the town centre. I didn’t want to tell you though in case it upset you even more.’

  ‘So, we’re actually one of a pair – not telling each other things to avoid upset,’ Helen said nodding. ‘I’d like to make a pact now that in future we don’t keep secrets and we tell each other everything – no matter what.’

  Rachel put her hand in Helen’s and shook it. She giggled. ‘You’ve got yourself a deal, Mum.’

  They drank their coffee, laughing together, and Helen tried to explain why she hadn’t wanted Rachel’s last few years at home to be lived amidst horrible arguments, and then she reluctantly broke the news about Stephanie.

  Rachel gasped and her big brown eyes bulged. ‘Yuk! How gross is that!’ she cried. ‘So he’s shacked up with a twenty-three-year-old. But that means she’s
only five years older than me.’

  ‘I know, darling, and I’ve told him he’s making a complete fool of himself, but…’

  Helen’s heart ached when she saw the disgust and hurt on Rachel’s lovely young face – she wanted to wrap her up in the old baby blanket to protect her.

  ‘I’ll never speak to him again after this,’ Rachel pouted. ‘He’s like a bloody perv creeping around young girls.’

  ‘Oh, don’t do that,’ Helen begged. ‘I’d hate this to ruin your relationship with him. He does love you to bits, Rachel. No matter what he thinks of me, he worships you.’

  Rachel huffed and her chin trembled. ‘He can’t love me that much or he wouldn’t behave like this, Mum. He’s nothing but a total embarrassment.’

  A tinkle on Rachel’s mobile vibrated in the pocket of her jeans and she read the text. She giggled, and with her fingers racing over the front of the phone at breakneck speed she replied while Helen looked down the expanse of the garden.

  That was the gift of youth, she mused thoughtfully. Rachel would pull through this much better now she was away from home with her new friends and life at university. If she’d still been at home she would have missed Rob more and would possibly have got caught up in the upheaval.

  Tucking the mobile back into her pocket Rachel told Helen about the funny text from her friend and Helen told her about the makeover she had planned at the beauty salon and how she was meeting Karen for shopping and lunch.

  ‘OK,’ – Rachel looked at Helen dubiously – ‘Maybe I could leave the washing till later and come into the city with you and Aunty Karen?’

  Helen grinned. ‘Of course you can. We’ll get round to the washing over the weekend. And Aunty Karen will be cock-a-hoop to see you.’

  *

  Helen sat in the salon with her eyes closed, not wanting to look at the finished result, while the beautician made up her face with new foundation and blusher, and widened her eyes with brown eyeliner. Her pink manicure had dried and when the beautician excitedly pronounced, ‘Ta-Dah’, she slowly and apprehensively opened her eyes and looked in the mirror.

  Dear God, she thought, looking closer into the mirror at her face, was this really her? The transformation was unbelievable and she loved it. The new make-up was subtle and in keeping with her complexion. Her eyes looked brighter and more alive than she’d seen them for years. Her lips were coated in a soft pink gloss and she pouted playfully in the mirror. But it was her hair that made the biggest difference. The long layers that had been cut into its length made it fall around her face in a wavy, tousled affect as though she’d just got out of bed. The warm chestnut highlights were perfect, and foolishly she felt a ball of emotion gather in the back of her throat.

  Karen and Rachel came back into the salon and she swung around in the chair grinning at them both.

  ‘OMG!’ yelled Rachel. ‘Mum, you look fabulous!’

  But it was Karen’s eyes, awash with tears, that made her choke back her own. ‘Well, my lovely,’ Karen said. ‘You won’t ever get sick of looking at yourself like this, will you?’

  After lunch the three women shopped on Oxford Street. Karen and Rachel chose clothes for Helen to try, and then shook their heads in dismay at Helen’s own choices. Finally, armed with piles of clothes, shoes and underwear, Helen went into the changing room in John Lewis while Karen and Rachel sat outside.

  ‘It’s a bit like the Pretty Woman film,’ Rachel giggled.

  Karen laughed and hugged her excitedly. ‘You’re not trying to tell me that my sister looks like a prostitute, are you?’

  Suddenly, they both stopped laughing and gasped in awe as Helen emerged dressed in a brown, knee-length pencil skirt and cream shirt. The top two buttons of the shirt were open at the front and the plunge bra, as Karen had predicted, gave her an amazing cleavage. A wide, chunky leather belt over the waistband of the skirt nipped in her waist and the brown, one-inch, kitten heels added to her height.

  Rachel’s eyes were practically standing out on stalks as she stared at Helen’s breasts. ‘Christ, where have you been hiding them, Mum?’ she grinned.

  Helen was delighted with their reaction and with her new image. ‘I think it’s what’s called hiding your light under a bushel,’ she tittered nervously. ‘Is it too much?’

  After reassurance and encouragement from them Helen returned to the changing room, removed the skirt and teamed the shirt with skinny jeans and two-inch ankle boots – she loved the casual look just as much and felt an excited buzz that was totally alien to her. By the time they left Oxford Street she had three new work-wear outfits, two pairs of jeans, four tops, boots and shoes and a bag full of new sexy underwear.

  Chapter Four

  Trying to remember Karen’s advice to walk tall and proud Helen pulled her shoulders back, and in the black fitted jacket she teetered on her heels into the office on Monday morning.

  Annette glanced up at Helen to bid her good morning then took a double take and stared in surprise. ‘Wow! Helen, you look fantastic…’

  Helen flicked a wave of her hair and smiled. ‘Do you think so? I’ve been worrying it’s too much all at once.’

  ‘Not at all. If you are going to have a new look it’s best to do the whole image altogether,’ she said. ‘Let’s have a coffee and you can tell me all about it.’

  Helen relaxed and began to enjoy the attention. It felt totally different now that she knew she looked good, but more importantly felt good about herself, and she revelled in the compliments. While Annette chatted about her weekend Helen signed into her computer. She glanced at the photograph of Rob and Rachel, taken at Rachel’s school prom, on the corner of her untidy desk. She decided to find a replacement photograph of Rachel on her own because now, she couldn’t bear looking at Rob’s face. Now, every time she thought of him she remembered her daughter’s sad and shocked face on Saturday morning. And, although over the weekend they’d talked it through together until Helen was confident that Rachel was coping, she loathed Rob for letting her down in such a spineless way.

  As the morning progressed and Helen made preparations for the samples she needed in the kitchen, Annette called her back through to the office and introduced her to the new business manager, Richard Scott. He sat next to Annette’s desk and as she walked towards him he stood up and smiled. He was tall and slim, dressed in a dark grey suit but she could tell by the stretch of his white shirt underneath that he had a strong broad chest.

  She put out her hand to shake his. ‘Hello, nice to meet you,’ she said, and as he took her hand she gasped in surprise at the rush of heat that surged through her.

  He leaned in closer as she let go of his hand and the unmistakable stylish blend of spicy Ralph Lauren aftershave wafted towards her.

  ‘Nice to meet you too, Helen,’ he said. ‘Annette has been showing me around and introducing me to everyone in the commercial department.’

  ‘That’s good.’ Helen gazed into his dark brown, hooded eyes. ‘We’re three in this office but Tom, our packaging technologist, is out this morning. I think he should be back for lunch though…’

  He sat back down and she settled herself at her desk, turning her chair to face him. He was, she guessed, around her own age but possibly a little older, and although not what she would call a particularly good-looking man he did have a certain something about him.

  While he told them both in a quiet but steady voice a little about his background in the food industry and where he’d previously worked she stared at his clean shaven, and what Karen would call, well-scrubbed face. The brown eyes were shaded by bushy eyebrows that furrowed slightly while he talked, but when Annette made a small joke he laughed and his whole face seemed to light up.

  ‘This morning is pretty much mapped out for me with personnel introductions but maybe when Tom gets in we could all have lunch together,’ he suggested.

  They all agreed and he went back to his office while Helen took a deep breath and tried to understand what had just happened to
her. At the weekend Rachel had asked her if she wanted the new image to grab herself a man and she’d pooh-poohed the idea explaining that she only wanted to feel better about herself and have some good times. And, she supposed, if that included a little harmless flirtation with some nice men along the way surely that could only help with her new lifestyle.

  Just before one o’clock Tom bounded into the office in his usual gay, outlandish manner raving about new tray linings which were microwave friendly. He was twenty-six, always impeccably groomed, and at the moment sporting a beard which had grown in slightly darker than his blonde hair.

  ‘I’m loving the new you, Helen,’ he oozed in an exaggerated camp voice.

  She laughed, threw a paperclip across at him and then explained how Richard would be joining them for lunch. Annette relayed the small amount of information they’d found out about him.

  ‘Great. But please tell me we’re not eating sushi again?’ he asked grinning.

  Richard appeared in the office doorway. ‘No, we aren’t. I’ve been off site to get a mobile phone so I popped into M and S for a sandwich platter.’ He held out a carrier bag towards Helen.

  She got up from her chair, took the bag from him and headed into the kitchen, calling over her shoulder. ‘I’ll find some plates and make coffee. Or do you prefer tea, Richard?’

  He followed her into the kitchen, agreeing that coffee would be fine, then stood behind her while she switched on the kettle and briefly explained the kitchen layout. She could feel his closeness behind her and then felt her previously cool, cotton shirt become warm and sticky on her skin with excitement. He told her that he was married with a sixteen-year-old daughter and his nineteen-year-old son was at Durham University.

  ‘So because home is just outside Cambridge it’s too far to commute on a daily basis,’ he said smiling. ‘I’m renting a flat in Acton near Gunnersbury Park.’ He lifted the sandwiches from the plastic cartons and arranged them on a large plate.