Lola realised she was trembling. Next to her Doug said doubtfully, ‘Is that your father?’
She shook her head.
‘No? So who is it?’
‘Shh.’
.. and this is how Blythe looked ...’
Lola let out a bat squeak as a. photograph flashed up on screen of her mother, looking typically frazzled and flyaway and wearing ... yikes ... her favourite pink sparkly waistcoat over a turquoise paisley blouse and well-worn tartan trousers.
‘My God, that’s your mum.’ Doug shook his head in wonder.
‘Well, that was the two of them a couple of hours ago,’ the jolly, voluptuous presenter exclaimed. ‘So let’s see how they’re looking now!’
‘I remember those tartan trousers.’ Incredulously Doug pointed at the screen.
The shimmering curtains parted and Blythe and Malcolm made their entrance.
Chapter 44
’Oh my GOD!’ shouted Lola, startling several browsing shoppers.
‘Shh.’ Doug gave her a nudge. ‘Stay calm or we’ll get chucked out.’
Stay calm?
Lola whispered, ‘Oh my God,’ and clapped her hands over her mouth. On the TV screen her mother, self-consciously attempting to pose for the camera, looked like a Stepfordised version of herself and the effect was positively eerie. Her delinquent hair had been cut, blow-dried and ruthlessly straightened, her lipstick was deep red and glossy and her complexion had an airbrushed, plastic quality to it. She was also wearing eyeliner for the first time in her life. To complete the transformation, the batty-mother clothes had been replaced by a chic, leaf-green shift dress with matching fitted jacket and darker green high-heeled shoes.
‘Oh my word,’ gushed the presenter, ‘don’t you look fabulous!’
And in one way she did; Lola could see that other people might look at the made-over version of Blythe and feel that itwas a huge improvement. It was. just that the made-over version no longer looked anything like her mother. In a daze she watched the makeover experts step forward and explain how they had achieved the miracle of Stepfordisation. Blythe continued to look embarrassed. Then it was Malcolm’s turn.
With a jolt Lola noticed him properly for the first time. OK, now this really was a transformation. Gone was the hideous bushy beard for a start. Malcolm was now clean-shaven, his hair had been cut and slicked back from his face and, in place of the awful bobbly sweater and baggy corduroys, he was wearing – good grief? – a really well-cut dark suit.
In fact, wow. Malcolm was looking years younger, like a completely different person. Now that you could actually see his face it was revealed as not so bad after all. Why on earth had he ever grown such a horrible beard in the first place?
Next to her Doug said, ‘I can’t believe your mum’s doing this. Whose idea was it?’
Lola frowned, because in the shock of the moment it hadn’t occurred to her to wonder the same thing. And now that she was wondering, it did seem a bit odd. Blythe wasn’t the type to write into programmes like this and she’d never had a hankering to appear on TV.
.. so Malcolm, coming here today was all your idea,’ the presenter said cosily, ‘because you felt you needed to smarten up your image.’
A crackle of alarm snaked its way up the back of Lola’s neck; was the presenter reading her mind?
‘Well, yes.’ Malcolm looked bashful. ‘I suppose I wanted to make a better impression on people ... or rather I was keen for them to have a better opinion of me ...’
‘He’s too polite to say so,’ Blythe chimed in, ‘but he’s actually referring to my daughter.’
‘Oh!’ gasped Lola.
‘Who, I gather, has strong opinions when it comes to clothes.’ The presenter gave Blythe a sympathetic look.
‘That’s one way of putting it. Trinny and Susannah rolled together, that’s what she is,’ said Blythe. ‘With a touch of Simon Cowell. Always telling me I look like a dog’s dinner.’
‘I am not,’ cried Lola. ‘Not always!’
‘I mean, it’s water off a duck’s back as far as I’m concerned. Sometimes I’ll take her advice,’
Blythe went on, ‘and sometimes I won’t. But that’s because I’m her mother. I’m used to her.’
‘Whereas it hasn’t been so easy for you, Malcolm, has it?’ The presenter’s voice softened.
‘Criticism like that can be quite hurtful, can’t it?’
Stunned, Lola said, ‘But I didn’t criticise him! I didn’t!’
‘Oh no, no, Blythe’s daughter has never criticised me. At least not to my face,’ Malcolm said hastily. ‘She’s a lovely girl, very polite. I just felt a bit lacking in the, um, sartorial department, I suppose. Getting dressed up and making the most of myself has never been my forte. And I want Lola to think well of me because ... well, because I think a great deal of her mother.’
Lola’s throat tightened. She couldn’t speak, couldn’t swallow.
The twinkly-eyed presenter, addressing the camera, said, ‘So, Lola, I know you aren’t watching at this moment because you’re at work and Malcolm and Blythe didn’t tell you they were going to be doing this today, but if you do happen to see a recording of this programme I’m sure you’ll agree that Malcolm and your mum have scrubbed up a treat! They both look wonderful. If you ask me, your mum’s a lucky lady to have found herself such a very caring and thoughtful man.’
‘Here,’ murmured Doug. Lola took the handkerchief and wiped her eyes.
‘And after the break,’ the presenter continued cheerfully, ‘we’ll be talking to a husband and wife who have both undergone sex changes, and who’ll be joining us here in the studio with their daughter who until two years ago was their son!’
‘There you go.’ Doug half smiled. ‘Things could be worse.’
‘I’m so ashamed.’ Lola sniffed hard, because being lent a hankie and dabbing away tears was one thing but blowing your nose in it was altogether less dainty.
‘So that’s your mum’s boyfriend, the one you don’t like.’
‘I don’t dislike him. I just thought Mum could do better.’ Sniff. ‘I thought she was settling for Malcolm because he was easy.
She didn’t mean easy in that sense — yeuch, perish the thought. ‘He seems like a nice chap.’
‘He is. I just couldn’t s-stand the beard.’ Lola gave up and blew her nose noisily into the hanky.
‘And now everyone knows how shallow I am.They’re all going to think I’m a really horrible p-person.’
For a moment she thought Dougie might put his arms around her, reassure her that she really wasn’t horrible, maybe even drop a consoling kiss on her forehead. Instead the annoying salesman reappeared and said to Doug, ‘Is she finished here? Can I change the channel back now?’
‘Sorry, yes, thanks very much.’ Realising that most of the customers in the vicinity were watching them, Doug gathered himself and checked his watch. ‘Come on.’ He gave Lola’s shoulder a tap and said lightly, ‘Let’s get you back to the hospital before the nurses find out you’ve escaped.’
Blythe had washed her hair and changed out of the grown-up leaf-green suit. In her purple flowery top and pinstriped skirt and with the glossy, poker-straight blow-dry a thing of the past, she looked like herself again.
‘Wasn’t it awful? I felt like a clone!’ Hugging Lola, she said, ‘And the eyeliner! Never again!’
Malcolm, following Blythe into Lola’s flat, said, ‘She’s been going on about that blessed eyeliner all day.’
‘It’s all right for you,’ Blythe retorted, ‘you didn’t have to wear it.’