I feel as though time is on hold. As though we’re in a sci-fi movie and Richard is in suspended animation and I’ve got all the time in the world to think about whether I want to marry him.
Which, obviously, I don’t need, because the answer is: I do.
A blond girl with a beaded headband turns to peer at me, lip liner in hand. I guess I do look a bit odd, standing motionless with a shoe and stocking in my hand.
“There’s a bin over there.” She nods. “Do you feel OK?”
“Fine. Thanks.” I suddenly have the urge to share the momentousness of this occasion. “My boyfriend’s in the middle of proposing to me!”
“No way.” All the women at the mirrors turn to stare at me.
“What do you mean, ‘in the middle of’?” demands a thin redheaded girl in pink, her eyebrows narrowed. “What’s he said, ‘Will you …’?”
“He started, but I had a stocking catastrophe.” I wave the holdup. “So he’s on pause.”
“On pause?” says someone incredulously.
“Well, I’d get back out there quick,” says the redhead. “You don’t want to give him a chance to change his mind.”
“How exciting!” says the blond girl. “Can we watch? Can I film you?”
“We could put it on YouTube!” says her friend. “Has he hired a flash mob or anything?”
“I don’t think so—”
“How does this work?” An old woman with metal-gray hair cuts across our discussion imperiously. She’s waving her hands angrily underneath the automatic hand-wash dispenser. “Why do they invent these machines? What’s wrong with a bar of soap?”
“Look, like this, Aunt Dee,” says the redheaded girl soothingly. “Your hands are too high.”
I pull off my other shoe and stocking, and, since I’m here, reach for the hand lotion to slather on my bare legs. I don’t want to look back and think, It was such a romantic moment; shame about the scaly shins. Then I get out my phone. I have to text Fliss. I quickly type:
He’s doing it!!!
A moment later, her reply appears on my screen:
Don’t tell me u r texting me in the middle of a proposal!!!
In Ladies’. Taking a moment.
V exciting!!! You make a great couple. Give him a kiss from me. xxx
Will do! Talk later xxx
“Which one is he?” says the blond girl as I put away my phone. “I’m going to have a look!” She darts out of the Ladies’, then returns a few seconds later. “Ooh, I saw him. The dark guy in the corner? He’s fab. Hey, your mascara’s smudged.” She passes me a makeup eraser pen. “Want to do a quick fix?”
“Thanks.” I smile companionably at her and start to erase the tiny black marks below my eyes. My wavy chestnut hair is swept up in a chignon, and I suddenly wonder whether to let it down so it tumbles over my shoulders for the big moment.
No. Too cheesy. Instead, I pull some tendrils out and twist them around my face while I assess everything else. Lipstick: nice coral color. Eye shadow: shimmery gray to bring out my blue eyes. Blusher: hopefully will not need touch-up as will be flushed with excitement.
“I wish my boyfriend would propose,” says a long-haired girl in black, watching me wistfully. “What’s the trick?”
“Dunno,” I reply, wishing I could be more helpful. “I suppose we’ve been together awhile, we know we’re compatible, we love each other—”
“But so do my boyfriend and I! We’ve been living together, the sex is great, it’s all great.…”
“Don’t pressure him,” says the blond girl wisely.
“I mention it, like, once a year.” The long-haired girl looks thoroughly miserable. “And he gets twitchy and we drop it. What am I supposed to do? Move out? It’s been six years now—”
“Six years?” The old woman looks up from drying her hands. “What’s wrong with you?”
The girl with the long hair flushes. “Nothing’s wrong with me,” she says. “I was having a private conversation.”
“Private, pfft.” The old woman gestures briskly around the Ladies’ room. “Everyone’s listening.”
“Aunt Dee!” The redhead looks embarrassed. “Shush!”
“Don’t you shush me, Amy!” The old woman regards the long-haired girl beadily. “Men are like jungle creatures. The minute they’ve found their kill, they eat it and fall asleep. Well, you’ve handed him his kill on a plate, haven’t you?”
“It’s not as simple as that,” says the long-haired girl resentfully.