‘Why? It’s charming. I had a diary when I was your age. In fact, I was thinking of getting you?—’
She drops her hands. ‘We talked about it! You were supposed to get her a voucher from The Beauty Bar! That’s what she wanted! A facial! A manicure! But a shiny purple journal? With gel pens and stickers?’ She groans, sliding down into her seat. ‘I’m so dying right now.’
‘Holly, that’s enough,’ I say, but not unkindly. I pull up behind a parked car and turn off the engine. I turn to face her.‘What’s going on? You’ve been excited about this party all week, but now you sound like you don’t even want to go. Do you want to go?’
Her face wobbles.
‘Holly…’ I pull her to me. She bursts into tears. I smooth her hair back. ‘What’s wrong? What’s all that about?’
‘You’re messing up my hair,’ she whines into my shirt.
‘Sorry. What’s going on?’
‘Everybody is going to hate me.’
‘No they won’t. Why would they?’
She pulls away and wipes her eyes with the back of her hand. ‘Because I look like this, and everyone else is so cool and they have nice clothes and I’m like…a freak.’
I wish she’d let me buy her a new dress, but I know why she turned it down. She’s afraid her father will say it’s too short, too tight, too slutty. That he’ll fly into a rage and call her names. That he’ll forbid her to go to this party. I told her we could find something even he couldn’t object to, but she wouldn’t risk it.
‘You’ve got a great look,’ I say. ‘You look like Billie Eilish.’
‘Yeah, I wish,’ she snorts.
‘Here.’ I rummage through my bag and retrieve my silver makeup pouch. ‘I brought it especially. I was going to do it when we got there.’
She looks at my makeup bag like it’s a gold bar. She wipes the last of her tears. ‘Really?’
I unzip it and pull out a small eyeshadow palette. I smooth her hair away, then rub a little eyeshadow on a brush.
‘Just take it off before he picks you up.’
‘How?’
‘I’ve put some cotton buds and a tiny bottle of remover in a ziplock bag.’
‘Seriously?’ she says, closing her other eyelid.
‘Yes.’
‘Where is it?’
‘In the inside pocket of your bag.’
I sweep some mascara on her eyelashes, careful not to smudge it.
She takes a breath. ‘I was trying different clothes on, and honestly, I don’t know why I bothered. Everything I own looks the same.’
‘It’s all right. You still look nice.’
She doesn’t quite roll her eyes, but almost.
‘Did you really get Scarlett a diary? Because I’m not giving it to her. I’ll just say that I forgot and left the present at home.’
I put a little blush on her cheeks. ‘I was joking.’ I dig in my pouch for the lip gloss I bought for her. I came prepared. Everything I chose is muted but nice – soft shades that suit her colouring. I pull out the lip gloss and hand it to her. ‘What about this?’
But she’s not looking at the lip gloss. ‘What did you just say?’
