She held her head back, the mirror aloft and imagined what she’d look like without the bandages. She couldn’t wait to see the result. Two black holes peering through. She smiled. She didn’t recognise the eyes.
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Victoria pulled the skin taut on her forehead. That’s how I should look. She applied the night-time regenerative serum, scientifically proven to reduce the signs of aging. A bit more under the eyes. They’re always the first to go. Her mother was right, get past thirty and everything goes south. At thirty one she wasn’t taking any chances. She plucked out a single stray hair from her eyebrows.
She smoothed out her silk pillow. Victoria had noticed of late that when she woke she found a concertina of creases on the left-hand side of her face. Her face would no longer ping back after five minutes. Time to invest in a silk anti-aging pillow, hand embroidered by Tibetan refugees. The special silk fibre would prevent that crumpled morning look. Victoria took steps in getting up two hours before setting out to work.
Victoria wasn’t vain, just self conscious. Her teenage years had been blighted with acne, made especially worse at certain times of the month. This had only cleared up at the age of twenty four, and even then the odd crater was still clearly visible. Victoria thought it was hardly fair, after all those years of suffering that old age should be descending so rapidly.
She picked up the picture of her mother and herself on holiday in Marbella five years ago; a pair of bronzed blondes sipping their way through a jug of Sangria. The picture taken by a Portuguese barman, Mother’s little cherub. She looked so healthy, glowing in fact. Her mother didn’t look too bad either but the wrinkled knees clearly showed more of an age gap than intended.
A sun tan always leaves you looking good her mother would often say as she sat round the pool inhaling deeply on her cigarette. Victoria thought her mother looked well for her age and she hoped she too was blessed with the good genes. Although, looking down onto the mirror she saw flabby cheeks wobble, and was this the onset of a turkey neck? She held the mirror high above her and threw head back. That’s better.
Mr Spalding had wanted her to work overtime due to an important order coming through. Well, I’m sorry Mr Spalding but I have other commitments outside of work that I cannot break for you, or for anyone. She was already ten minutes late for her sun bed session.
Smothering on the Tropicana tanning lotion she lay on the bed, careful to place the eye protectors correctly. As long as she kept her sessions to once a week, the chance of getting skin cancer would be reduced drastically compared to those who use them more than this. The reports in the papers and posters of heavily freckle faced women under an ultra-violet light in doctor’s surgeries were nothing more than scare tactics. You can’t believe everything you read and, anyhow, they probably didn’t bother to apply the cream anyway.
Victoria had always thought Mr Spalding a kind patient man, his watery blue eyes and bushy white hair reminded her of a Father Christmas, but had noticed lately that he seemed to criticise her work. Pick at her if she was ever a minute late. Had said her work was sloppy. She knew it was because she had turned down the overtime. Some people can really hold a grudge. He had even put up a poster requesting colleagues to kindly refrain from using the internet for their own personal use in office hours. She wasn’t sure if this was particularly aimed at her, but had an inkling it was. He was probably logging onto her user name and checking the history after hours. So obsessive.
It was during her Pilates session that the subject of chemical peels came up. Clarice Davies had sworn by it. Looking closely at the fresh blotch less, wrinkle free face in front of her Victoria asked Clarice many questions. How long does it last? Does it hurt? How much does it cost? After being told the price Victoria smile faltered slightly and then said it wasn’t as much as she’d thought. Who can put a price on youth anyway?
In work the next day she researched chemical peels. Being under forty, the light chemical peel would be more suitable for her. The ingredients that went into this process were not surprising. She scribbled the details down before she was called into see Mr Spalding. He had no choice but to let her go. The past few months hadn’t been very proactive and neither had she. Victoria understood the reason to get rid of non-productive staff but to pick on her for not wanting to do overtime was a step too far. On what grounds could he do this? Apparently, lateness, absenteeism, failure to meet deadlines etc, etc were more than enough to justify a dismissal. She could take up her case with a tribunal if need be. The company, he told her, would be more than willing for it to go to court.
Her mother had been understanding and offered Victoria her old bedroom back. It would be such fun, girlie nights in and out. Yet there were two conditions, Victoria had to get another job as quickly as possible. The other was that she had to call her Esme if she was entertaining any guests. Knowing that she had a thirty one year old daughter would shatter the illusion. Esme wouldn’t be able to afford run a house with two of them in it. It’s not as if she could claim Family Allowance any more. Victoria assured Esme that getting another job would not be a problem.
Victoria spent her days surfing the internet for prospective jobs. The majority she was over qualified for and the jobs that she did qualify for were too underpaid. She began to research. There was no way that she would be able to afford a chemical peel now. The price was ridiculous considering the ingredients that went into it; everyday chemicals such as Acetone that is found in nail polish remover, and Sulphur that is used in matches. She knew the idea of a skin peel is to damage the skin in a controlled way which would encourage new skin growth. Victoria could do controlled. She went into the bathroom.
She put the mirror down as she saw her mother coming through the double doors with Dr. Heinmann. She tried to smile underneath her covering.
“I’m going to take a look to see how you are doing. I’ll be as gentle as possible,” said the doctor.
“Vicky,”said Esme, taking her hand, “why did you? Why did you have to do that? Spoil such a pretty face,” she hesitated. “The doctor said you are going to need further help.”
“Mum, don’t worry. Everything will be fine.”
Esme’s face dropped at the sight before her. Her daughter’s swollen eyes, her cheeks a strawberry and cream patchwork quilt, the nose just a yellow crusting mess.
The doctor implored a look at Esme and focused on Victoria. “Young lady, I’m sorry but it is going to take a while before you are fit enough to go home...”
Victoria took hold of her mother’s hand. She understood. “Esme,” she said, elated,“Esme, he called me a young lady.”
P J Ward is a graduate from Edgehill University. Her first story 'Frost Breath' features in a collection of short stories named Duality 3. Another publication, 'A Mess' can be found in issue 2 of the e-zine Gumbo Press. She lives in the North of England in a road full of cherry blossoms.