MAKE ME UP

WEDDING DAY MAKE UP

Hair washing should be banned on a Saturday, and I often think that if I could pick a rule that I could make everyone follow, it would be that the days that start with S must be scruffy bun days. Saturday is my favourite day by far. I ensure I keep my mornings clear, so that I can get my jobs done, and be organised for the week ahead, but take on a few make-up jobs in the evening. Unfortunately, business has been slow this weekend, so my entire day was free.

I’m just about to settle down with a cup of tea and a book that I managed to buy for twenty pence at a book store clearance, when my phone starts to ring. Thinking that my parents have used their usual knack of calling when they sense I am about to have some much-needed mindfulness time, I contemplate ignoring it, before glancing at the screen. It’s an unknown number. Assuming it’s a booking, I pick up my diary and answer.

“Hello, Gemma speaking, how can I help you?” I answer.

“Gemma…thank goodness you answered. I need a huge favour. Are you free today?” A frantic male voice asks down the phone, but his familiarity gives me pause.

I know that voice.

“Is that you Lincoln?” I guess, hoping I’m not wrong, because that would be embarrassing.

“Yes, sorry. I’ve just realised that you don’t have my phone number. I used the one on your cards. We have an emergency on our hands. My sister, Connie, is getting married today, and the make-up artist has let her down. Canceled at the last minute! She’s distraught, and I’m really hoping you could come to the venue and…well…actually save the day. Whatever the price is, I will happily pay. I’m sorry, I’m fumbling here, but my sister is in bits”. He stumbled.

“That’s terrible, I can absolutely come and help. How many people will be needing their make-up done, and what time is the wedding? If you text me the address I’ll set off as soon as we hang up.” I reassure him, and hope the news will calm the bride.

“Brilliant! I can’t thank-you enough. There were supposed to be six women, but my mother said she will apply her own make-up now to save time, because the wedding is at two o’clock in the afternoon. We are at a country estate just outside of London called Carven Forest Country Estate. It’s about forty minutes away from BTC.” He tells me, but the worry in his voice from before has vanished.

“I’m leaving now, I’ll be there soon”.

Parking my car between the Bugatti and the Porsche, I don’t have time to feel shy about my scrap heap on wheels. I rush into the stately home, and struggle to close my mouth. The scenery, with the forest and deer running around, is picturesque, but the house is phenomenal. Styled in baroque architecture, I feel like I’m stepping back in time as the footman opens the door and directs me to the bride’s room. Pacing outside a grand wooden door, dressed in a navy blue suit, with waistcoat, and fumbling with his cuff links, Lincoln practically runs to me when he sees me.

“Thank you so much. She is worried that she will be late now. Should I tell everyone we will be delayed?” He asks me, and I know he’s got himself into the state where he needs someone to tell him what to do.

It strikes me that he must be such a good brother to be so invested in making his sister’s day as perfect as it can be. It is eleven o’clock now, and I’m sure that I can manage to do everyone’s make-up in the next three hours if I focus.

“There’s no need. Everyone will be ready, leave it with me” I reply, and he smiles for the first time.

The bridesmaids are sitting on the bed in beautiful, silk, grey dressing gowns. Their hair has already been arranged, and they look like they are Edwardian debutants about to go to their first ball. Sitting on the chair in front of the dressing table is a slender woman, in a white silk floor-length robe. Her eyes are puffy from where she has been crying, and my heart goes out to her.

“Hello, my name is Gemma. I’ll be your make-up artist on your special day. Your brother arranged for me to come, if that’s OK with you?” I say to her, very gently.

She nods, but still seems a little disheartened. I grab some ice from the champagne bucket and wrap it in a linen napkin.

“If you press this to your eyes, it will make the swelling reduce, and by the time I apply your make-up no-one will know.” I promise her, and she gives me a little smile.

Putting the stool by the window to get the best light, I ask the girls to come one at a time. Nobody asks for a particular style, they are happy for me to pick what suits them, so I carried on with the Edwardian theme, and kept it very light and natural. It is easy to accentuate the natural beauty of these women, because they have loveliness in abundance. Two hours later, the last bridesmaid is carefully putting on her dress, desperately trying not to damage her make-up or hair. They begin to leave in search of drinks and their shoes. Connie, seems to have shaken off the earlier stresses, and is smiling at her friends.

“They all look stunning, thank-you so much for coming at the last minute. I’m sorry I didn’t welcome you properly before, I think the first make-up artist not attending was the straw that broke the camel’s back this morning.” Connie apologised, as she sits on the stool.

“Don’t worry, almost every bride has a near disaster on the big day. It was just handy that your brother had taken my card, so he had my number”. I smile at her.

I mix up a few foundation tones to try and get the closest possible match to her skin. Her wedding dress is hanging from the door frame, it looks whimsical, and it gives me the perfect inspiration for her final look. Finally, happy with the colour match, I begin to put cream, brown and gold coloured shadow on her eyes.

“My brother always does everything he can for us. He was the only boy in a house full of girls growing up. He had to become ‘the man of the house’ sooner than he should have done, after my father ran off and left us all. Lincoln paid my university fees from his first ever job in the movies. He did the same for all of us who wanted to go on to further education. He saw me crying today, and asked you to come to the rescue. I have the best brother. He’s walking me down the aisle today, and I know I’ll be OK if he’s with me”. Connie confesses.

I clean up the residue of eye-shadow powder that has fallen on to her apple cheeks, and start to apply a little bronzer and liquid foundation to her skin. Noticing that she starts to bite the corner of her inner lip, I stop blending.

“Is everything OK? You seem a little anxious”. I ask her.

“I just never expected to be getting married in my twenties. I’ve known Brad since high school, and I think I’ve loved him longer than that, like I was made to love him, but today will mark the official beginning of forever. What if I said yes too soon?” She confesses.

I put my blending brush down, and put my hand on hers.

“How did you feel when Brad proposed?” I ask.

“Like all my dreams were coming true. It instantly felt like every worry I ever had, or would have, was halved”. She admits, smiling at the memory.

“If that’s what you felt, and what you still feel, then it sounds like a great start to a marriage. If he proposed and you felt dread then you would know you were making a mistake”. I advise her, knowingly.

Picking up the brush, I continue to even out the coverage.

“That’s a good answer, although it would be a bit late now if I admitted I hadn’t felt that way.” Connie laughs.

“It’s never too late. If you tell me that this is a mistake, we will jump out of here, and get in my old banger, like Thelma and Louise, and ride off into the traffic of London. It’s never too late to make your life a happy one, no matter what happens, you should remember that,” I tell her, meaningfully.

We fall into a relaxed silence, as I finish the final touches.

“You look beautiful,” I smile at her, and for the first time since I arrived, she looks completely calm.

Hugging me, she whispers thank-you as her bridesmaids come back into the room, to help her with her dress.

Rolling my caddy to the door, I turn back to look as the dress goes over her head and is being buttoned up. I’ve done many weddings in the past, and each one has been a unique privilege. Making a bride feel ready for the day her identity changes so wonderfully, but dramatically, is a joy. Strangely, this is the first time that I feel I’ve made a real connection with the bride, and I’m a little sad that I won’t get to see how her day continues. I wish I knew her better somehow. I give a few samples of the make-up I used to the bridesmaid closest to me, explaining they can touch up if they feel they need to, but the products will last through the night to the next morning.

Lincoln is leaning over the bannister, his suit jacket extenuates his broad shoulders. I can’t deny that he looks very attractive.

“Everything is done, and we have thirty minutes to spare,” I announce.

His beaming smile is dazzling, and I can’t help but return my own toothy grin.

“I really can’t thank-you enough, I wanted everything to be just as she wanted, and you have made that happen. I’m in your debt. I think it’s safe to say that you have been my family’s hero today”. He admits, and then blushes at the cheesiness of his comment. “I’d really like it if you could stay for the wedding.”

Shock is the immediate reaction I feel, shortly followed by the realisation that I’m in my crocs, leggings and a shapeless T-shirt that is covered in make-up smudges.

“I’ve already left some products for any touch-ups, and I’m not dressed appropriately to attend such an important day”. I politely decline the invite, even though, inexplicably, it hurts to do so.

Lincoln steps forward, and I think he is about to insist, but his assured step falters at the last second.

“How much do I owe you?” He asks, clearly not having a clue about make-up prices.

In an ideal world, I’d say ‘I did it for pleasure, not money’, but I’m afraid I’m very much living in the real world.

“Five hundred pounds, if that’s OK?” I suggest.

He reaches into his back pocket, but is stopped by his mother, who climbs the final steps of the curved staircase.

“Nonsense, my dear. We were paying the make-up artist that didn’t show up eight hundred pounds, and you came out at the very last minute, interrupting all your plans for the day. Nine hundred pounds seems more suitable. Don’t sell yourself short, I’ve seen the bridesmaids, and your talent is evident.” She interjects. “Go and get it dearest, I’ll keep this gifted lady company”.

Lincoln heads off, kissing his mother’s temples as he passes.

“My son has seemed very changed since he met you before that interview. He has been the person we have all depended on for so long that I think he was confused when you told him you didn’t need his help”.

I blush, and I am about to make my apologies, when she reaches out a hand on my shoulder and pauses me.

“When my children’s father left us, there were many things I had to do for myself that I hadn’t needed to do before. It made me harder, and I struggled to differentiate friend from foe. I think we might have this in common. My son has been talking about you since the day you met, and when they prevented you giving out your business cards, he was angry like I have only seen him be where his family was concerned. He doesn’t fully know it yet, and I don’t think you will realise it either, but he has deep feelings for you. You should give him a chance. We all need friends, and friendship is the home where all things are possible”. She calmly told me, and I felt strengthened by her words.

Smiling, Lincoln returns and hands me the money, thanking me again before they both go into Connie’s room, although he seems reluctant to do so. By the time I’ve put my caddy in my car boot, the sun is shining, and the sky is blue. Perfect weather for a wedding.

Leaving the venue, I keep thinking about what I would have said to Lincoln if my circumstances were different. I think about his smile when he turn to speak to me. I wish I could have told him that I didn’t do it for the money, I did it for him. I wish I could have told him how much I needed a friend like him.