Never Mind the Botox

  Never Mind

  The Botox

  Meredith

  Penny Avis and Joanna Berry

  Copyright © 2013 Penny Avis and Joanna Berry

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of research or private study,

  or criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright, Designs and Patents

  Act 1988, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in

  any form or by any means, with the prior permission in writing of the

  publishers, or in the case of reprographic reproduction in accordance with

  the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency. Enquiries

  concerning reproduction outside those terms should be sent to the publishers.

  Matador

  9 Priory Business Park

  Kibworth Beauchamp

  Leicestershire LE8 0RX, UK

  Tel: (+44) 116 279 2299

  Fax: (+44) 116 279 2277

  Email: books@troubador.co.uk

  Web: www.troubador.co.uk/matador

  ISBN 9781783060740

  Matador is an imprint of Troubador Publishing Ltd

  Converted to eBook by EasyEPUB

  All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental

  * * * *

  For our parents, who gave us the confidence to try.

  Contents

  Cover

  CHAPTER 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Also in the Never Mind the Botox series:

  Praise for the Never Mind the Botox series:

  CHAPTER 1

  Meredith slowly opened her eyes and looked around. Her eyelids felt heavy and sore, her mouth was bone dry and her throat felt so swollen that she was terrified she might choke.

  ‘Water,’ she croaked to a blurred image of a nurse in a white coat.

  ‘Welcome back,’ said the nurse, leaning over to reach a glass of water. She gently lifted Meredith’s head and helped her take a few sips. ‘I’m Audrey from the nursing team. How are you feeling?’

  ‘Like someone’s run over my head,’ Meredith groaned, reaching up to feel her heavily bandaged face. But the strapping around her swollen breasts stopped her from lifting up her arm properly.

  ‘Ouch, shit! And that hurts!’ said Meredith, quickly dropping her arm back down.

  ‘That’s normal, don’t worry. Try not to lift your arms up,’ said the nurse. ‘I’ll go and get you something for the pain.’

  ‘Better make it a large one,’ Meredith muttered as the nurse left the room.

  She laid her head back down on the pillow and closed her eyes. Twenty-eight-year-old Meredith had been born with a big nose and small breasts, but thanks to a certain Doctor Cassidy at the Beau Street Group, they were now the other way round and a new chapter in her life was about to begin. She was in the middle of three months’ leave before starting a new job in London with prestigious investment bank Clinton Wahlberg, giving her plenty of time to complete her well-planned transformation.

  Once the painkillers had kicked in, Meredith decided it was time to look in the mirror. Images of her previously prominent nose and non-existent chest danced before her eyes, like over-exposed ‘before’ photos from some cheap cosmetic surgery website, and a mixture of fear and excitement washed over her as she tried to imagine what might now replace them. She lifted herself gingerly onto the side of the bed and shuffled like an old lady into the bathroom. She’d been warned that she’d look pretty bruised and swollen, but even so, the sight that greeted her in the mirror took her breath away. Her half-shut eyes were puffy and bloodshot and the concentric circles of bruising around her eyes were a scary-looking rainbow of red, deep purple and blue. She had a huge plaster-cast over her nose, held tightly in place by sticky tramlines of white bandage across both cheeks that made the sides of her face looked like a trussed-up Sunday roast. Her black curly hair was matted and sticky with what she guessed was a mixture of blood and sweat. She carefully undid her pyjama top and peered in the mirror at the sight underneath, trying to get a sense of her new shape. Her implants were hidden by the mass of gauze dressings spread liberally around her swollen chest, making it hard to tell exactly how big they were. Meredith sighed heavily and did the buttons back up on her top. She would just have to be patient; it would be several days yet before she could begin to get a proper idea of her new look.

  There was a knock on the bedroom door and a friendly-looking lady in a blue frock coat came in holding a tray of food.

  ‘Meredith Romaine?’

  ‘Yes, that’s right,’ said Meredith, poking her head out of the bathroom.

  The lady had mad wiry hair and big glasses that she tried to push back up her nose as she balanced the tray on one hand. She peered at the piece of paper on the tray.

  ‘Your dinner for the evening − pork loin with cabbage,’ she said, placing the tray on the wheelie table at the end of Meredith’s bed. ‘I’ll be round again in a jiffy with tea and coffee.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Meredith, looking suspiciously at the plate of anaemic-looking food swimming in an oily sauce. She pushed the wheelie table halfway down her bed and carefully lowered her tall frame back onto the bed, propping herself up with several pillows. She picked up her knife and fork, but the simple act of trying to cut up a piece of rubbery pork loin was agony. Every inch of her ribcage ached and leaning over the plate was making her head pound like mad. When she did finally get a mouthful, the pork tasted like a damp trainer insole. She spat it back onto the plate in disgust, reached into the drawer in her bedside table for her mobile phone and dialled her parents’ number.

  ‘Hi, Mum, it’s me. I’m back in my room now, so thought I’d just give you a quick ring.’

  ‘Darling, how are you? How did it go?’

  ‘Fine, Mum, everything went fine. It’s a bit bloody hard to tell, though, to be honest. I look like I’ve just done ten rounds with Muhammad Ali.’ Meredith gingerly touched her face and winced.

  ‘Oh gosh, don’t say that. Your father can’t bear the idea of you all battered and bruised.’

  ‘Well, tell him it was his fault for giving me that nose in the first place,’ said Meredith, smiling ruefully.

  Meredith’s mother was half-English, half-Iranian and was tall and elegant with naturally long, slim limbs, straight black hair and pale, dewy skin. Her father was French and a giant of a man with thick, stubby fingers, huge shoulders, dark curly hair and strong Gallic features. As a result, Meredith was tall, lean and rather exotic looking with ebony hair, smooth honey-toned skin, vivid green eyes and, until now, a large Romanesque nose that she had hated since childhood.

  ‘We should be there with you,’ said her mother, still clucking with worry.

  ‘Honestly, Mum, I’ll be fine. I’m just going to rest and watch TV tonight. My apartment is all sorted and I’ve got plenty of time to recover before I start work. Much better
that I had the surgery here in London, you know that. It’s not far from the office and all my check-ups will be here.’

  ‘Well, if you need me to come, you just have to ask. I’ll be on the next Eurostar.’

  Meredith’s father was a successful artist and her parents had met in London, where her mother had been working as an art importer. That was where they had settled, until the pull of her father’s roots finally became too strong. Four years ago, the family had moved back to Paris, so that her father could ‘paint where he belonged’. Although Meredith had loved living and working in Paris, it had never really felt like home, and when she got a job offer with Clinton Wahlberg back in London, she’d jumped at the chance.

  ‘I know that,’ said Meredith gently, ‘but I do need to stand on my own two feet, you know. I couldn’t live with you for ever and this job’s such a fantastic opportunity for me.’

  ‘I know it is, darling, but I still can’t help worrying about you. How are you getting home?’

  ‘I’m going to ring Daisy in a minute and see if she can come and get me.’

  Daisy Roberts had been Meredith’s best friend since childhood. Daisy’s father had been a sculptor working with the same art gallery as Meredith’s dad. Unlike Meredith, who’d abandoned the ‘lovey’ art world for a real job at the first possible opportunity by taking a business studies degree and joining an investment bank, Daisy had clung to her childhood dream of becoming a successful artist and now owned a small gallery in Pimlico.

  Meredith finished the call with her mother and rang Daisy.

  ‘Meredith! Oh my God, how are you, has it all happened?’

  ‘Yes, it has, all done. But you have to come and rescue me from this hell. I’m bandaged up like the bloody invisible man, the food’s awful and I feel like shit.’

  ‘When are you allowed home?’

  ‘Tomorrow. Can you come and pick me up? I don’t want to stay here a moment longer than I have to.’

  ‘I’m working at the gallery tomorrow.’

  ‘Can’t you take the day off?’ said Meredith. ‘I thought you said things were really quiet?’

  ‘I sold something yesterday, as it happens,’ said Daisy.

  ‘Wow, hold the front page. I can see the headline now, Woman Running Shop Makes Sale.’ Meredith cut short a laugh when she realised it hurt too much.

  ‘Not funny,’ said Daisy. ‘And hardly likely to get me rushing over to mop your fevered brow.’

  ‘Swollen and blotchy brow, more like. Sorry, I didn’t mean it. That’s great news. But will you come, please? I can’t face getting in a taxi – far too humiliating.’

  ‘Okay, okay,’ said Daisy. ‘Finn can manage on his own for a bit, I guess. I’ll need to be back by lunchtime, though.’

  Finn was Daisy’s first ever assistant, having joined her straight out of the local art college. He was full of creative ideas and passionate about the gallery but, as Meredith had happily pointed out to Daisy as soon as she’d met him, about as useful as a pair of cardboard wellies. The gallery was struggling to make any money and what Daisy needed was someone with business savvy, someone who could sell, not another arty type like her.

  ‘Yeah, yeah, no problem. That’ll be fine. Thank you, life-saver. Look, park right outside, will you, and just text me when you’re there. I’ll come straight down,’ said Meredith.

  Having hung up, she lay back on the bed, exhausted by the effort it had taken her just to make two phone calls and thought about the weeks ahead. A new look and a new job; she couldn’t decide which she was most excited about. But her excitement soon drifted away and was replaced by nagging pain and a fitful night’s sleep.

  The next morning, Meredith arrived in reception wearing a navy felt hat pulled down over her eyes and a cream silk scarf wrapped around her face, in a desperate attempt to add some semblance of style to her otherwise dreadful appearance. Daisy was standing in reception talking to the elderly security guard who’d come out of his small room next to the entrance.

  ‘You can’t park there,’ he was saying as Meredith approached and he pointed through the revolving glass doors at Daisy’s dark-green Mini parked on very brightly painted yellow lines.

  ‘I’ll be gone in less than five minutes,’ said Daisy, running her fingers through her cropped blonde hair. She was wearing her usual eclectic mix of vividly coloured clothes that looked like they’d come from the local jumble sale, which, much to Meredith’s amusement, clashed beautifully with the muted tones of the Beau Street reception.

  ‘Heard it all before,’ said the security guard, shaking his head at Daisy. ‘Have you any idea how many people get picked up from here every day, and if they all parked on the double yellow lines then where would we be?’

  ‘We’d be somewhere that took good care of its patients,’ Meredith answered from underneath her scarf. Daisy and the security guard both turned to look at her. Meredith saw the fleeting look of shock on Daisy’s face, which she quickly reset into a wide smile.

  ‘Look, here she is now,’ said Daisy to the security guard and gently grabbed Meredith’s arm. ‘Come on. Let’s go, before we get towed away.’

  ‘You’re lucky it’s not raining yet. Look at that sky,’ said the security guard.

  Meredith and Daisy looked outside. The sky did look ominously dark.

  ‘I think a bit of rain is the least of my worries,’ said Meredith.

  ‘You don’t want to be getting that plaster on your face wet now, do you?’ said the security guard, his wizened face creasing into a cheeky grin.

  Meredith glared at him.

  ‘Don’t worry. We’re prepared for every eventuality,’ said Daisy, waving her yellow polka-dot umbrella high in the air and guiding Meredith through the revolving doors. ‘Bye now!’

  They got into Daisy’s car and quickly drove away towards Meredith’s flat.

  ‘So let’s have a proper look at you,’ said Daisy as she drove.

  Meredith took off her hat and unwound the scarf around her face.

  Daisy glanced sideways at her and gasped. ‘Wow, that’s some bruising.’

  ‘I know. I can’t believe how terrible I look. I so hope it will be all worth it,’ said Meredith, in a shaky voice, wrapping her scarf back around her face. She looked out of the car window and bit her lip as she watched the smart Georgian houses on the roads around Harley Street, with their white stucco fronts and shiny, black railings, give way to the green, open spaces of Regent’s Park. After a few moments, she took a deep breath and forced herself to smile at her friend. ‘They did say that this bit was always going to be the worst,’ she said, trying to sound chirpier than she felt.

  ‘So did the surgery go okay?’ Daisy asked.

  ‘Yes, I think so. Doctor Cassidy seemed happy anyway. I went for the smaller implants in the end, so I should be a full C-cup when all the swelling finally goes down.’

  The size of Meredith’s implants had been the subject of much debate between them over the last few weeks.

  ‘I’m sure that was the right decision,’ said Daisy. ‘Nice and natural looking.’

  ‘God, let’s hope so. I don’t want to go through all this again,’ said Meredith.

  Ten minutes later they arrived outside the mansion block where Meredith lived. She had recently moved into an enormous open-plan apartment on the top floor with panoramic views of Primrose Hill. It was evidence of Meredith’s success during her time in Paris. Fluency in both French and English, combined with spending most of her waking hours in the office, had paid serious dividends.

  ‘I’ll help you up with your stuff,’ said Daisy.

  ‘Thanks. I’m not supposed to lift my arms up yet, which makes carrying things a bit tricky,’ said Meredith.

  They went into the building and up in the lift to the top floor. Meredith knelt down and carefully took her keys out of her handbag. She tried to lift the key up to the shoulder height lock, but as she did the dressings under her arm yanked her skin upward, making her cry out in pain.


  ‘Let me do it,’ said Daisy, taking the key from her and opening the door.

  ‘God, I hate being so useless!’ said Meredith, stomping into her apartment.

  Daisy grinned. ‘I’d have thought you’d be used to it by now.’

  ‘Ha ha.’ Meredith slumped down onto a vast, cream, L-shaped sofa.

  ‘Wow, this place looks amazing,’ said Daisy. The apartment had been an empty shell the last time she had seen it, but the huge expanse of luxury living space was filled with beautifully arranged cream furniture, punctuated by the occasional splash of colour, and the polished dark-wood floor gleamed against a totally impractical, deep-pile cream rug that looked like it had never been walked on.

  ‘Thanks. I had an interior designer that the agents recommended pick it all out for me. She had beautiful taste, much better than mine,’ said Meredith, laughing.

  The apartment was costing her a fortune, much more than she’d been paying in France, but she was determined to get something back for her years of hard work. And Clinton Wahlberg was a great opportunity for her – hopefully one that would pay off.

  ‘Are you all unpacked?’ Daisy asked.

  ‘Yes, completely. I wanted to make sure I was totally sorted before I went in for the surgery. Nothing else for me to do now but lie around and recover.’