Be Careful What You Wish For

Had it been like this in the old days? Perhaps being young wasn’t quite as wonderful as she remembered

Jean looked in the mirror and sighed. Her mother sighed back at her.

‘Why do we look like our mothers when we get older?’ said Jean out loud, before realising what she had done. ‘And why do we talk to ourselves?’ she added. ‘Oh, how I wish I could have one day, just one, when I was 20 again!’

‘You going to be much longer in there, Mum?’ Ben hammered on the bathroom door.

‘OK, love, it’s all yours.’ Jean opened the door and Ben lightly ruffled her hair, without really seeing her, she thought, and disappeared inside.

That’s another thing, why am I invisible now? You hit 50 and suddenly no-one sees you. Well, they see you enough to ask for food, money or a lift to wherever it is they’re going if they don’t want to drive. But it’s not just the children who don’t appear to see you any more. It’s everyone.

Descending the stairs, Jean wandered into the kitchen, where Kate was having breakfast. It was just a cup of black coffee really. You can’t force a 23-year-old to eat their porridge, can you?

‘What’s up, Mum?’ Kate surveyed her mother through eyelashes thick with mascara.

‘I’m fed up. I’m just sick of being invisible to everyone.

‘And why do you wear all that make-up when you have perfect skin?’ she added irrelevantly.

‘Ooh, you certainly got out of bed the wrong side this morning. I know Dad’s away on business – hasn’t he texted yet?’

‘Of course he has. I’m sorry. I just feel… oh, I don’t know.’

But how did she explain to a beautiful young woman, especially her own daughter, that everything she took for granted – the long, shining hair, size 10 figure and admiring looks wherever she went – was what she envied?

I’m being shallow, she thought. I have a wonderful, caring husband, two healthy, bright kids and a part-time job that’s quite interesting (well, she enjoyed working at the florist’s; it was nice when she took messages and wrote on the little cards that someone was sending all their love to someone else).

‘What you need is a makeover.’ Kate looked at her mother, kindly.

‘No, I don’t, they don’t work. What I need is one day, just one day, when I’m young again.’

‘The trouble with you…’ Kate was gathering up her handbag and coat, ‘…the trouble with you is that you look at the past through rose-tinted specs. It

‘The trouble with you is that you look at the past through rose-tinted specs’

was never that great, was it?’

Oh, but it was, it was, I just didn’t appreciate it at the time, thought Jean as she heard the front door slam. Picking up the teapot, she rubbed it absentmindedly and said out loud, ‘I do, I really do want to go back just for one day!’

‘So when do you want this one day of yours?’

Jean, startled, looked around the kitchen.

‘I’m here, by the washing-up liquid bottle.’

Jean squinted at the tiny figure on the worktop. A small, exquisite fairy in a miniskirt and skimpy top.

‘Well, you’re wishing for the impossible, so now you’re seeing the impossible,’ the fairy lisped, noting the disbelief in her eyes. ‘And before you ask, yes I am real and we only appear if you wish out loud and rub a teapot… or something like that. Can’t remember all the details. It keeps changing every few years. In fact, I’m fed up with the whole thing.’ She looked bored.

‘Can I really go back?’ croaked Jean.

‘That’s what your wish is, so yeah,’ the modern-day fairy yawned, and examined her black-painted finger nails. ‘But you can’t go back in time; it’s got to be today.

And you’ll be 20, just like you wanted! You’ve got 24 hours.’ Languidly waving a hand, the fairy disappeared.

Jean rushed to the mirror in the hall. Oh my God! She was young, the lines had disappeared, the hair was sleek and the figure… well, it was a 12 not a 10, but that’s what she always had been before.

‘I feel pretty, oh so pretty.’ Jean sang and danced around hugging herself.

The fairy had clothed her in a short skirt and tight T-shirt with a bare midriff. And what was that in her bellybutton? But she hadn’t worn a ring through her navel in the old days. Oh well, too late to get the fairy back. She looked at herself again in the full-length mirror in the bedroom. She would have preferred to have been able to choose her own clothes, but she would certainly not be invisible today and that’s what she wanted, wasn’t it?

Hurrying to work, Jean decided to tell Moira, the owner of the shop, that Jean was sick and that she was her niece, filling in for her – that would explain the likeness.

She arrived a little late as the stiletto heels were a bit wobbly – she usually wore sensible shoes for standing up for hours in the shop. Anyway, it had

been worth it – lorry drivers had whistled and the men she passed in the street had eyed her up and down appreciatively and not looked past her or through her.

‘Hi, Moira,’ she said, opening the door to the shop. ‘I’m…’ she paused briefly, thinking of what name to give. ‘I’m Janine, Jean’s niece. She’s not well. She said I could help out today instead.’

‘Well, that’s not like Jean, not to at least ring in herself. She’s always so reliable – a treasure really.’ Moira paused, eyeing her suspiciously. ‘Have you worked in a shop before?’

‘Oh, yes, a florist’s shop, actually,’ Janine smiled.

‘I can see the likeness now, when you smile. Lovely smile Jean’s got – very good when it comes to awkward customers. But she should have told you, we do like our employees to look smart.’ Moira eyed Janine’s outfit. ‘Oh well, too late now. There are some orders already in. Can you start making them up, please?’

Moira disappeared behind a curtain and Janine got on with her usual job. After an hour, her feet in the stilettos were killing her and she took them off, slipping on the wet floor. She didn’t remember shoes being this uncomfortable.

Later, after a short coffee break, the door opened and a young man came in.

‘Oh, where’s Jean?’ He went bright pink and looked over her shoulder as if hoping Jean would appear.

‘I can help you,’ Janine smiled; he was one of Jean’s regulars. She had followed his romance through his first date (he had told her in confidence), the first tiff and now they were engaged. She reminded him of his mum, he had said, but his mum had died two years earlier.

‘Um, she usually helps me with writing the card,’ he blushed even more. ‘No, I’ll leave it, wait until she gets back. She will come back, won’t she?’ he asked anxiously. After being reassured, he hastily left.

At one o’clock, Janine prepared to leave and said goodbye to Moira.

‘Tell Jean I hope she’ll be better soon. Do you think she’ll be in tomorrow?’ she asked with a worried look on her face. Janine assured her she would be, and, stuffing her feet painfully into her shoes, went out.

Strangely, the morning had been disappointing. The young man for a start and then other people had been quite unfriendly, she thought. Two old dears had been rude about her bare midriff. Did they think she was deaf or something?

And Moira had been anxious for Jean to return.

Not to worry, the rest of the day beckoned and once out in the street, the admiring glances restored Janine’s confidence.

Going to the wine bar for lunch was something she had been looking forward to. Luigi, the head waiter, was always pleasant, but she had seen the way he looked at the pretty young girls and she yearned for that attention herself.

‘I’d like a table for one,’ she said, looking at him flirtatiously through her eyelashes.

‘Certainly, this way, please,’ smirked Luigi, guiding her to a table and brushing her arm as he pulled out a chair.

This wasn’t exactly what she wanted, thought Janine. She wanted the admiring looks, but not this slightly offensive attitude. Had it been like this in the old days? Perhaps she was being too obvious. What had she really been like all those years ago? She sighed. It wasn’t exactly working out as she had thought. Oh well, perhaps after lunch she’d go to the hairdresser’s – not her usual one, but a more upmarket salon.

Three hours later, Janine emerged with blonde highlights and a haircut that she wasn’t too sure about. She was also £80 the poorer. Her local hairdresser only charged half that amount and you got a cup of tea and a good natter into the bargain.

It was still only six in the evening and Janine had promised herself a night out clubbing. She really had no idea what this entailed, but knew that you didn’t get there until about 10. Of course, the old Jean had gone dancing every Saturday night at the local dance hall, but always with her best friend Christine and they had drunk cider, had a good laugh and been home by half-past eleven – midnight at the latest. Until she met Paul, of course, and then they had exchanged the dance hall for the pictures and she had still been home by midnight.

Janine sighed – this wasn’t what she had wanted at all.

She wondered, Did I always look back through rose-coloured glasses? Anyway, how to kill the next few hours?

Emerging from the cinema some time later, Janine was beginning to feel that what you wished for wasn’t always the right thing for you, but she was committed now and determined to enjoy her night of clubbing.

The ‘club’ turned out to be a huge hall with flashing lights and music so loud, it hurt her ears. Several young men approached her, presumably asking her to dance, but she couldn’t really hear what they said – all they seemed to want to do was grope her. She quickly tired of pushing them away and at midnight, found her way outside and flagged the nearest taxi. She only just had enough money for her fare and was relieved to find herself at home once more. The house was in darkness and Janine climbed the stairs, fell into bed and was immediately asleep.

She wanted the admiring looks, but not this slightly offensive attitude

‘Are you going to be much longer in there, Mum?’

Ben hammered on the bathroom door.

‘OK, love, it’s all yours.’

Jean opened the door and

Ben lightly ruffled her hair (which was now back to normal), without really seeing her, she thought, and disappeared inside.

Descending the stairs to the kitchen, where Kate was having her coffee, Jean smiled at her daughter and said, ‘You were right, you know – I like being my age. I wouldn’t really want to be young again.’

Sipping on her coffee, Kate’s expression didn’t change.

‘I told you so, Mum. Don’t worry, Dad’s coming home today, isn’t he? Then you can be two oldies together.’ She giggled as Jean playfully slapped her hand. ‘Don’t wait up,’ Kate continued, ‘I’m going clubbing tonight.’

‘And I don’t envy you one little bit,’ murmured Jean under her breath.