in a bathroom at the hotel she was staying in for the photoshoot job she was on. The subtle cream walls were splashed with various shades of mocha, which did nothing but accentuate the sheer grandeur of the place. It was one of those places that had posh handwash and moisturiser for every basin – a far jump from Ellie’s tiny flat in the centre of London, in which her bathroom rarely had a towel to dry her hands, let alone moisturiser.
She had hoped that it would have been at least another five minutes until Jenni, the photoshoot manager, noticed she was missing, though. Who was she kidding? People don’t just forget that there is a make-up artist on set. ‘Everything’s fine. I’m just… um…,’ she frantically looked around the bathroom for inspiration and spotted some tweezers on the windowsill, ‘plucking my eyebrows!’ She creased her face as she cringed at her terrible attempt of lying.
‘What? Why have you locked the door if you’re just plucking your eyebrows? I’ve got Suzie out here waiting for her make-up for the photoshoot and you’ve picked now to lock yourself in a bathroom to pluck your eyebrows? I pay you to do other people’s make-up, not sort your own face out!’
‘I know, I’m … uh…. doing it whilst I’m on the toilet – I must’ve eaten something dodgy.’ She really was clutching at straws now. This is what her life had come to. She felt stupid but she had to do this. There was no other time and she couldn’t face another day tearing herself apart inside with the constant worry and wondering about what the hell was going on – it had taken over her life. Yeah, sure, she could have done this at home, but she acted on impulse this morning at the chemist – her bag had felt like a lead weight ever since. She needed to just get rid of it and do it.
She heard Jenni exhale impatiently outside the door and stomp off. She listened to her footsteps quieten and then, finally, a door slammed.
‘Eyebrows?’ she said to herself and laughed. ‘Bloody plucking my eyebrows?’ She looked up to the ceiling aghast and threw her hands up to her head to rub her cheeks.
Finally she turned her attention back to the task in hand; still another minute to go. This was the longest two minutes of her life. She should be out there, doing Suzie’s make-up, laughing and joking on set and doing what she did best. She had been a make-up artist for about eight years now and she absolutely loved her job. The buzz she got from working with the models and photographers on set to help create some really beautiful masterpieces was pure indulgence. She could remember spending hours as a child, doing her own make-up with her mum’s stash. Her and Zoe, who was three years older, would sneak into their mum’s bedroom and take all her best make-up to practise with. The trouble they got into when Ellie once used their mum’s MAC make-up to make Zoe look like a clown for her ninth birthday party. Their mum had thought Ellie used face paint and was full of praise and showing off about how talented her six-year-old was, and then she realised when she saw the lipstick barrel lying on the side, tip squashed down into mush from the pressure applied to create the crimson circles on Zoe’s cheeks. The girls had joked that their mum’s face went the same colour. She had her pocket money removed that week and she never used her mum’s make-up again. That was when she started buying her own and Zoe was the perfect model to practise on. And now she got to do it for real, every day. Although she saved the clown faces for special occasions. And then there was art class at school. Ellie wasn’t a grade-A student, but in art she totally aced it. When Zoe was bringing home straight A’s in every subject and making their parents proud as punch, Ellie was bringing home an array of C’s and D’s and making their parents exhale in frustration that she ‘wasn’t more like Zoe.’ They didn’t even acknowledge the A* in art because it wasn’t a subject that they saw would get her anywhere in life.
Well, who’s laughing now?
Her phone chimed to indicate a message and she swiped it up quickly for something to do with her hands. Minimising the stopwatch, she opened the message.
Hey. Sorry I haven’t been in touch recently. I was just a bit freaked out about what happened between us that night.
You’re not the only one, she thought as she scrolled down.
I don’t want things to change between us. Are we OK?
She felt a strange feeling in her stomach as she read Chris’s message. She had known Chris practically all her life. They’d grown up together on the same street and became firm friends at the tender age of six when Ellie stood up for Chris against some older boys, who were picking on him for having ginger hair. ‘I like your hair,’ she would often say to him. But that didn’t stand up against the nasty taunts of ginge and carrot top that he frequently got from others. Not that he had that problem nowadays. His hair had darkened into a nice deep red as he grew older and it was actually shaved now anyway. He had certainly grown into a gorgeous man, but they had stayed firm friends – most of the time. They occasionally strayed into dangerous territory, especially where drink was involved.
Throughout high school and starting their own careers, Chris and Ellie still hung out together and were regulars in each other’s lives. Their friendship was on a completely different level to any other friendship she had, or probably ever would. The closeness between them would challenge a married couple of twenty years, yet that was all they ever remained as: friends. Because they didn’t work as anything else.
Which made what happened the other night even worse. They should never have slept together again. They said after the last time that they wouldn’t do it again because it was starting to affect their friendship. Being friends with benefits was a good laugh, but it made things complicated. She had watched him fall in love and have his heart broken – which had broken her own heart a little bit, too. Watching him fall deeper into despair and not being able to stop him. It had taken him years to get over what Chloe had done to him and Ellie had not wasted any time in making sure that that bitch knew exactly where she stood on the matter.
But what with a few too many Sambucas and a killer new dress that she’d bought, which clung to all the right places around her sleek, well-toned body, one thing had led to another and they’d found themselves in a hotel room at the function they had been at. She woke up the next day, frustrated at giving in to Chris again, so being the idiot that she was, she had just left. Just like that. She knew things were bad when he didn’t contact her for a bit, but she had left it too long and then it became a thing. She tried so hard to not make a big deal out of it that, as a result of her being so blasé, she did make it a thing. Then she was too far in and couldn’t come back from it. It was a weird feeling because up until then, any problems she’d ever had, she’d always gone straight to Chris. Problems in the male department – call Chris. Problems at work – call Chris. Bad period pains and she needed (yes, needed) chocolate ice cream at 11pm – yep, you got it, call Chris. And he was always there. Always. Never asking questions. Good old reliable Chris. They always came back from their awkwardness after sleeping together, but this time she felt different. She felt really emotional about it all and that fact alone pissed her off – she didn’t do emotion.
So why was it so hard to talk to him now? She typed a response and pressed send.
Don’t be silly, I didn’t even notice. Been so busy with work and stuff.
That was a lie. She had thought about it. She thought of nothing else. A reply beeped back almost instantly.
Good. I don’t want things to change between us, so don’t go all weird on me now. We agreed – remember!
He added a geeky smiley. It did make her smile.
Oh please, don’t
