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curly hair and freckles. Her skin is suitably creamy but not overpoweringly so and she obviously knows her make-up. But all this only gives Olivia an essential feeling of reassurance so she doesn’t flinch while Debbie continues to gaze at the various aspects of her appearance. Finally the beautician steps back.
    “You’ve got a great face shape,” she says. “I love how green your eyes are. I’ve got some fantastic eye shadows that will be perfect for you.”
    “Okay,” Olivia replies. “Sounds good, but as I said on the phone, I don’t want anything too heavy. I want to look like myself when I get married, not like someone nobody recognises.”
    Debbie takes a drink of water. “No problem. I specialise in the natural look for brides. But do bear in mind that when I say ‘natural’, it won’t be the kind of natural you’d do yourself with your make up, as you need to add a little extra for the photographs. Otherwise you’ll end up looking washed out.”
    Olivia can understand that. Because of Kieran’s love of photography, she knows a fair amount about colour and light. Just as long as she doesn’t end up looking like some kind of mad party-goer, she’ll be fine.
    For the next half hour, Debbie experiments with a variety of looks on Olivia’s face. Olivia is happy enough with the creamy foundation and (thank God!) concealer, as well as the subtle drift of soft pink blusher on her cheeks – even though she never uses blusher herself. She prefers the pale and interesting look, but accepts Debbie’s argument about pale and interesting not looking great in the pictures. She even likes Debbie’s choice of taupe eyeshadow and brown mascara and nods her approval at the image in the mirror. Each time, she agrees something works on her, Debbie writes the information onto a pad on the desk for saving on her client record.
    Olivia likes having a client record. It makes her feel vaguely important, which is nice, if unusual.
    The one thing she and Debbie have problems with is the choice of lipstick. Olivia isn’t a keen lipstick wearer and she doesn’t have any lipsticks at home which are less than a year old. Yes, she knows she should throw them away, but as she only ever uses them when a posh party comes round, which is once in the proverbial blue moon, then there doesn’t seem any point. She hates waste and so far her lips haven’t exploded into terrible sores as a result of her beauty faux-pas. Must be the same as all the nonsense about sell-by and use-by dates on food. Maybe lipsticks are the same as yoghurts, in that sense.
    So, from instinct, when Debbie sets out an array of lipsticks to choose from, Olivia goes for something dark. She presumes her fair complexion and auburn hair will need a lippie with some oomph to set off her wedding look.
    Debbie frowns. “Are you sure?”
    “It’s similar to the ones I have at home, though I don’t wear them often,” Olivia replies. “So let’s give it a go.”
    Debbie duly layers Olivia’s lips with the chosen colour and steps back to take in the effect. She’s still frowning. “You know, I really do think you could use something lighter. Have a look.”
    She whirls Olivia back to face the mirror again, and Olivia gives her completed face a good once-over. She looks more or less how she does for a night out on the town, although Debbie’s foundation and eye make-up choices are a definite improvement. She will have to take down the names of the products the beautician has used for the next mad social whirl. Still, Olivia has to admit Debbie might well have a point about the lippie. Maybe it doesn’t quite fit with the rest of her.
    “Hmm, I see what you mean about the lipstick,” she says after a few moments. “What sort of colour do you suggest?”
    “Don’t worry,” Debbie chips in, now looking triumphant. “I know exactly the thing.”
    With that, she wipes Olivia’s lips clean and snatches a lipstick from her collection on the shelf. A few