Page 28 of The Second Chance Supper Club

The next day, being just five days before the supper event, this group message came through.

Followed by: Of course this is not in any way a tactical ploy to distract you all from the quality of my cooking.

Oh, and my niece Lily is coming too! x

Sounds great. Looking forward to it , sent back Cath.

Her brain already buzzing about meeting up with the gang again – including Will – and also what she might wear.

Now was the time to garner her inner boho-chic, Seventies style, apparently.

Hah, she’d never been a very flamboyant dresser, her clothes being practical in the main, the smart if sensible maths teacher, in or out of school.

Ooh, love a bit of dressing up , answered Andreas.

A thumbs-up symbol appeared from Dan, and an ‘OK’ with a smiley face from Will.

Everyone would soon be raiding their wardrobes, browsing online or perhaps nipping to the local charity shop in Kirkton.

The men of the group likely hunting down some nice brown flares and large-collared shirts to team with tank tops.

Cath remembered a floppy Seventies-style felt hat she’d once had, but hardly worn.

Did she bring it with her? It might be somewhere in the wardrobe.

Hmm, perhaps a colourful hippie-style dress might work with that, which she certainly didn’t have.

Indeed, a trip to the charity shop was now calling.

Despite fancy dress not being particularly her thing, she found herself warming to the idea and the challenge.

It was in fact lovely to be doing something totally different with a new group of friends.

However, half an hour later, stood in her underwear in the charity shop changing room – well, more of a curtain pulled over one corner of the store, with a wooden stool and a long mirror – she had a bit of a shock.

Oh, God, there in the mirror’s reflection, her undies set looked almost more saggy and grey than herself, but not quite.

What the hell had happened to her? To her body and her hair … these past few months, perhaps years?

She’d never got around to booking that hairdresser’s appointment that she’d promised herself, either.

She looked again, filling with gloom. Everything had sunk and lost its colour.

And well, she hadn’t invested in any new bras and pants in an age – no one had been looking, after all.

That trip to the local hairdresser was the next thing to get organised.

Bloody hell, hopefully they might squeeze her in before supper club next week.

Perhaps some highlights, or some colour might bring her salt-and-pepper, wavy, okay frizzy, long bob back to a semblance of its former brunette glory.

An online order for some M&S undies could be sorted.

And her body, well the walking wasn’t enough, evidently. A body boot camp? Jeez, that might finish her off, but she’d ask around, there must be some kind of exercise class in the area.

She used to like doing a bit of yoga back in the day.

Crikey, that must have been when Adam was little, trying to recoup her post-birth tummy.

So that was, yep, over twenty years ago.

No wonder it had all gone southwards in the subsequent years.

Feeling down in the dumps, she could almost see how Trevor might have lost his interest too.

But then, she told herself off. It really wasn’t her fault.

He was no Tom Cruise. And he hadn’t been to a gym in years, either.

Well then, no one else was seeing her like this, no way. Sex, in her current condition, was an absolute no-go. Why the hell did Will slip into her mind then? She’d have to be trussed up in a Victorian nightie or something. Full cover, except for essential access. She made herself giggle.

‘Are you okay in there? Need any help?’ The assistant’s voice came through the curtain.

Body double. Face lift. Magician of a hairdresser , came to mind.

‘I’m fine, thanks. Just need to try on a couple more things,’ was what she actually said.

‘Just shout if you need anything.’

‘Okay, thanks.’

Right, back to the issue in hand. No use standing mourning her lost figure.

A boho Seventies-style dress, that needed to look acceptable, was required for the impending supper club do at Nikki’s.

She did at least have a reasonable bust left, she noted, as long as it was firmly lifted in a brassiere.

The first gown was a green paisley print, which looked okay but made her feel like she needed to burst into some Irish dancing.

The second was a white cheesecloth with lace.

Nope, far too bridal, and virginal. She looked much too old for it.

The third, and last, was a floral number with flared long sleeves (a good covering for the bingo wings – bonus) and though it was just above knee level, her legs were still fairly slim (about the only darned things that were!).

She figured they could be allowed on show, with a pair of tights as cover, and perhaps long boots.

‘Any good?’ The assistant was hovering outside the curtain again.

‘Yeah, I think this one might do.’ She dared to reveal the outfit.

‘Ooh yes, it looks good on you.’ The sixty-something lady was smiling. ‘I remember wearing something like that back in the day. Wish I still had legs like yours for it now, though.’ ‘Do you think I can get away with it? I’m no spring chicken, after all.’ Cath was a little hesitant.

‘Of course. Flaunt it while you can, dear.’

She had to smile at that. ‘Boots?’ she ventured. ‘Do you have any long ones, that might go with this? Size six. It’s for a Seventies party.’

‘Ah, now I’m with you. Just give me a mo. I think I might just have the perfect pair.’ She bustled off, apparently enjoying her mission.

Cath loitered in the changing area.

‘Here.’ A couple of minutes later the curtain shifted, revealing a pair of white lace-up boots that looked like something the girls from Abba might have worn. The platforms on them were extremely high. Cath could feel the blisters forming just looking at them.

‘Ooh, sorry, but I need to actually walk and spend a whole evening in them,’ Cath explained. ‘They fit the Seventies part well, though. Do you have anything else?’

‘Damn, I thought I’d finally found a home for them. But never fear … give me a mo, and I’ll check again.’ The lady set off once more. There then followed some rummaging noises from the shop floor.

The curtain shifted. ‘Here you go, brown leather, knee high … What do you think?’

‘Now they look perfect. Let’s hope for a good fit.’ Cath smiled. They were a really lovely tan leather boot. They’d look fine with the dress. And, even after the supper event, they’d go well with many an outfit over the autumn and winter months.

They did, in fact, slip on like a glove. She did a quick sway in front of the mirror. The dress swished about her. The boots were stylish, making the legs less revealing too. ‘The job’s a good ’un. Thanks so much for your help.’ Cath grinned.

By some miracle, the woman reflecting back at her in the mirror already looked so much better than the half-naked saggy one she’d spotted a few moments before.

She paid a bargain price for the two items, happy to be helping out the local hospice charity too, and left feeling a positive surge.

Boho chic might be the way to go, thought the new-style Cath.

And to the hairdressers next! There was one at the end of the high street.

No time like the present. Pausing outside the door, she suddenly felt embarrassed that she hadn’t set foot inside a salon for …

well, a very long time. And her locks would certainly be showing it.

She took a deep breath and opened the door to a blast of warm air and fragrant hairspray.

‘Good morning,’ a lady with a classy blonde bob greeted her from behind the counter.

‘Hi, umm, I’m new to the area. Looking to get a cut and colour done. It’s been a while …’ She grimaced apologetically. ‘Do you happen to have any spare appointments?’

‘Actually, it’s unusual, but I’ve just had a cancellation for Monday morning, 10 a.m. How does that suit?’

‘Sounds like it’s my lucky day. I’ll take it, thank you.’ The trip to the local town was proving to be positive.

The hairdresser gave her a swift and sweeping glance above shoulder level. ‘Are we talking restyle or just a trim? And colour-wise, any thoughts?’ She was trying to be polite, but Cath knew she must be thinking this is some kind of a bird’s nest I’m dealing with .

‘Better be a restyle …’ Cath conceded. ‘And I used to be a brunette, but I’m not sure quite what to do with it colour-wise now.’

‘No problem. We can do a quick patch test now if you’d like, and then why not take one of these hair magazines, and also have a look online at any styles you think you might like, and we can chat about that and the colours that might work with your skin tone on Monday.

Sound okay?’ She came across as practical but friendly. Cath had already warmed to her.

‘Sounds great. Thank you.’

Crikey, the supper event had somehow turned itself into a makeover.

Well, it was about bloody time , a voice in Cath’s head shouted out.