Page 25

“Damon, Damon,” I try to say. “Slow it down, let’s make this—” But before I can say “last” he’s crying out, shuddering and exploding inside of me.

He pulls out and I roll over for a cuddle, but he’s up and padding through to the bathroom.

“Just a minute, gotta shower. The mobile tanner is coming in fifteen.”

I need a wee. I need to wipe the dampness off my leg.

He knows I need to wee straight after sex or I’ll get a UTI, but he’s barged in front of me to use the shower.

But maybe that’s typical of men, Madison always says how selfish they all are.

To his credit, he doesn’t take long and when he emerges, towel around his waist, water dripping down his six-pack, I can’t help but feel drawn to him, despite the memory of the quite tepid sex that lasted only minutes.

“Can I get in on that tanner?” I ask, looking down at my legs. “I’m way too pale for this event tonight.”

“Yeah, yeah, sure but after me, yeah? Why don’t you have a bubble bath, really take your time in there, I’ve got all the good products.

The Chanel bubble bath, L’Occitane scrubs.

” He pronounces it “Lockytanny,” which I find funny, as I’m certain it’s pronounced differently.

I’m trying to remember my GCSE French as he hurries me into the bathroom, and begins running the taps. There’s a knock on the door.

“That’ll be the tanner, you enjoy a soak.

I’ll call you when she’s ready for you.” He takes the remote and turns on the mini television in the bathroom, so it’s on the music channels.

He pumps the volume right up. I’ll never get over all the fancy things you get in these hotels that are booked for us, I always take the miniatures home to Mam.

I strip off and get in, the bath really is the perfect temperature.

I know I’m going to have to confess to the girls what happened, we never lie to each other about boys.

But, as I begin to type a text out to them, I’m struggling to frame it in a way that doesn’t make me sound like a mug.

I decide I’ll have to do it in person, later.

Perhaps at the event Damon will be all over me like he was at the awards, and his behaviour will help convince them he’s a changed man.

I let my mind drift while I soak in the bath, before receiving a fright as I am awoken by a woman I’ve never seen before, prodding my shoulder and hovering over me with a towel.

“Hun,” she’s smirking at me, in a way that feels slightly over-familiar. “Hun, it’s time for your tan. I’m Crystal, I’m Damon’s personal tanner. He says you wanted me to do you, too.”

“Oh right, um, thanks, I guess…” I gesture to my fully naked body that she’s looking at like she’s at the butchers. “Um, do you mind?”

She hands me a towel as I clamber out, still not fully getting that I meant, leave the room .

“Oh, I’ve seen it all before, hun, honestly, the bodies I’ve seen, if you knew, you really wouldn’t be ashamed of yours at all.” She glances me up and down, flick, flick, with her eyeballs and smirks that smirk again.

“I didn’t say I was ashamed,” I say. Who is this bitch?

“Oh right, yeaaaah,” she drawls. “Body confidence is such a powerful tool. That’s brilliant, just brilliant. So…” She pauses for the right word. “Brave.”

“Um, right, yeah…” She’s such a patronising cow it’s left me almost speechless. “Where’s Damon?” I finally ask.

“Oh, he had to dash off, see the lads. He told me to tell you…” She pauses. “Wait, no, sorry that’s just me being ditzy. He didn’t really say much about you at all.”

I’m so tempted to throw her out but I really need a tan. The booth has been popped up in the bedroom, her spray tanner plugged in to the side. “Here you go, large paper panties to change into.”

“Large? They don’t come in sizes.”

“Oh, mine do, it’s just a little special service I offer. Nasty to have them cut into you.”

The pants are so big on me I have to tie them at each side, and I know I should say something and ask for a smaller pair but her barbs are beginning to get to me. I can’t face her quizzing me and simpering, “Are you suuure?”

It’s only once I step into the booth, naked apart from the pants, that I can admit how pretty she is.

She’s blonde, a swishy natural-looking blonde that I bet costs a fortune from the hairdressers to keep pristine.

Her nose is a cute little button and she’s tiny, about five foot, slim but curvy in all the right places.

She’s wearing a lilac tabbard with matching cropped trousers and the fabric is clingy, it should look unflattering.

But it doesn’t. The only flaw on her is around her mouth.

“Is that…?” I try to ask, just as she instructs me to turn around, and open my arms out in a T shape. The cold blast of spray tan hits me, like an icy wind.

It’s only as I stand there, once it’s over, slightly sticky and smelling of old biscuits, that I manage to finish my sentence.

“I think you have some fake tan around your mouth.” It’s like this orange smear, all across her lips and chin and I almost wish I hadn’t told her, I should have let it develop and stay like that for days, she’s been so nasty.

But ‘be the change you want to see’ or whatever that Gandhi quote is.

Though I’m not sure Gandhi ever had to deal with a bitchy self-tanner from Luton.

Crystal dashes through and begins to frantically wipe at her chin, staining one of the hotel’s pristine white towels. She’s laughing. “Oh this happens sometimes, particularly on certain jobs. It’ll come off, I’ve got a special trick.”

It’s then that Damon walks in, followed by Marc and Reed. I’m still naked, in the paper thong, my arms out wide and a plastic showercap on my head, to protect my hair from the tan.

“She’s full of special tricks,” he says, winking at no one in particular.

“Hi Angelica,” Reed says, acting as if I’m not naked. “How’s it going?”

Marc is less subtle. “Great tits! I’d high-five you but I can’t risk getting tan all over me.”

“How are you getting a tan done the day of the event?” Reed asks. “Mine always takes at least a day to settle, that’s why I got mine on, yesterday, before the train.”

“That’s one of my special tricks, boys,” Crystal says. She’s managed to wipe all of the tanner off her face, and emerges from the bathroom looking perfect. “It’s my one-hour formula, develops this gorgeous deep colour, no orange streaks, nothing. Your tan’s perfect the day you visit me.”

“She’s the very best,” Damon says and this time his wink is definitely directed at her. “And you’ll really be doing a lot for charity too, Crystal. When I’m standing up there, all the rich MILFs in the audience are going to go wild in their bidding, wild .”

“I do really, really care about elephants,” Crystal nods. I have no idea why she’s talking about elephants. The charity auction tonight is for guide dogs, I’m sure.

As she leaves, Marc whistles after her, before the door has even closed. “Nice work, Damon.”

“She’s a real pro, Marc.” He glances over at me.

“Why was she going on about elephants?” Reed asks.

“Isn’t that what we’re raising money for, tonight?” Damon says, confused.

“No,” I say. “It’s guide dogs.”

“Oh,” he grabs his crotch, like some dodgy Michael Jackson impersonator. At some point he’s changed out of his joggers and into a suit that’s almost bursting around the groin. He must really want to raise money for the charity. “Must be because I’m packing an elephant’s trunk in here.”

At that, I scoff and scamper off down the corridor to my room, where I find Madison and Layla sitting on my bed, splitting a bottle of peach schnapps between them.

“You shagged him, didn’t you?” They say in unison, almost as soon as I click my key in the door.

“How do you know and how did you get in here? You’re like Mystic Meg and Houdini all at once.”

“The porter let me have a key-card,” Layla shrugs. That girl, she could persuade a dog he didn’t want his bone.

“And we knew you’d be off to bang him the moment you claimed you were off for a tan the day of the party,” Madison chimed in, before squinting at me. “Though you have changed colour…Did you actually get a tan? Are we wrong?”

“No, I got a tan and I shagged Damon. He has a ‘personal’ tanner now.”

“A personal slam’her more like,” Madison laughs, before admitting, “yep, that wasn’t my best work.”

“He’s doesn’t shag every woman he meets!” I say, unconvincingly. “She’s very pretty though.”

“And clearly shite at tanning!” Layla says. “Have you looked in the mirror?”

I haven’t. I dash through and what I’m faced with is…

Well, have you seen Charlie and the Chocolate Factory ?

And have you seen that episode of Friends with Ross’s tan?

If the Oompa Loompas had a baby with Ross, that’s the colour I am.

I’m more orange than an actual orange! I always wanted to be Rachel in Friends , why has it turned out actually I’m Ross?

I look at myself in the mirror again. How has this happened?

Maybe it’s just the guide colour. But I rub at my arm and begin to scream.

It’s absolutely not the guide colour. It’s sunk so deeply into my skin, it’s settled in my pores and I look, well, I look like a creosoted fence.

Layla and Madison come rushing in, Madison carrying a bunch of dresses under her arms, in colours she think will ‘dilute’ the orange.

Layla’s more practical, she’s soon stripping me down, recognising that in my distress I won’t be able to think straight, and commanding Madison to put the shower on, now .

They both bundle me in, and then using the hotel’s face cloths they begin scrubbing me, quite viciously. “Owww, that hurts,” I cry.

“Do you want to go to the event tonight this colour?” Mads responds. “If we don’t keep scrubbing you’ll stay so bright they won’t need to fundraise for guide dogs…you’ll reverse someone’s blindness!”

“That’s not how it works, Madison,” Layla replies.

“Alright, Einstein. Maybe she’ll do the opposite and blind people with her orange glow.” Madison has abandoned the flannels and is now using the bath mat.

“You’re being highly offensive right now,” I say, but I’m laughing.

“To you or blind people?”

“Both!” Then we begin to laugh so much we forget about the task at hand.

“Look alive!” Layla suddenly yells, like an army major. “We’ve got t-minus two hours til we have to leave. And…we’ve run out of towels.”

In the end, Layla calls her favourite porter and he brings us a whole pile of towels. They scrub at me for a full 45-minutes, until we admit defeat. “There’s nothing more that can be done,” Layla says. “Call off the troops.”

I step towards the mirror, afraid of what I will see.

It’s bad…but it’s not as bad. I’m less orange but I am more patchy.

My face has escaped lightly, there’s just a pear-shaped lump of orange under my left cheekbone.

My legs can be covered with tights, I suppose, and Layla reckons if we cover my arms in spray-on body glitter it could camouflage the orange dots scattered around my body.

And, if I really make my hair high, and my lashes super long, then perhaps everyone will focus on those, instead.

“What would I do without you girls?” I say, pulling them both in for a hug, which they resist in case ‘it’s catching.’

“And, at least Damon is going to show up all-over orange too. You’ll be like his and hers orangutans. After all, it was the same tanner, wasn’t it?” Madison asks.

* * *