Nick's Girl

2 | the beginning

September 1969

"Eva. Get up now, sweetheart."
"I'm already up, mum." I respond, smoothing my brush through my hair one last time. I reach for my gloss on the dresser.
Mum hesitates, obviously alarmed.
"Oh," she says shortly, "Well... Hurry up! You know you start work soon."
She raps her knuckles on the door to emphasize her point - although I already knew all this myself - and thunders off to revive my sisters in the next room.

All primed and in my warm, pressed outfit, I go downstairs. I snatch the last apple in the bowl and surreptitiously stuff it in my bag. I don't mind my job, I mean it'll get me through the last year of uni; but being an Avon Lady is not my life-long dream. Plus, you get really hungry on the job, and even though it's sort of against the rules, you've got to have something to eat, don't you?

It was our neighbour, Sandra, who suggested I apply for the job. I thought, why not, you know? A really kind lady called Elaine interviewed me for it. She was exactly the sort of lady you'd imagine to be an Avon exec - you know, all calm and patient but bubbly and fun. She said I looked fabulous and could I start right away?
I was like yes please! Because, you know, I needed the cash.

~

My first client is an adorable little woman called Doris, who puts on this great big smile when she sees me, and puts ginger snaps and custard creams on a plate for me. I always take one of each and put them in my bag for later.
"Take some more, love!" Doris says, her eyes shining with admiration, "you're as skinny as a rake."
I just smile and get out the makeup box.
Doris, bless her, doesn't get much company. She's fiesty and funny, but I get the feeling she gets lonely. When I get out the box, her eyes light up like the illuminations. Then she goes:
"Go on, do up my face!"
And I dip into my shadows, doing all the really bright colours. Then, I dab some oil on a cotton pad and wipe it off, and put something a tad more wearable on.
I never ask for a service charge. But somehow, every time I go to leave, Doris successfully slips me a couple extra pounds. It gets to me because I just feel like a charity; she needn't pay for the company.

After seeing a couple more regulars, I'm onto the bit of the shift that consists of just knocking on random doors and seeing who's up for a spot of makeup. Lucky for me, I'm not easily offended or discouraged, so if they turn me away, I just march back onto the pavement.

I'm making my way down Bluefellow Street when it starts to rain.
Quickly, I run up to the next house on the street and chap on the door. It's not a particularly fancy bit of town, you know, mostly council bungalows,  which is basically the same as it is in our area.
After a minute of waiting, I knock again. Still nobody comes, and, feeling stupid, I call:
"'Avon calling! Avon calling!"
Suddenly the door flies open.
I nearly jump out my skin.
"What d'you want?" demands a deep, irritated voice.
A young man stands in front of me, smoking a fresh cigarette, hair dishevelled, his eyebrows furrowed.
Trying not to give away my surprise, I say:
"I take it you don't want a bit of makeup then?"
My attempt to be funny doesn't succeed. The young man just blows a stream of smoke directed up the way, clearly unimpressed.
I begin to feel rain dripping from my box onto my shoes; it really is turning out to be a down-pour.
"You know..." I ponder, looking right into his eyes, "you look to me like you've got dry skin. I've got something for that..."
My offer seems to have offended him.
"I don't have enough money, love." he grins through gritted teeth.
The handsome but hardly charming boy stares at me.
"Do I know you?"
"Don't think so." I respond shortly. My voice hitches as the rain makes my nose run.
"You look soaked."
"That's because I am," I state awkwardly. I could feel the rain seeping through my stockings.
"Come in. You'll catch cold."
"No. Thanks."
"Listen, I'm not weird or anything. It's just you are rapidly getting soaked. And, truth is, Avon, I feel sorry for you."
"My-my name's not--"
"Come in." He interrupts my correction with a command that puts an end to my words.
I look at the man quizically. But I'm feeling embarrassed and sodden.
I nod, and reproachfully slip into the house.

*
Bit of a cliffhanger...
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