Thumb Rings and Ballet Slippers
"Excuse me whilst I cry over my psychology degree"
Bombalurina gave her famous half-smile as she made her eyes look sultry and sucked in her cheeks slightly, though she didn't know why she bothered, they'd trim her face down enough later on whilst adjusting her hair to look two shades redder and the blue in her eyes more striking. When she was younger she was always told that she'd make a great model because, frankly speaking, she was gorgeous. She gained curves almost instantly when she turned thirteen and she had this way of looking at you that either made you feel like the most special person in the world or the worst. When in front of the camera, it was her job to make everyone feel inferior to her beauty and she felt uncomfortable thinking about young girls who'd look at her photo and aspire to look like her, because really she didn't even look like the Bombalurina in the photo, that Bombalurina was a mirage built from photo editing software and good lighting.
She'd never wanted to be a model, she wanted to be a child psychologist but eventually student fees caught up with her and she was given the opportunity to take some photos for a lingerie store after she was spotted by a bespectacled woman in her local shopping centre, naturally, she said yes. Now she was one of the most famous British models that had surfaced in the past five years, she'd started when she was twenty and now eight years later she was still posing in big designer ads and walking down runways during fashion week. She was the 'busty redhead', the 'real-life Jessica Rabbit', pretty far stretches from the acclaimed child psychologist she studied to become for six years alongside her modelling.
Her photographer finally put his camera down, smiled and kissed her on both cheeks before letting her go back to change and go home, or back to the hotel at least. She was in Morocco right now, hidden from the sun under copious amounts of sun block and a large hat as her ivory skin was one of her main 'selling points', and it was beautiful but every time she crept back into her hotel room after working or socialising, occasionally with a play mate for the night, she felt her phone burn in her pocket and she didn't feel satisfied until she scrolled through pictures of her and her family and friends. Most of the pictures were taken in Britain, lovely, dreary old Britain with it's overcast weather and harsh winds.
After Morocco she was to go to New York to take some photos for a deal she did with some designer then to Seoul to take part in some 'beauty exchange' where she'd get painted by Korean make up artists and dressed by Korean designers and after that she was off to Paris to film some promotional thing for another designer. She loved travelling when she first started but now she missed staying home, tucked under a blanket, wearing pyjamas and watching bad murder mysteries.
She flicked through her phone now as she sat in the back seat of the car that was sent for her, she smiled as familiar faces flashed on her screen, now and again she'd hover over a photo and remember where it was taken fondly. She then reached a photo of her and her sisters, toddler Jemima sandwiched between pre-teen Demeter and teenage Bombalurina, and her chest tightened as she looked into the image's childish faces. She remembered when they were both so little and she felt tears spring to her eyes.
Besides wanting to be home, enveloped in blankets and chilly weather, she wanted to be a Mother. It was what she wanted, what she'd always wanted. She wanted to cradle a little person in her arms and know that they were hers, she pictured them with her pretty blue eyes and her fiery hair, they'd huddle into her chest and sleep next to her in her bed and when they did something clever or funny she'd ring up her sisters or maybe look up into the face of the Father as if to say, "Can you believe it? Can you believe we made this?"
"Miss, we're here," came the driver's voice, she looked up from her phone and smiled at him before taking a few notes from her purse and thrusting it in his direction.
"Very generous, Miss," he mumbled as he took the notes, eyeing them as if they were the greatest present he had been given, "Miss, thank you."
Bombalurina walked out of the car and up into her hotel room, she took off her heels and jumped onto the white sheets of her bed and stared up at her ceiling fan. She was meant to be going out for a social dinner tonight but suddenly she didn't feel up to getting showered, changed and made up. She wanted to imagine her baby, the baby she'd buy cute tea dresses or dungarees for, the baby that Demeter would feed and dance with, the baby Jemima would sing to and make up stories for. Her baby.
Bombalurina had always been the Mother to her sisters and to her own Mother most of the time. She was the one that taught Jemima how to read, she was the one that walked Demeter to school, she was the one that helped her Mother into bed when she couldn't make it up the stairs after staying out all night. And then when she was sixteen, the summer she left school and got her GCSE results, her Mother died and she became the real Mother of the family. Of course, they lived with their Aunt Jenny until they were old enough to move out, but Bombalurina went to the parent's evenings, she helped Demeter revise, she made Jemima's packed lunches. Not because Jenny wouldn't but because Bombalurina liked being Mum and she was so much better at it than their deceased Mother, although the poor woman tried her best.
She thought of her sisters, as she often did and tried to swallow her maternal concern. With Jemima living in London, so far away from Auntie Jenny and Uncle Skimble, and studying to become the next Primadonna. Demeter living in the house that they shared when Bombalurina was in the UK, working at a publishing firm, surrounded by new author's works on little piles of paper. She wanted them there with her, wanted to be there with them, wanted them to be young again. However, time is not so kind and she had to get ready to party the night away with stick-figure models, publicists and photographers.
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"My hair is useless. It's useless hair. Help it."
Jemima looked up through her eyelashes at the blonde girl clad in a floral dress and sheer tights that made her dancers legs look longer than ever, her eyebrows twitched slightly in frustration and she was holding a curling tong as if it was about to grow teeth and maul her to death. Jemima giggled and sat up before patting the floor in front of her with her foot so Victoria walked over excitedly and sat there, handing her room-mate the tong as she did.
"You have great hair, shut up," the younger girl scalded since Victoria really did have great hair, all fluffy and white, like snow. She slid her fingers through it, her nails newly painted as an act of rebellion against her old job that didn't allow nail polish, before getting to work. Blonde waves became blonde curls and great hair became sexy hair that Plato would later run his hands through while they shared a second goodbye kiss outside Victoria's flat.
"Are you excited?" Jemima said after Victoria stood to look at her newly-done hair in the mirror, tousling it here and there when she saw fit. The older girl's lips split into a smile and she nodded enthusiastically before turning on her heel.
"You know, I really am," she replied, her grin filling her face and her dimples more prominent than Jemima had ever seen before, "I don't know, he was just a big sweetheart and it's been so long since I've been on a date. Although, does lunch count as a date? A date's usually dinner, isn't it? Oh God, Jemima, is this a date or a business meeting?"
An elfin grin spread across Jemima's face, "Have you packed your credentials?"
A pillow flew across the room and hit the same grin off her face, Victoria smiled triumphantly before checking her watch and giving out an excited squeal,
"I have five minutes before I need to set off, make me a cup of tea and I'll forgive you for your merciless sarcasm, you little minx."
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"You can't be serious," he said incredulously, holding the phone close to his ear in one hand and pinching his nose with the fingertips of his free one. He heard a nervous chuckle on the line but he knew whatever she said next would only serve to make him angrier so he didn't care to listen to the long-winded apology, the excuses, that followed. When the buzz of her voice died down, that beautiful voice, he sighed and plastered on a false smile though she couldn't see it, what mattered was that he knew he was being as pleasant as he could possibly be in this situation.
"Please don't do this," he said, his voice bright despite how he was pleading shamelessly. She apologised again, this time simply muttering her 'sorry' but he knew that there was nothing he could do. He wanted to tell her that she was worth so much more than what she was giving herself up for, so much more than what she was getting herself into but they were words that he'd already said to her, words that she hadn't taken seriously when she dismissed his confession of affection to her when she'd first decided to leave the road she was just about to return to.
"Yeah. Yeah okay, I understand," he mumbled, "Goodbye."
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Victoria really was gorgeous.
Plato watched her as she walked towards him, giving a small wave as she did. Though, she didn't walk like normal people, her movements were far more fluid, it was as if she permanently walked on her toes but she pulled it off with this effortless grace that was so endearing he noticed others shooting her looks as she greeted him with a warm smile. She looked prettier out of the black clothes that she shrouded herself in at work, the flowers on her skirt brought out the rosiness of her cheeks and her porcelain skin seemed to glow. Her hair, that had been tied back when he first met her, fell in gentle curls that he wanted to burrow his face into and her smile was literally one of the most attractive things he'd seen, all dimples and white teeth.
"Hello you," she said in that posh tone of voice that made him feel slightly inferior to her. He smiled bashfully and held out his arm, trying to maintain his cool in front of her.
"Hello," he replied, "I thought we'd go for a walk before lunch, does that sound good to you?"
She took his arm with a small giggle, "Sounds great. Where are we going?"
"Around the park, it's only a little while away from here," he said as they started to walk down the road, "Then maybe we could catch the bus into the city and we'll get some junk food, or go to a fancy restaurant, it's really up to you."
"How generous," she said playfully, her hip knocking against his upper thigh as they walked, she was almost as tall as him, "I don't usually get to choose where to get food, my room mate is obsessed with a certain Italian place and absolutely refuses to go anywhere else when we go to the city."
"So Italian food is completely off-limits," he joked, smiling as she laughed this pretty laugh. Her laugh was like a bell, all twinkly and clear, and it made him laugh a little too.
"Completely off-limits."
((Kind of a shift in structure style for this chapter but I'm hoping it worked. What do you guys think? I just wanted to cover a lot for this chapter, I'm sorry if it seemed a little filler ^^'))