This subterranean bunker always reminds the Mother of one thing and one thing alone – a backstreet abortionist. She isn’t sure if it’s the smell, the hideous cyclamen pink walls or the sterile metal bed. But all it needed was a bucket in the corner, and she’d be there – on the set of some gritty, northern, 1950s-set drama about a poor girl who had got herself in the family way.
That’s it, thinks the Mother, the next time I get my eyebrows done, I’m going to pay the hugely inflated prices at Bellisimo’s.” At Bellisimo’s, you might worry about the dent in your wallet when you leave the place, but at least you don’t feel scared going in. In fact, your spirits lift the minute you set foot through the door there.
First, there is the lovely scent of Chanel which greets you. Then comes a glass of wine from an elegant beautician. But best of all, while you wait, you get to sit on a chaise longue next to the window. Sitting there on its pink satin fabric, you always feel more like a high-class escort rather than a punter. It is worth the extra five quid just for that.
Suddenly from behind the opaque plastic curtain, Cynthia appears. “Hello, you look miles away,” she says. “Yep,” thinks the Mother, “and the next time I get my eyebrows done, I fucking will be.”
But for now, this will have to do. The Mother won’t be here for long anyway. It’s not like there is much discussion to be had – not like, for example, when you have certain other areas waxed. Then, you have to decide on which style and cut will best suit your fanny. With eyebrow shaping, there is only ever one question: “Threading, or hot wax and tweezers?” For those who have never had the treatment, here is a quick heads-up: threading is a pain akin to childbirth, while waxing is also like childbirth but with gas and air. The Mother opts for wax.
After a few minutes, her eyebrows are finished, and they look fantastic – thin and elegant, with not a grey hair to be seen. All thoughts of her grim surroundings dissipate as she admires herself in the mirror. She feels great until: “Would you like me to do your upper lip as well?”
Oh dear, what a silly thing to say. Now, Cynthia has lost her tip.
The moustache comment doesn’t bode well for the Mother, and she has a feeling things are about to get worse, and they are, for upstairs trouble is looming…..