Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen

Apply powder generously. Press on as heavy as can be and remove the excess with soft cotton wool. What a smooth and radiant look you have achieved!

Matilda Beam’s Guide to Love and Romance, 1955

The afternoon flies by in a manic flurry of dress-fittings, nail painting (an aptly named pale pink shade called ‘Cotton Candy’) and hair waving. I’ve been forbidden from removing the corsetry all day, and, as such, have just about got used to the fact that as long as I take super-shallow breaths and don’t move too much at all, I will not die in this get-up. At four o’clock, Peach reluctantly leaves us to carry out a bunch of her chores around the house, while Grandma applies my make-up for the evening.

No sooner has she smeared on the first swipe of thick, musty-smelling foundation than her watery blue eyes make contact in the mirror for the first time all day.

‘Jessica, dearest, now that Peach is attending to other matters and it is just you and I, I would like to have a word with you about last night.’

Oh man, I was hoping she’d forgotten about catching me in flagrante delicto by now, or at least decided that the whole event was too mortifying to bring up.

‘I’m, er, I’m dead sorry you had to see that,’ I apologize earnestly. ‘I’ll put something in front of my bedroom door next time. Or maybe I can get a lock. I’ll pick one up from B&Q this week.’

Grandma smooths the foundation over my face with a deft and sure touch.

She sniffs. ‘I don’t think you should see that man again, Jessica.’

Um, what now?

‘Sorry?’ I squint at her reflection. ‘Are you kidding?’

She shakes her head. ‘I am not a lady who kids. I simply think that if we are to embark on this project, it needs to have your full attention. Courting somebody new when you have already agreed to devote your time to seeking the affections of Mr Frost strikes me as a terrible idea.’

‘I’m not courting Jamie, though. We’re just having sex. No strings and all that. You don’t need to worry, honestly, I can focus on the project just fine.’

Grandma’s eyes widen. ‘But a Good Woman must remain virtuous until marriage,’ she gasps.

I snort. ‘Bit late for that now.’

She purses her lips. ‘Jessica, you will do well not to be so impulsive. To not give in so easily to your immediate desires – it’s a sure-fire way to get yourself into trouble.’

I have known this woman for less than three whole days and she’s trying to tell me who I can and can’t sleep with? What the fuck? I inhale deeply and try to hold onto my patience, but I don’t quite manage it.

‘I’m a grown-ass woman, OK? Let’s just agree that my room is my room and my free time is my free time and as long as I do what you say when it comes to How to Catch a Man Like It’s 1955, then you have bugger all to worry about. Sorry, but it’s really none of your business who I spend time with. Jeez.’

In response to my declaration, Grandma promptly drops the foundation tube onto the dressing table and starts to cry.

Oh dear.

Fuck.

I can’t bear it when people weep in my near vicinity. Mum did it loads and I never quite knew how to make it stop. What do I do? My chest tightens.

‘Matilda?’ I stumble over the words. ‘What’s wrong? Why are you crying? Shall I, er, shall I get Peach?’

Her massive eyes spill over with tears that are magnified by the thick lenses of her glasses. ‘I only want to help you, Jessica. You are here now and we are family. I do worry.’ She grimaces, a look of guilt flitting over her face. ‘Your … your mother had the same impulsive nature, blindly followed her passions with no thought, and look what happened to her. If I could have made her listen to me, if she had just allowed me to guide her with my knowledge of how a woman ought to conduct herself, then maybe …’ She trails off with a heavy sigh.

‘What?’ I say, my stomach churning. ‘Maybe she wouldn’t have killed herself?’

Grandma gasps. My heart thuds.

‘Look … It wasn’t like it was your fault, was it?’ I say, awkwardly rubbing her thin arm. ‘She was always mega depressed because of her broken heart. Because my dad left her and she couldn’t get over it. Because she fell in love with the wrong person. It had absolutely nothing to do with you.’

Grandma sniffs, takes an embroidered cotton handkerchief from her blouse pocket and daintily blows her nose.

‘Jessica … you don’t know … ’

She fiddles with the lace trim of the hanky, hand shaking.

‘Don’t know what?’

Grandma seems to have some kind of internal battle before exhaling heavily.

‘You don’t know… how pleased I am to have you here. Just tell me you won’t see young Dr Abernathy downstairs. At least not until we’ve done our work here. This is such a wonderful opportunity for both of us. We must be focused. A Good Woman is always collected.’ I absolutely don’t agree.

But Grandma is clearly having a bit of a wobble right now.

Hmmm … I suppose I could always meet up for awesome Jamie sex in secret. I mean, what Grandma doesn’t know won’t upset her and if it will stop her sobbing all over the place.

‘Okay, G. I won’t see him again.’

Grandma breathes a sigh of relief.

‘You’re a good girl, Jessica.’

* * *

Grandma continues to paint my face, occasionally saying things like, ‘The complexion must be roses and cream’, ‘Elizabeth Arden’s Flamenco will do wonderfully for a strawberry blonde in the summer time’, and the best one, ‘Apply eye shadow with a touch as light as a butterfly’s wings’. She says each thing in a strange melodic voice, almost as if she’s writing the tips in her head as she goes along. When she’s done, she hands me a pair of ugly white cotton gloves with tiny little pearls stitched across the cuffs. I do not like them. I do not like them one bit.

‘These beautiful gloves have given me much luck over the years. My own mother presented them to me on the night of my debut. It would mean such a lot to me to see you wear them.’ Grandma smiles at me hopefully. What will happen if I say no to the gloves? Will she start crying again?

I harrumph and pull on the gloves. We meet Peach downstairs in the hall, where she’s leaning against the stair banister, Mr Belding snuggled in her arms. She squeaks as she catches sight of my finished look for tonight. ‘You look like Rita Hayworth!’

‘Do I?’ I sidestep an old film projector and a stack of Good Housekeeping magazines to get to the full-length gilt mirror by the front door.

Wowser. She’s right. With everything put together − the hourglass shape beneath the summer dress, light rust-coloured hair in an extreme side parting and with thick waves (immovable thanks to a mega blast of hair-setting spray), my make-up both delicate and transformative − pink lips, long, curled lashes and creamy rose-red cheeks − I must admit the effect is quite startling.

Nothing at all like me.

If it wasn’t for the fact that I’m off to see the knob-prince, I might even be quite excited about the prospect of a summery night at the fair.

‘Remember, dear, keep it brief,’ Grandma instructs as I leave the house. ‘The aim of this evening is simply to bewitch and charm Mr Frost into obtaining your telephone number. Nothing more. No long conversations, Jessica. We need to train you up a great deal more before that. For now, simply look beautiful, be alluring and mysterious. Pique his interest enough for him to want to find out more about you.’

‘Yeah, yeah. Keep my mouth shut and look pretty. Like feminism never occurred. I get it. Stop fussing.’

‘It’s all in the chapter you’ve been revising, so I’m sure you’ll be fine.’

Oh fuck, the chapter.

I knew there was something I was supposed to do.