£100 prize… For your story

All Laura needed to do was believe in herself…

It was one of those days; a day so busy that there was no time to pop to the loo and tea can’t be drunk before it gets cold. Customers queued up at the prestigious make-up counter I worked at as we did consultation after consultation, sale after sale. By the end of the day, my heavily pregnant boss, Alisha, was looking exhausted.

‘I’m sorry, Laura,’ she said, ‘I need you to take my last customer. She’ll be here any minute, but I just need to go and rest.’

I remembered how it felt; she was due next month and I insisted she sat down. I had everything under control. Moments later, a suited woman marched up to the counter as if she was about to face off an opponent in a boxing match.

‘I’m Jessica Rowe. You’re expecting me,’ she said, and I realised this was Alisha’s customer. No hint of a smile and no suggestion of a greeting, but I’d been working here for four years and I’d come across women like this before.

I dialled up the charm, smiled broadly and ushered her to take a seat on the padded stool.

‘Thank you for visiting us today, Jessica. What can I help you with?’

‘It’s for an interview. I was thinking of a lipstick.’ Well, that explained her brusque manner – nerves. I would have felt the same; it was why I hadn’t applied to cover Alisha’s maternity leave, even though it was a job I’d really fancied. I just knew I would have been too jittery to show why I should get the position.

Now, looking at Jessica closely, I could feel she was studying me just as much as I her. I was used to that; being a walking advert was part of the job. Behind her hard expression, Jessica had lovely colouring. Her hair was on the russet side of brown, she had hazel eyes and a warm complexion with a peachy undertone. I chose a delicious brownish red lipstick that had a hint of autumn leaves.

‘It might seem quite dark,’ I told her, ‘but it will suit you perfectly.’

She stared at herself in the hand mirror I had given her.

She thrust the mirror back at me accusingly: ‘It’s too bold.’

It wasn’t, but I persevered. ‘Perhaps that’s because you don’t have any other make-up on. Would you like me to do some more? Just a subtle daytime look?’

‘Mmm…’ was all she could manage for a reply, but as she stayed on the stool, I took this for assent and quickly gathered my tools.

‘You have lovely shaped brows, but if I add a bit of definition, it will balance your face,’ I chatted as I pencilled away, falling into

my familiar routine. ‘I’ll just add a touch of an apricot blush and

I’ll complement that with your lid colour, just subtle, but enough to give you a boost; a bit of war paint before your interview.’

She looked at me hard, perhaps I’d overstepped the mark, but when she looked at herself in the mirror for a second time, I could see she was pleased with her reflection.

‘Do you enjoy doing this sort of thing?’ She couldn’t keep the disdain from her voice.

‘Yes,’ I bristled. ‘Not everyone is blessed with the confidence to march around bare-faced. Make-up doesn’t change our customers but enhances them and, in some cases, it gives them a boost when facing the day is tough.’ I breathed out; I shouldn’t have let her get to me, but it had been such a long day. I gathered myself and continued, ‘It’s what

I enjoy doing – empowering with make-up – that’s all.’

She didn’t answer, but looked at her reflection. ‘Yes, you’re right about the lipstick. I’ll take it. I’m going out after work, what do you suggest?’ She looked at the array of make-up around us.

‘Just go a bit darker on the eye. This is great.’ I took a swab of deep brown eyeshadow on a cotton bud and showed her. ‘Smudge that along your lash line and blend out for a smokey look. Another coat of mascara and you’re good to go’. I admired her confidence; a celebration after the interview or perhaps a determination to celebrate no matter what happened. I should take a leaf out of her book rather than worrying so much.

She stood up and paid for the lipstick and impulsively grabbed a perfume, too.

‘Would you like to try it first?’ I asked. She insisted she was fine and then spritzed herself after I had rung it all through the till.

‘Oh no, this isn’t the right one. I think it was the lighter version I was after.’

Fighting down my irritation, I smiled, exchanged the perfume and, as she put everything in her bag, I wished her luck for her interview.

‘What do you mean?’ she asked. ‘This was the interview.

For Alisha’s maternity cover. It’s yours if you want it.’