‘You’ll have to let me know what you think of it,’ I said, carefully applying a second coat of mascara. Graeme and I had watched it last year and decided that it should have been called Burn Before Watching. I think the only movie I’ve ever enjoyed less was Scent of a Woman, which meandered on for three slow and painful hours and made me want to chew off my own leg. ‘Don’t you want to watch it?’ she asked. ‘I’m going out.’ ‘Oh,’ she said, sounding disappointed. ‘So’s Andy.’ I finished my mascara and frowned critically at my reflection. I’m a bit scared of makeup, which is a ridiculous thing for a grown woman to admit. I always worry that I will look as though I’ve tried too hard, and as a result I apply the stuff so sparingly I may as well not bother. But I thought of Chrissie with her enormous smoky eyes and dark spiky lashes, put my shoulders resolutely back and turned away from the mirror without rubbing my eyeliner off again with a flannel. ‘Scott Wilson’s having a barbecue.
