Page 6 of Read Between The Lines

‘Okay, you’ve talked me into it, but I think it’s probably for the best to leave the sword behind on this occasion. I’m not sure the good folk at The Ivy would be very happy about me turning up with one. Thanks for the pep talk, I don’t know what I’d do without my library ladies.’

‘Don’t you dare hurry back,’ said Moira. ‘Everything’s under control, and it would do you the world of good to take a proper break for once in a while. Lord knows the library owes you one.’

As the clothes shopping had taken less time than I’d feared it would, I decided to stop by the make-up counter on my way out of the store. I’d normally avoid it at all costs, intimidated by the pristine perfection of the staff behind it, but the brave, bold, clothes-shopping Kat could do whatever she put her mind to, right? Moira could still help me out with a few touch-ups at the end of the day, but I might as well take the opportunity to see what the professionals could do for me.

There was obviously a very effective staff grapevine in the shop because the guy behind the counter seemed to know exactly what my situation was and just what I needed, both from the make-up perspective and the confidence-boosting sense.

‘I still want to look like me,’ was my opening gambit, slightly concerned that he might be about to style my eyebrows in the same dramatic way he wore his own. I mean, he looked fabulous, but as with most things, I preferred a more subtle approach. There was no way I could carry off such a strong brow.

‘You’ve got it. Relax, enjoy the experience.’

I submitted to fifteen minutes of blending and primping, and found I did just that. It was actually quite nice to be the one being taken care of for a change. I was feeling distinctly Cinderella-like, except it was my own credit card taking responsibility for my transformation, rather than a benevolent fairy godmother.

‘Okay, you can look now,’ the make-up artist said eventually, passing across a small hand mirror.

I stifled the nerve-induced reflex to deviate into another fairy tale and recite ‘Mirror, mirror on the wall’, and looked critically at my reflection.

‘Oh,’ I said, surprised at who I saw staring back at me. I did still look like Kat, but a Kat who was well-rested and bright-eyed, groomed, but not within an inch of my life, basically me but on a really, really good day.

‘Wow, thank you,’ I said, admiring the subtle smoky eyeshadow. The one time I’d tried something similar for work, I’d spent the day fielding questions from concerned library users about my apparent black eyes. Maybe if I came back another day, the make-up artist would give me a tutorial on how to recreate the look myself. ‘You’re seriously talented. You’ve worked miracles in no time at all.’

‘There was nothing to it. You’ve got good bone structure, and that’s half the battle.’ He smiled back. I was sure it was what he said to all the people who sat in his chair, but it was still nice to have it directed at me, even if it wasn’t true.

I emerged from the shop weighed down with products the make-up artist had recommended, but feeling lighter in myself as thrilling anticipation took over from the nerves.

Inevitably, the first person I encountered on my return to work was the muddy boots guy, although today at least the trendy leather loafers he was wearing looked reasonably clean.

‘I thought Fridays were generally dress-down days,’ he said, immediately clocking the swish branding on my shopping bags. Or maybe it was the makeover he was commenting on.

‘Fridays are actually “don’t bother the staff” days. In fact, some people could do with following that rule every day of the week,’ I responded defensively.

He held his arms up in mock surrender. ‘Only making conversation. Enjoy your evening when it comes.’

That mischievous glint was back in his eyes. Clearly, he had overheard my conversation with Moira and the gang. I decided it was better to ignore him. He was obviously trying to get a rise out of me, and the best way to respond to that was to walk away.

I carefully hung up my new dress and jacket in the break room, and then resumed my position at the front desk. Even though it was my turn to do the trolley round again, Etta insisted on taking over.

‘We don’t want you getting a sweat on and worrying about your make-up coming off,’ was all she had to say on the matter.

I whiled away the next couple of hours by making polite conversation with the library visitors, trying, and failing, not to get carried away with my daydreams of how the evening would go. How would Brian and I greet each other? A kiss on the cheek at the very minimum, I thought. Would I have to stand on my tiptoes to reach? His profile had said he was over six foot, and he looked tall in all the pictures, but you never knew for sure until you met a person. Maybe I should have gone for the heels after all? But then I’d have been worried about stumbling and making a fool of myself. No, the Converse were the right choice. And surely, when I finally met Brian, all thoughts about my personal appearance would go out of my head in the joy of being in his presence. How would it feel to be so close to him at last? Would he slip his arm around my waist as we left the restaurant? What might happen after we’d shared a meal? My stomach gave a funny little flip of anticipation.

I’m ashamed to admit that I wasn’t giving my full attention to the job, but I hoped that my normally diligent and dedicated service would balance things out. The news of my impending date must have spread around the rest of the library because I was on the receiving end of a lot of indulgent smiles, and visitors were far more patient than usual when I asked them to repeat their questions, which I had to, frequently.

With just an hour until closing, my phone pinged.

‘Brian’s messaged to say he’s landed safely. We’re in the same country at last,’ I swooned, holding the phone to my chest, transferring my desire to be close to him to the device which had connected us in the first place.

‘He’s going to be cutting it a bit fine to get here, isn’t he? What time did he say he’d booked the table for?’ asked Moira, ever practical.

‘Eight o’clock. He was flying into London, so I’m sure he’ll make it with bags of time,’ I replied confidently. ‘You know what the military are like. Everything will run with precision.’

‘Well then, as you’re practically vibrating with excitement, why don’t you go and change into your glad rags? I can keep an eye on things here while you do. It’s so quiet I’ve already let Etta go home.’

‘Are you sure? I’m not going to abandon you before closing, but it would be nice to get myself sorted. It won’t take me long to change, but I think I’ll feel more relaxed if I’ve got a bit longer to get used to wearing the new dress,’ I replied gratefully.

‘Off you pop. If we get a move on while we’re locking up, we can go for a quick drink before your date. That’ll definitely make you feel more relaxed.’

‘Maybe,’ I said, vowing to stick to the soft drinks. From experience, Moira always bought doubles when she roped me into having a so-called quick drink. It was more accurate to say that the ‘quick’ aspect was how fast the booze went to my head.

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