La Bombe Rouge

‘Don’t look!’ Jenny slapped away Claire’s hand as it reached for the mirror.

‘But I want to see it!’

‘You can see it when it’s done.’ Jenny rinsed her cloth and dabbed at Claire’s neck. The dye turned her hands as red as a surgeon’s. ‘Just give me a minute,’ she chirped, ‘and you’ll be as ginger as a Weasley.’

Claire’s heart skidded over a beat; her fingernail slowly scratched the arm of her chair. ‘I asked if you could do auburn, not ginger!’

Jenny paused. ‘Isn’t auburn just French for ginger?’ With a flourish she wiped off the last of the spilled dye from Claire’s neck and stepped back to admire her work. The red hair made Claire look so pale.

‘All done,’ Jenny said, handing back the mirror. ‘What do you think?’


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