She knew she wasn’t.
She had acted in haste and in panic, to save her mother. To stop Orla Delaney. And God how she’d stopped her. She didn’t think she would ever forget the noise of the blast, or Orla flying back, or the blood trickling down the wall…
‘Precious?’
‘What?’ Precious looked up, her dark hair falling in her eyes. She pushed it back.
God, she was beautiful, thought Layla. Precious was beautiful enough to turn a straight woman gay. And Layla remembered – painfully – that look on Alberto’s face when he’d met her. He’d been bowled over, she could see that. All men reacted to Precious in that way. But Precious was more than just beautiful: she was warm and kind. Layla couldn’t believe it, but Precious actually sought her out every day. For the first time in her life, she had by some miracle acquired a real friend.
‘I’ve been thinking about what you said,’ said Layla, ‘accusing me of playing my looks down.’
Precious let out a laugh. ‘No, I didn’t accuse you of anything. And I’ve already apologized. It was tactless of me, I’m sorry.’
‘But you did say it.’
‘Yeah. I did.’ Precious looked concerned. ‘I thought I was forgiven.’
‘I’d just like to know what you meant, that’s all.’
‘No, no.’ Precious put her pen down. ‘Let’s drop this. I don’t want to offend you.’
‘I won’t be offended,’ promised Layla, knowing she probably would.
‘You sure…?’
‘Sure I’m sure. I want, need, your help with this. Go on. Tell me.’
‘Well… the hair, for a start.’
‘What’s wrong with my hair?’ Layla patted the top of her head nervously. Her hair was long and dark brown, like her mother’s. And thick, too. Mostly she wore it pulled back – no fringe – in a bun. Kept it out of the way in the office. And in a ponytail when she worked out.
‘Nothing. But you just don’t show it, that’s all.’
‘I can’t have it dangling all over the place when I’m working,’ said Layla.
‘Yeah, but you never let it down, do you? Not ever.’
‘Well, I…’ Layla felt defensive. I asked for it, she thought. And I got it, right between the eyes. ‘OK, OK. What else?’
‘No make-up,’ said Precious.
‘I’ve never worn it.’
‘Why not?’
‘Never occurred to me, I suppose.’
‘Why not?’
Layla thought about it. Shrugged.
‘And the way you dress,’ said Precious.
‘What’s wrong with the way I dress?’ She studied the plain black pencil skirt and camel jumper she was wearing.
‘You dress to play down your body, not flatter it. Which is – sorry – sort of odd. Wouldn’t you say?’
Layla felt a flare of indignation at that. ‘Well, I don’t dress like a tart, if that’s what you mean.’