‘What’s all this, then?’ She eyed the bag of make-up that I’d bought from her only minutes earlier. There’d been a family waiting to pay for a pile of miniature toiletries, so she’d not been able to grill me at the time, but I wasn’t surprised that she’d made use of theback in 5 minutessign that was highlyfrowned upon by all levels of airport management, and followed me straight over as soon as the shop was empty.
I shrugged, concentrating on my lunch. ‘I’ve run out of a few bits. Mascara and stuff. I know it’s more expensive here, but I can’t seem to get around to it on my day off.’
‘Emmaline Brown. In what decade did you run out of mascara? Because the only non-natural thing on your face since you started working here is the occasional smear of icing sugar.’
Mum had started me working at Parsley’s on weekends and school holidays the day after my thirteenth birthday. Blessing had been sixteen and a month into her Saturday job, so she’d naturally gravitated towards me as the only other teenager employed at the airport. Since we’d both gone on to work full-time, she’d become the closest person I had to a friend here. Which meant that since Mum died, she’d been the closest person in my life full stop. However, our occasional lunchtime chats about whether Arjun in Security was ever going to confess his love to Helena in Duty Free, or the trials of her ever-expanding family, were still a long way from me sharing a potential existential crisis.
‘Maybe I wear make-up in my free time. When I’m going out somewhere nice.’
‘What, to the wholesalers? Or are you checking out a fit librarian as well as all those holiday books?’ She eyed my bag. I sometimes read a travel guide while I finished my flapjack.
I ate another mouthful of bread. She was right. The library was the highlight of my social calendar.
‘If you’ve got yourself a date, you’d better tell me about it.’
I shook my head, neck prickling with embarrassment at the intimate turn the conversation was taking, while at the same time sharply aware of the shyly smiling, rugged face that had popped into my head.
‘I don’t have a date. Barb told me I looked like crap this morning.’
‘Yeah, well. If you’re taking Barb’s advice then you’ll have to spend way more than forty quid.’
Barb took both her role as unofficial beauty-counter consultant and her staff discount seriously. The rumour around the airport was that she’d once worn so much metallic eyeshadow, the metal detector had gone off when she’d walked through Security. Blessing joked that her manager liked to demonstrate the shop’s full range of make-up – all at the same time. In contrast, the only make-up my friend ever wore was a swipe of electric-blue eyeliner that perfectly matched her uniform. She constantly complained about the cheap tunic she had to wear, but the truth was, the way that she tucked it over her curves made it look effortlessly stylish.
‘Gregory said I didn’t look like myself.’
‘He said that?’ Blessing frowned, peering more closely at me.
I didn’t add that I didn’t feel like myself, either. Not ill. Just odd.
‘Honestly? And I say this as your airport bestie – you look knackered.’
I put down my spoon. How could I be knackered when I’d had an extra two hours of sleep this morning?
‘You’ve looked worn out since losing Nell,’ she said, squinting in apology for the bluntness. ‘Which is understandable, when you’re grieving. But it’s been nearly two years and lately, it’s got worse. I mean, if it’s just your outside that’s tired, then I can recommend some creams and things to help. But is it more than that? Are you as exhausted as you look? When was the last time you had a proper holiday?’
I sat back. Blessing, unlike Barb, was rarely rude. I trusted her opinion more than anyone’s. I closed my eyes for a second, tosee if I could tune into my body and figure out if this was what it was trying to tell me.
A good few seconds later, when my eyelids were protesting at the very idea of opening again, I had my answer.
‘Never.’ I moved my bowl to the side and picked up my flapjack. ‘I’ve never had a proper holiday. I spent a week off in January deep-cleaning my kitchen and going for a smear test.’ I took a large bite, acknowledging the irony that realising how tired I was had energised me for the first time all day. ‘I’m so tired I’ve been too tired to even notice. I guess I need to start going to bed earlier. It’s not like I can take any time off when we’re about to hit the high season.’
Blessing gave me a pointed look. ‘You think that’s the answer? Buy some make-up to hide your bags and go to bed even earlier than your current time of, what, nine-thirty?’
‘I didn’t buy the make-up solely to hide my eyebags.’ I tried to hide behind the chunk of flapjack, because this whole conversation was making my skin itch. ‘I just wanted, I don’t know. To try something different. See what it was like to be a bit different.’
‘What, different from mini-Nell?’
That made me smile. Mum had been five-foot eleven and thirteen stone of hard graft. I was eight inches shorter, and at risk of being blown over if I walked too close to the air-conditioning vents. Despite that, we shared strawberry-blonde hair, green eyes and heart-shaped faces.
‘They do say a change is as good as a break,’ Blessing went on. ‘Maybe trying some new things, having more fun, will help.’
I nodded. ‘That’s a good idea. I’ll think about it.’
‘We can start this evening.’ She gripped my hand, dark eyes gleaming. ‘I finish at seven. How about I head over and do you a makeover? I can show you how to put that stuff on withoutending up like Barb. We can brainstorm some other things to help you feel less awful.’
I balked at that, still getting used to the idea that I might be feeling at all awful. But while a large part of me wanted to fob Blessing off – I had to prepare a fresh pot of mushy peas, water my plants, read a book, sit about feeling pitifully lonely – the part of me that had woken up with the scent of summer sunshine in her senses wanted to try something reckless.
‘I’ll message you my address.’
