Your Roots Are Showing by Elise Chidley Page A

— in control as you used to be. I mean, in control of yourself, your life. I mean, look at you. Look at your clothes, for heaven’s sake. You must have grabbed those out of the laundry basket. And your hair. When did you last wash it?”
    Lizzie felt her blood pressure beginning to rise. How dare Tessa go on about her clothes and her hair? At a time like this? When her husband had just left her and was possibly beginning to date other women? If this was her idea of being supportive, well, she could go and — and flipping well suck eggs.
    “For your information, I just read a magazine article that said you should leave your hair unwashed for about ten days every now and then in order to restore the natural oils.”
    “So this greasy look, it’s actually a beauty treatment?”
    “That’s right.”
    “What about your roots, then? Do you realize they’re showing? And all these years I thought you were a natural blonde.”
    Lizzie glared at her. “It’s — it’s all part of the repair process,” she improvised. “I’m going to grow it out for a bit. On purpose. Nonstop chemical treatments take their toll on the health of your hair, didn’t you know?”
    For a moment, Tessa was at a loss. Then she began a new attack from another direction entirely.
    “What about your weight, then? Is that a beauty treatment too? It’s feasible, I suppose. The French always say you have to choose between your face and your figure when you reach a certain age.”
    “Excuse me?”
    Tessa blushed and looked away. Then she took a deep breath and said clearly, “Your
weight
. You must have put on a couple of stone at least since Ealing Broadway days. I mean, you’ve never been the skinny type, but I bet you’ve had to buy a whole new wardrobe of, you know,
fat clothes
.”
    Lizzie felt the blood rushing to her head, whether in humiliation or rage she hardly knew. How
dare
Tessa bring up the “W” word so brazenly? And what woman in her right
mind
uttered the “F” word in front of her best friend, in direct reference to said best friend?
    She couldn’t have been more gob-smacked if Tessa had suddenly hit her in the face with a dead fish.
    Tessa at least had the grace to look acutely uncomfortable. Obsessively combing out the tassels of one of Lizzie’s new cushions, and refusing to meet Lizzie’s blazing eyes, she staggered on: “Look, Lizzie, this is my take on the whole thing. You had the twins, you got the baby blues, and somehow or other they never went away. Remember how exhausted you were when the little horrors were born, bless their hearts? You used to boast that you never got more than two hours of sleep in a row. And anybody could tell it wasn’t
idle
boasting — you looked like death warmed up.”
    Lizzie opened her mouth, but Tessa, all recovered from any initial sense of delicacy, held up an imperative hand for silence and steamrolled on.
    “I don’t think staying home suited you, either. I think you were bored as well as chronically sleep deprived. Somewhere along the line you stopped watching your diet. I’m guessing you just didn’t have the energy to continue the crusade. I mean, you always used to say you could put on five pounds overnight just by sucking up the smell of a bag of fish and chips. And look at you now; you’ve just
devoured
five chocolate biscuits!”
    Her tone of voice wouldn’t have been inappropriate if she’d been accusing Lizzie of snorting up five lines of cocaine.
    “Well, for God’s sake, woman, I’ve just lost my husband. Do you expect me to be
dieting
?”
    Again, Tessa held up the imperative hand.
    “You’re misery-eating, but I don’t think you’ve just started since James swanned out.”
    “He didn’t really
swan
out. It was more of a shuffle, what with that heavy suitcase and his golf clubs.”
    But there was no stopping Tessa in full flow. “My guess is you’ve been doing it since the twins were born. Misery-eating, I mean. I’ve been trying to screw up my