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‘No,’ said the strange foreign-sounding Botox doctor. ‘Too many peoples looks weirds.’
Felt tiny pricking sensation in forehead.
‘Just goweeng to do your mouse now. You are going to laave eet. You don do your mouse, zee face start to droop so you look meeesrable. Like ze Queen.’
I thought about this. Actually it might be true. The Queen does quite often look as if she’s unhappy or disapproving and she probably isn’t really. Maybe the Queen should have Botox in her mouth!
Came out, blinking in the lights of Harley Street and grimacing my face as the doctor had told me to.
‘Bridget!’
I looked across the road, startled. It was Woney, wife of Cosmo.
As she hurried across I blinked at her. Woney looked . . . different. Could she possibly have had . . . hair extensions? Her hair was a good six inches longer than it had been at Talitha’s party and dark brown, not grey. And instead of her usual high-necked duchess dress she was wearing a fitted peach frock with a beautiful neckline, which showed off her waist, plus high heels.
‘You look fantastic,’ I said.
She smiled. ‘Thank you. It was . . . well, what you said last year at Magda’s drinks. And then after Talitha’s party I thought . . . and Talitha told me where to get my hair done and . . . had some Botox, but don’t tell Cosmo. And how is it going, with your young man? I’ve just been sitting next to one at a charity lunch. It’s absolutely marvellous, isn’t it, doing a bit of flirting?!’
What could I say? Telling her he’d dumped me for being too old would be like telling the troops in the First World War trenches that it looked as though the Germans were winning.
‘There’s everything to be said for the younger man,’ I said. ‘You look fabulous.’
And she teetered off, giggling, and I could swear, at two in the afternoon, slightly drunk.
Well, at least something good has come out of it all, I muttered to myself. And her Botox looked great, so maybe mine would too!
Friday 21 June 2013
Remaining consonants able to pronounce 0.
2.30 p.m. Oh my God. Oh my God. Something really weird is happening to my mouth. It’s all swelling up inside.
2.35 p.m. Just looked in mirror. Lips are sticking out. Mouth is puffed up and sort of paralysed.
2.40 p.m. Billy’s school just rang about the bassoon lessons and cannot speak properly. Cannot easily say Ps or Bs or Fs.
What am I going to do? Am going to be like this for next three months.
2.50 p.m. Have started drooling. Cannot control mouth so drool is coming out of side of mouth like – ironically enough given objective was to look younger – stroke ‘victim’ in old people’s home. Have to keep dabbing at it with a tissue.
2.55 p.m. Called up Talitha and tried to expbflain.
‘But it shouldn’t do that. You should go back. Something must have gone wrong. It’s probably an allergic reaction. It’ll wear off.’
3.15 p.m. Have got to do school run. Actually it will be fine. Will simply drape a scarf round my mouth. People don’t notice specific bits of other people, they see the whole.
3.30 p.m. Collected Mabel, with scarf draped around mouth like Masked Raider. Took scarf off gratefully in car, and turned round to do usual complex body-contorting movement in order to get the seat belt into the thing. At least Mabel hasn’t noticed, munching happily away at her snack.
3.45 p.m. Ugh, traffic is terrible. Why do people drive these enormous SUV things in London? It’s like once they’re in one, they think they’re driving a tank and everyone has to get out of their . . .
‘Mummy?’
‘Yes, Mabel.’
‘Your mouth looks all funny.’
‘Oh,’ I said, successfully avoiding consonants.
