Arise Bo Peep

Today I take myself into my favourite department store, House of Fraser. There are more upmarket places I could go but I’m not quite ready for the uber-confident sales ladies of either Selfridges or Harvey Nichols. This store is more my level at the moment and I’m on a mission to try out one of their ‘eyebrow bars’; I’ve seen other people do it and let’s face it, Frida has to go.

I pay my money and lean back in the chair as instructed hoping that my legs are not in an unladylike display. I let the beautician ply her trade. Wow it hurts; I’m not sure when being tortured in public became acceptable but these bars seem to be everywhere and no one seems to be screaming or cringing quite as much as I am. I now completely understand the notion that Beauty = Pain. I hope it’s worth it when the raging red soreness calms down.

I thank her for torturing me and work my way through the beauty booths being sprayed with every fragrance available. I’m persuaded to buy an excruciatingly expensive moisturiser which contains plankton and guarantees to plump my skin and turn back the aging process, both of which I am in dire need of. I silence the inner voices who scream at me throughout the sales speech, ‘How are they allowed to get away with saying this? You know it’s impossible.’ Although in fairness, I have never seen a wrinkled whale and I believe they eat loads of the stuff. Yes, I do know that’s entirely down to the fact I’ve never actually seen any whales.

Next, the hairdresser works her magic and achieves this without inflicting any pain at all. She dyes the landing strip and restores a bounce I haven’t seen in a long time. I get in the lift to go home but can’t stop staring at the reflection of a woman with shiny chestnut hair and perky eyebrows. She looks so good; she deserves some new clothes. Although the comfy knitwear department is calling out my name, I resist and press the button for the trendy floor. I splurge on a wardrobe Patty might approve of in a size smaller than either of us has ever worn.

On the way home, I catch a glimpse of this new woman in shop windows; she looks like a stranger, a happy stranger. She looks a lot more confident than I feel.

To help complete the metamorphosis, when I get home I take a bin liner to the contents of my wardrobe: all in all, a totally cathartic experience.

I lie in bed happy that I’ve started on my magic wand list. I have one brief crisis of confidence where I hope I don’t look like mutton at work tomorrow, but then relax and will the moisturiser to work its miracles by dawn.

I guess it does as I get second glances on my way in to the shop and it’s not just in my imagination. Even Josie notices something; she admires the new clothes and puzzles over what else has changed.

Of course Charlie gets it straight away: ‘The caterpillars are gone – oh thank you sweet angels; I’ve been dying to take a waxing strip to you for ages. And the bird’s nest, you’ve said goodbye to that too.’

I hadn’t realised I had so much wildlife about me (Patty would probably intervene right now with a ‘bush’ joke but I don’t have any – jokes that is). I hope to see Patty later on and can’t wait to show her the new look.

Meanwhile, the shop is buzzing. You would not believe the knock-on effect one person’s life has on others; because I’ve had my hair done, Josie has hers done and emerges with a pixy crop that only someone with her cheekbones could carry. Then because he now has two gorgeous new ‘girls’, Charlie perks up and gives every customer a glass of Prosecco with their booking. Because all the customers feel very special and spread the word, we sell more holidays and so it turns out that because I had a hair colouring and my eyebrows plucked, we hit our January targets.

Karma I think – or something similar.

Later that evening, Patty listens while I fizz about my transformational day.

‘I always say, “Put yourself out there and the world is your oyster,”’ she reminds me.

I haven’t always trusted her on that one but now I see what she means.

I dig out some old photos and we look through them together over a takeaway. It is funny how you always remember more than is captured in the picture. I recall all the insecurities I had while posing for them. I remember us standing sideways trying to look thinner. I can remember all the emotions I had then: terror, embarrassment and probably guilt for having slipped on some ridiculous diet. Seeing them now, they show two beautiful young women in the prime of their lives – if I could go back and talk to the younger me, I’d tell her she was gorgeous. Of course she wouldn’t believe me.

‘You always posed like that.’ I pick up a picture and point it out to Patty.

She was the blonde to my brunette; she had the boobs and I had the legs. She never stopped smiling and laughing; you’d have thought she was on commission to prove the saying that ‘Blondes have More Fun’.

‘Tits and teeth,’ she replies, immediately replicating the pose. We’d been taught that at training – the key to having a good portrait shot; I can’t imagine anyone getting away with that advice these days.

I look again at the pictures of me, smiling, with my whole life ahead of me. I had gorgeous long chestnut hair back then; later, when I got married, I had it cropped in a very sensible ‘Diana’ style which matched the awful pussy-bow blouses I took to wearing. I felt the need to be sensible and grown up like a proper wife. Patty came round to dinner shortly after I married and was horrified to hear me discuss the virtues of a Kenwood Chef we’d received as a wedding present; she told me that I’d gone from twenty-nine to forty-nine overnight. We fell out over that but she was right. I hadn’t even unpacked the damn thing anyway.

I look more like the young me now. The hair’s not as thick but it’s long and wavy, not at all sensible older woman. I want to be rid of her and have the adventures I always said I would. I haven’t been dumped, I’ve been liberated.

‘I’m no longer going to be dull old Angela Hargreaves,’ I declare.

Patty waits.

‘From now on I’m Angie Shepherd – back from the ashes.’

‘Bo Peep returns, hurrah,’ toasts Patty.

I’d forgotten about that nickname.