Free Fire by Deborah Challinor

after a new lipstick and some mascara.’
    Bev’s eyebrows went up. ‘Big date?’
    ‘Could be.’
    ‘Any particular colour?’ Bev asked as she carefully balanced the last pack on the top of her display.
    ‘I’ve been told it has to be a pink one.’
    ‘By who?’ Bev frowned. ‘Or is it “whom”?’
    ‘Irene. She did my face for me yesterday and reckons the tangerine I usually wear isn’t right for my skin tone.’
    ‘But darling, tangerine is your signature colour!’ Bev exclaimed.
    ‘Cut it out,’ Allie said. ‘So what have you got in pink?’
    Bev beckoned her along the counter to the display of Helena Rubenstein lipsticks. ‘Rose Mauve?’ she suggested, picking out a tester and winding the lipstick out of its case. ‘Give us your hand.’
    Allie held her hand out, palm down.
    ‘Other way,’ Bev said. ‘Your fingertips. They’re the closest to your natural lip colour.’
    Well, Allie thought, that was something she hadn’t known until today.
    Bev applied a dash of the lipstick to the tip of Allie’s forefinger and studied the effect critically. She looked at Allie’s face. ‘Too deep, I reckon. What about Tender Pink?’
    ‘Sounds nice,’ Allie agreed, and stuck out her middle finger this time.
    ‘That’s a better colour for you,’ Bev said. ‘Do you want to try some on your lips?’ She retrieved a tissue from beneath the counter, gave the tip of the lipstick a good wipe, then used a tiny brush to collect some of the colour. ‘Have a seat.’
    Allie climbed up onto the high wooden chair on the customer side of the counter and sat very still while Bevcame around and applied the lipstick.
    ‘Actually, I don’t know about that one, either,’ Bev said when she’d finished. ‘It’s too red, makes you look more like Tender Loin. What colour did Irene put on you?’
    Allie shrugged. ‘I don’t know. It was really pretty, though, a nice pearly pink.’
    Bev tapped her teeth thoughtfully with the handle of the lipstick brush. ‘I might ask Anita what she’s got.’
    She walked down to the other end of the counter and came back a moment later with Anita, who was the Elizabeth Arden girl.
    ‘Hi,’ Anita said, holding up a lipstick. ‘Have you tried this? It’s the new colour Elizabeth Arden put out for the coronation. It’s called Perfection Pink and there’s a rouge to go with it.’
    The colour looked good on Allie, so she put it on her staff account along with a cake of mascara that had its own little brush. She didn’t buy the matching rouge, though. It cost too much.
    But by the time the store closed at five o’clock she’d almost convinced herself she’d changed her mind about going out. Buying the lipstick had only made her feel even more nervous and all the way home she dithered yet again over what to wear, finally deciding at her front gate that she’d wear the grey skirt and blue top after all. She ran herself a long bath, eliciting protest from Donna and Pauline in case there wasn’t any hot water left for theirs, and sat in it for half an hour until the water had gone tepid. She washed her hair, shaved her legs with her father’s razor and pinched some of her mother’s good talc after she’d dried herself.
    Tea was put on the table just as she was ducking downthe hall to her bedroom, a towel wrapped, turban style, around her wet hair.
    ‘I don’t want anything to eat, thanks, Mum,’ Allie called. ‘My hair will dry funny.’
    ‘You will have something to eat,’ Colleen replied. ‘You’re not going out on an empty stomach.’
    So Allie sat down at the kitchen table in her dressing gown with the towel still on her hair.
    Sid said, ‘Oh, look, it’s Lawrence of Arabia.’
    ‘Stop that, Sid,’ Colleen said as she set plates of chops, beans and potatoes on the table.
    Donna and Pauline were staring at Allie.
    ‘Your face is bright red from the bath,’ Donna taunted.
    ‘Yes, and there’s a huge pimple on your chin,’ Pauline added gleefully.
    ‘Is