Page 1 of The Dead Ex
Part One
Sage, savin, rue, red thyme. People assume that aromatherapy oils are safe. But these little beauties can be highly toxic if used in the wrong way.
Or so some say.
Often it’s hard to know the truth.
Take this woman I once knew, who killed the man she loved.
She didn’t mean to.
Well, that’s what she told the rest of us …
He’d been cheating, but he’d promised to give this other woman up.
Then she caught him on the phone.
So she reached for the object closest to hand – a screwdriver, as it happened, which she plunged into his neck.
Of course she meant to kill him,I thought at the time.
But now I’m not so sure.
1
Vicki
14 February 2018
I unscrew the lid, inhale the deep, heady smell – straight to the nostrils – and carefully measure out three drops into the glass measuring jug. Pure lavender. My favourite. More important, perhaps, this clever little remedy is renowned for its healthy level of esters, otherwise known, in my business, as ‘healing properties’.
Healing? Who am I kidding? Nothing and noone can save me. I might look like a fairly average woman in her forties. But deep down, I’m a walking time bomb.
It could happen any second. You might wait for weeks, maybe months. All quiet. And then, hey presto, along it comes when your guard is down. ‘Don’t think about it,’ they advised me. Easier said than done. Sometimes I liken it to an actress coming off stage to be consoled on her performanceeven though she can’t remember a single damn thing.
Standing on my tiptoes, I reach up to the shelf for a second bottle and add ylang-ylang, or ‘poor man’s jasmine’. Second-best can be just as good. Or so I tell myself.
But let’s be honest here. There is no escape from my underworld.
Now for petitgrain. I take down the third phial carefully, remembering the lesson in which I learned that thecontentsare made from the leaves of the bitter orange tree. Blend with grapefruit? Possibly. It depends on the client.
We all behave in different ways, especially in this ‘club’ of mine. Of course, there are things we can do to minimize damage, but at the end of the day, if something goes wrong, the ultimate price is death. The oils need to be treated with respect in order to reduce the dangers.
I love aromatherapy. Its magic is both distracting and calming.
But tonight isn’t about me. It’s about my new client. Though she’s not a fellow sufferer, her face bears similarities to mine, with those soft creases around her eyes, suggesting laughter and tears, and the slightly saggy, soft-looking pouches underneath them, which she has tried to hide with a light-reflective concealer.
SilentlyI admire her peach lipstick. I no longer bother with it myself. I always used to wear ‘Beautiful Beige’ to prove my femininity. The woman before me has blonde hair, tied back loosely with the odd wisp escaping. What I’d give for a colour like that! The ‘freckly redhead’ tag from school days still stings. But David had loved it. ‘My very own beautiful Titian,’ he used to say.
Both my client andI wear brave smiles which say, ‘I’m fine, really.’ But she’s not, or she wouldn’t be here. And nor would I.
‘I just need something to help me relax,’ she says. ‘I’ve had a lot of stress.’
It’s not my job to be a counsellor. Even so, there are times when I want to interrupt and tell my own story to show these women (I’ve never had a male client) that they aren’t alone. Of course, that wouldn’tbe wise, because itmight scare them off. And I need them. Not just for my business. But to prove myself.
What happened to the strong, confident woman I used to be? The one who wouldn’t take any nonsense. ‘Vicki’s got breastsandballs,’ they used to say. But that was in my old life.
Time to go over my client’s medical history. ‘Are you pregnant?’
