Eavesdroppers never hear good of themselves, they say; Jenny found it too true.

“… obvious why Kylie likes Jenny hanging round! A tea chest would look sexy next to Jenny!”

Jenny froze. Her hands locked, white-knuckled, onto her supermarket trolley.

“Though she gets rid of her fast enough when there’s some action!” said another voice. “Remember the Christmas do? When Quentin was around? Suddenly Jenny’s nowhere in sight!”

Anger rose into Jenny’s throat, for the moment blanketing the horror. That’s that awful woman that they squeezed out of Personnel! Finished up in Quality Control, didn’t she? What did she ever know about anything!

“Never came to anything, though, did it!” answered the first voice. “And we both know why that…”

And the two voices faded into the flavoured yoghurts.

Jenny got herself out of the supermarket and back to her flat – but she never remembered how.

“Tea chest!” she choked, thumping the cushions on her settee. “Tea chest! And she didn’t like Quentin anyway – she told me so!” She thumped the cushions even harder. “She’s my friend – she tells me everything!”

The anger faded before the hurt; her thumps dissolved into sobs.

But tears help to get things out of the system; they don’t last for ever. Eventually she stopped weeping and made herself a nice cup of cocoa. After all, it was time for her favourite soap; Jenny settled down to weep for Little Mo as well as for herself.

As Eastenders finally wound down to its usual stephanger, and the familiar music wafted across, Jenny stirred, shuffled herself to an even more comfortable position and reached for the remote.

By now, surely, she had forgotten all about what she had overheard – and yet…

She pressed the wrong button.

Suddenly, instead of Coronation Street, Jenny was watching two fashion experts telling a woman that she could look sexy – and the woman was almost a reflection of Jenny herself! She had the same hair! She was the same height! She was almost as fat! She even wore big-flower-patterned shapeless dresses, just like Jenny! Ensnared, Jenny goggled at the screen, drinking in every stage, every step, as the victim was transformed into an elegant woman, an attractive woman, even into a sexy woman. Jenny could not believe what she saw: that she herself was being transformed into a stylish, attractive woman, a woman that not only wouldn’t make a tea chest look sexy, but might even – Jenny thought this with bated breath – might even outshine Kylie!

At that instant Jenny made a resolution, and next day she kept it: she went out and bought the book of the series.

It took some courage and a certain amount of scraping money together to follow the instructions, but little by little, week by week, she looked at herself in her mirror and watched herself change into a new person. She would never – had never – believed it possible; Jenny could be attractive, feminine – sexy.

But only inside her own room. At first she kept it hidden in case it didn’t work. Then it became her private secret, her private vice, that she cuddled to herself – and anyway, she wasn’t going to let on to Kylie, not after what she’d heard; Kylie was her friend, of course, but even so. And then she decided that she wasn’t going to show anybody, anybody at all, until there was a big occasion where she could really wow them. An occasion she’d have cried off before, too scared to go and be laughed at. An occasion like, say, the Departmental Summer Party?

The fact she was going would tell Kylie something, wouldn’t it!

So when the first Saturday in June finally arrived, and Kylie came to pick Jenny up, a new transformed Jenny awaited her. The look in Kylie’s eyes made it all worthwhile.

“Jenny! What have you done to yourself! You look brilliant!” Kylie’s voice was almost hushed. “I’ve never seen you look so good!”

Jenny gave her a beaming smile. Tea chest, indeed!

It was even better at the Party. One acquaintance actually gasped as Jenny walked in. And the men looked too – they looked at Jenny in a way no man had ever looked at her before. Jenny basked in their looks.

She also basked in the looks from two particular women – one of whom had once been squeezed out of Personnel… She felt herself walking six inches taller.

But it was one man in particular that Jenny noticed looking at her – a tall, elegant man in grey. Kylie must have seen her staring back, because she nudged Jenny in the ribs.

“That’s Quentin!” she murmured in Jenny’s ear. “He’s Director of Finance.”

Quentin’s a director? Why had she never said? Surely even Kylie didn’t think she could get off with a director!

“He’s filthy rich as well as handsome,” Kylie was going on. “But –”

“Hey Good-lookin’!” A coarse voice interrupted her. Jenny turned to look, and found Eddie from Sales. “Whaddya got a cookin, how about cookin somethin up for me!” and Eddie’s arm locked round Jenny’s waist, as a blast of beery breath caught her in the face.

Jenny snatched the arm away angrily. It was the first time such things had happened to her, and she didn’t quite know how to deal with it; she didn’t want to make a scene, but she certainly didn’t want to be mauled by louts like Eddie! She marched away, stiff-backed.

About half an hour later Jenny was at the buffet sampling the strawberry vol au vents.

“Are they any good?”

She turned, and there was Quentin! A director talking to Jenny! A DIRECTOR!

“Er – yes, yes, they’re very good… Er…”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I’m Quentin – Quentin Dernecourt. I’m in Finance.”

“Jenny Timms. Stock Control.” She could hear her voice shaking.

“Delighted to meet you.” He bowed very slightly as they shook hands. It took Jenny aback, and she felt rather flattered; it took her a moment to catch up with his small talk.

“It’s strange we haven’t met before,” he was saying, “I’ve noticed you around the place a lot, of course, and I’ve always been surprised that we never seem to run into each other at things like this.”

“No,” Jenny replied, slightly breathlessly. He’s actually noticed me? Oh, but he must just be being polite! “I don’t always manage to get to these, what with one thing and another. It’s a pity, isn’t it, when it’s such a nice time of the year.”

“It is, isn’t it. And tonight especially – look at the setting sunlight on those clouds!” He sipped from his wineglass. “Do you like this hotel? I believe there was quite a lot of – er – discussion about where to come this year.” He smiled.

Jenny smiled back – she had heard rumours too. “It’s a bit big,” she admitted. “But the food really is very good. For this type of place, I mean. Don’t you think?”

They drifted away from the buffet, still talking, and eventually were standing by one of the french windows. Jenny looked out on the fire of the sunset, letting it warm her courage.

“I believe the gardens are very attractive,” she said.

“Yes, indeed they are!” Quentin’s hand tightened on hers. “There’s still plenty of light. Why don’t we go out and see.”

He led her through the window. He was right; it was not as dark as it had seemed. And everything seemed to shed yet more light around: the heady scent of the roses, the pink thyme blossoming among the paving stones, the song of a nightingale in the maple, the touch of Quentin’s arm brushing her shoulder. She felt as if she was floating.

Quentin led her to a quiet little arbour with honeysuckle growing around it, and they sat down. Softly he slipped his arm round her waist, drew her towards him. They looked for a moment in each other’s eyes, and then he kissed her.

For an instant she accepted the kiss, but then suddenly the physicality of his mouth on hers broke the mood. She pulled away.

“Stop!” she said – perhaps louder than she meant to.

She saw the surprise in his eyes, the hesitation as he tried to guess whether she really meant it, or if he should persist. He leaned forward – and then suddenly he was pulled away.

“If the lady says stop, she means stop, buster!” The coarse vowels cut through the arbour as Eddie’s great red hands dragged Quentin off and out. “You’re out of line – bang out of line.”

Quentin swivelled round to look his accuser in the face.

“What’s it got to do with you if –” But Eddie interrupted him.

“It’s got to do with me when the lady says stop, that’s when it’s got to do with me, buster!” Eddie’s face was almost purple. “Gonna take what you wanted whatever she said, were you? We know you and your sort!”

Jenny felt bewildered. What was Eddie saying? What had Quentin – what had she done? She felt a hand at her elbow, and looked up into Kylie’s face. She made to stand up.

“I – I – I’m sorry,” she began, but Kylie hushed her.

“Don’t be silly, Jenny! It’s not your fault. I should have warned you. I forgot you wouldn’t… Well, anyway, when I saw you weren’t around any more, and Quentin –”

“Yeah; when we saw this dip was missing too, we came looking for you,” interrupted Eddie. “Think you can get away with anything just ’cos you went to the right school? You bastard!”

Quentin stood there for a moment; Jenny saw his mouth open and close again as if he didn’t trust his own words. Then he turned on his heel and marched off.

Jenny’s eyes were filling with tears.

Kylie’s arm tightened round her shoulder. “It’s all right, Jenny!” she murmured. “It’s all over, now. Come on, we’ll get your makeup fixed up and you’ll feel a new girl!”

“But you don’t understand!” Jenny almost wailed.

“Yes, yes!” Kylie was using her soothing voice. It made Jenny feel like a six-year-old with a grazed knee. “Yes, we do understand! Now come along, once you’re cleaned up and had a good drink you’ll soon forget all about it.”

They were almost back at the hotel, now, but Jenny stopped short. She looked at Kylie – really looked at her as she hadn’t done for a long time. What did Kylie really think of her? Why did Kylie really have her around? Was she a friend? Was she a useful contrast, as the girl in the supermarket said?

Or was she a pet dog?

“Come on,” coaxed Kylie.

“No. Thank you, Kylie, but no. I don’t want to put you to any trouble.” Jenny shook Kylie’s arm off her. “I can see to myself.” Jenny turned on her heel and walked off down a side path.

She found another way into the hotel, and a loo, and had a good cry. She wasn’t quite sure what she was crying for: shame, frustration or sheer anger, but, whatever it was, as usual it made her feel better. Then as the disco music thumped through the wall she fixed her makeup, pulled her clothing back into the proper makeover shapes, and stared into the mirror.

Kylie was wrong. The programme was right. She was sexy.

She walked back into the disco. Quentin was there, too near the main door – she walked briskly over before he could escape.

“Hello again,” she said. “Are you dancing?”

He did a double-take, seemed to bridle, looked past her and suddenly laughed out loud. She followed his look and saw Kylie.

“Are you asking?” he said.

“I’m asking!”

“I’m dancing!” And he swept her out onto the floor. She enjoyed the dance; she loved Quentin’s company; but it was the look in Kylie’s eyes that made it all worthwhile.