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options, depending on what you decide to do with your life. What you’re looking at now is Park Avenue Princess. You could walk into any of the publishers right now and demand a book deal–super sophisticated.’ Jenny was nodding enthusiastically.
    ‘But now…’ Gina rubbed the wax into the palms of her hands and then attacked my hair, pushing it over the front of my head and raking her fingers through every section. When she flicked it all back, the smooth bob had given way to a choppy, layered, messed up look. Something I had tried to achieve in the past and just ended up looking as though I’d slept with wet hair. ‘Now you are ready to go and rock the Lower East Side with the rest of the hipsters. You like?’
    ‘Thank you,’ I muttered, so so happy. ‘I didn’t even know my hair could look this good.’ I couldn’t stop touching it, just tiny pinches at the ends in case too much contact made it poof…disappear.
    ‘I don’t want to see you with a hair out of place from now on.’ Gina stared me down and for a moment I thanked the managers of Rapture Paris.
    ‘OK, Angie honey, grab your bag. I’m taking that cute do of yours out on the town.’ Jenny forced down a final half brownie and pulled me out of the chair.
    ‘Where are we going?’ I asked, letting Gina comb out some of the volume, returning to somewhere in between the sleek bob and the crazy chop. ‘Because I’m not really dressed for–’
    Jenny took my hand and gave me a look you might give an elderly relative who thinks it’s still 1947. ‘Sweetness, that’s exactly why we’re going where we’re going.’

CHAPTER FIVE
    Bloomingdale’s.
    I’d heard of it, I’d seen the little brown bags but I hadn’t ever really thought about going there. In the cab, Jenny had briefed me on what we were looking for. She’d started my new life plan during my blow dry and the first thing we needed was to get properly kitted out for a stay in New York City. It just so happened to tie-in to Jenny’s number two rule on how to handle a major break-up. Buy yourself a new everything .
    Now, I had shopped. Tackled TopShop Oxford Circus on a Friday evening, been elbow deep in the Selfridges’ sale, found diamond buys on Portobello Market, but this was a completely different beast. After a quick appraisal of my existing make-up (not enough) and a short description of my make-up bag (sheer revulsion) and confirmation that my credit limit wasn’t really an issue as long as we weren’t being silly, Jenny decided we would start on the ground floor, in cosmetics. She hit the MAC counter with all the determination of a cross-Channel swimmer. Within seconds I was sitting in another stylist’s chair being stripped of the basic make-up I’d slapped on that morning by Razor.
    Razor was the most charming man with a mohawk I’d ever had the pleasure to meet. His make-up was amazing, and quite frankly, what he could do with eyeliner put me to shame.
    ‘So we need a proper base to even out the red skin tone, you’re very pale, doll, and then we’ll work with a blush–maybe an apricot for day and something pinker for night-time? Then we’ll do a bit of a workshop on your eyes. Since you’re fairly new to this, we’ll leave lips for another day and just hook you up with a few neutrals. Maybe a classic red if you’re feeling brave,’ he said amid a flurry of sponges, brushes, tubes and tubs.
    ‘We can do lips today,’ I said meekly, feeling bad for being so pale and letting Razor down. ‘I know I’m not wearing a lot today but I do like make-up, I do wear it quite a lot.’
    Razor and Jenny exchanged a doubtful glance. ‘Take hold of this eyeliner brush for me, sweetness,’ Razor suggested, holding it out like a golden sceptre. I took it from him and looked at it quizzically.
    ‘This is for eyeliner? I suppose I only really use pencils,’ I said thoughtfully, tilting my head because I was too afraid to move the brush. Not a problem, because Razor