Televisions, televisions .. .

Out on the pavement Lola pointed across Regent Street. ‘Dover and May, fourth floor.’

Doug said, ‘I thought we’d look for a bar with a TV in it.’

‘This is closer.’ Dover and May was one of Lola’s favourite department stores and they had dozens of TVs, rows and rows of them, hundreds in fact. ‘Quick, after this bus— oof ...’

Yanked back by Doug in the nick of time, Lola bounced off his chest. The taxi driver shook his head in disgust.

‘After the bus and the taxi,’ Doug said evenly. ‘OK, now we can cross the road.’

Through the doors of Dover and May, they raced past the perfume counters and islands of makeup, dodging sales girls waiting to pounce and spray scent at anyone who couldn’t dodge out of the way fast enough. Together they ran up the escalator. On the first floor they zigzagged past dawdling shoppers in thehomeware department. Up the next flight of escalators and through ladies’ clothes and shoes — Lola spotted a stunning pair with black glittery heels — then more escalators, followed by racing through menswear and almost knocking over a display of mannequins in stripy sweaters ... God, this was like getting in training for the marathon .. .

‘We’d have been better taking the lift,’ panted Lola. ‘Never mind, we’re here now’

Belatedly she realised something. ‘You’re still here. Don’t you need to get back to your meeting?’

They’d reached the fourth floor. Leaping off the escalator, Doug expertly steered her through the electrical department, past hi-fis and kettles and every kind of laptop. ‘Are you serious? After all this, I want to know what it’s about.’

The super-expensive high definition TVs were all showing a recorded wildlife programme. Over at the bank of more affordable models, Channel 4 racing was on, horses galloping towards the finish line on every screen.

Evidently attracted by the sight of a pair of customers looking as if they were keen to buy, a salesman materialised out of nowhere.

‘Good morning, sir, madam. Can I help you in any way?’

‘Oh thank you! You most certainly can!’ Lola clutched his arm with relief. ‘We need the channel changing.’

The flashing pound signs faded in the salesman’s eyes but he put a brave face on it. ‘The channel changer. Certainly, madam, the remote control units are over here, if you’d like to follow me—’

‘No, no, I want you to change this channel.’ Jabbing a finger at the screens filled with horses, Lola said agitatedly, ‘Please!’

The salesman frowned. ‘Um ... which of the TVs are you interested in?’

‘None,’ Doug intervened. ‘Not today, but my friend desperately needs to see something on one of the other channels and we’d be incredibly grateful if you could just—’

‘Please please please.’ Lola’s voice rose as she hopped from one foot to the other. ‘I’m begging you! I’ll just die if I miss it!’

‘OK, keep your hair on: No longer quite so polite now he knew there was no sale in the offing, the salesman disappeared behind the counter where a bank of switches was situated. Glancing over at Lola before addressing Doug under his breath, he said, ‘I saw a film with this kind of thing in it once. Rain Man.’

The channels began to change. Lola held her breath. Then she saw him, on every screen, multiplied a hundred times over. ‘Stop,’ she croaked before the salesman could flick past. ‘This is the one.’

Much as the family of strangers in Rain Man had regarded Dustin Hoffman when he’d pitched up on their doorstep, the salesman regarded Lola warily and said, ‘I’ll leave you to it then. Just don’t ... touch anything, OK?’

Lola didn’t hear him. She was gazing transfixed at the screen where the makeover segment of a popular daytime show was in progress. The female presenter, gesturing cheerfully to a life-sized photograph, said, ‘... so this is how he looked when he arrived at the studio first thing this morning ..

Lola realised she was trembling. Next to her Doug said doubtfully, ‘Is that your father?’

She shook her head.

‘No? So who is it?’

‘Shh.’

.. and this is how Blythe looked ...’

Lola let out a bat squeak as a. photograph flashed up on screen of her mother, looking typically frazzled and flyaway and wearing ... yikes ... her favourite pink sparkly waistcoat over a turquoise paisley blouse and well-worn tartan trousers.

‘My God, that’s your mum.’ Doug shook his head in wonder.

‘Well, that was the two of them a couple of hours ago,’ the jolly, voluptuous presenter exclaimed. ‘So let’s see how they’re looking now!’

‘I remember those tartan trousers.’ Incredulously Doug pointed at the screen.

The shimmering curtains parted and Blythe and Malcolm made their entrance.

Chapter 44

’Oh my GOD!’ shouted Lola, startling several browsing shoppers.

‘Shh.’ Doug gave her a nudge. ‘Stay calm or we’ll get chucked out.’

Stay calm?

Lola whispered, ‘Oh my God,’ and clapped her hands over her mouth. On the TV screen her mother, self-consciously attempting to pose for the camera, looked like a Stepfordised version of herself and the effect was positively eerie. Her delinquent hair had been cut, blow-dried and ruthlessly straightened, her lipstick was deep red and glossy and her complexion had an airbrushed, plastic quality to it. She was also wearing eyeliner for the first time in her life. To complete the transformation, the batty-mother clothes had been replaced by a chic, leaf-green shift dress with matching fitted jacket and darker green high-heeled shoes.

‘Oh my word,’ gushed the presenter, ‘don’t you look fabulous!’

And in one way she did; Lola could see that other people might look at the made-over version of Blythe and feel that itwas a huge improvement. It was. just that the made-over version no longer looked anything like her mother. In a daze she watched the makeover experts step forward and explain how they had achieved the miracle of Stepfordisation. Blythe continued to look embarrassed. Then it was Malcolm’s turn.

With a jolt Lola noticed him properly for the first time. OK, now this really was a transformation. Gone was the hideous bushy beard for a start. Malcolm was now clean-shaven, his hair had been cut and slicked back from his face and, in place of the awful bobbly sweater and baggy corduroys, he was wearing – good grief? – a really well-cut dark suit.

In fact, wow. Malcolm was looking years younger, like a completely different person. Now that you could actually see his face it was revealed as not so bad after all. Why on earth had he ever grown such a horrible beard in the first place?

Next to her Doug said, ‘I can’t believe your mum’s doing this. Whose idea was it?’

Lola frowned, because in the shock of the moment it hadn’t occurred to her to wonder the same thing. And now that she was wondering, it did seem a bit odd. Blythe wasn’t the type to write into programmes like this and she’d never had a hankering to appear on TV.

.. so Malcolm, coming here today was all your idea,’ the presenter said cosily, ‘because you felt you needed to smarten up your image.’

A crackle of alarm snaked its way up the back of Lola’s neck; was the presenter reading her mind?

‘Well, yes.’ Malcolm looked bashful. ‘I suppose I wanted to make a better impression on people ... or rather I was keen for them to have a better opinion of me ...’

‘He’s too polite to say so,’ Blythe chimed in, ‘but he’s actually referring to my daughter.’

‘Oh!’ gasped Lola.

‘Who, I gather, has strong opinions when it comes to clothes.’ The presenter gave Blythe a sympathetic look.

‘That’s one way of putting it. Trinny and Susannah rolled together, that’s what she is,’ said Blythe. ‘With a touch of Simon Cowell. Always telling me I look like a dog’s dinner.’

‘I am not,’ cried Lola. ‘Not always!’

‘I mean, it’s water off a duck’s back as far as I’m concerned. Sometimes I’ll take her advice,’

Blythe went on, ‘and sometimes I won’t. But that’s because I’m her mother. I’m used to her.’

‘Whereas it hasn’t been so easy for you, Malcolm, has it?’ The presenter’s voice softened.

‘Criticism like that can be quite hurtful, can’t it?’

Stunned, Lola said, ‘But I didn’t criticise him! I didn’t!’

‘Oh no, no, Blythe’s daughter has never criticised me. At least not to my face,’ Malcolm said hastily. ‘She’s a lovely girl, very polite. I just felt a bit lacking in the, um, sartorial department, I suppose. Getting dressed up and making the most of myself has never been my forte. And I want Lola to think well of me because ... well, because I think a great deal of her mother.’

Lola’s throat tightened. She couldn’t speak, couldn’t swallow.

The twinkly-eyed presenter, addressing the camera, said, ‘So, Lola, I know you aren’t watching at this moment because you’re at work and Malcolm and Blythe didn’t tell you they were going to be doing this today, but if you do happen to see a recording of this programme I’m sure you’ll agree that Malcolm and your mum have scrubbed up a treat! They both look wonderful. If you ask me, your mum’s a lucky lady to have found herself such a very caring and thoughtful man.’

‘Here,’ murmured Doug. Lola took the handkerchief and wiped her eyes.

‘And after the break,’ the presenter continued cheerfully, ‘we’ll be talking to a husband and wife who have both undergone sex changes, and who’ll be joining us here in the studio with their daughter who until two years ago was their son!’