She was quite persistent though, which in itself was a little strange, and because she wasn't ready to accept defeat, she insisted that we therefore pick things up tomorrow instead. She explained that she had to work in the morning for a couple of hours but could take the afternoon off so that we could spend more quality time together. This type of behaviour is so foreign to me. Plenty of men have been desperate to spend time with me but never females. She even asked if I would like to pop round to her salon before she finished so that she could pamper me with a complimentary bouncy blow. Never one to turn down the opportunity to look my best, I obviously accepted. I still have plenty of time left for what I came here to do. I don’t see any harm with taking some time for myself.
Lying flat on my back in the middle of the bed, my eyes are open but I can't see a thing. The thick blackout curtains have won their battle against the moonlit sky. I don't know what time it is, but I've been lying in the same position for a while now. I just can't shake Lauren from my mind. Her perfect and uncomplicated life is about to begin its dizzy descent into a tumulus spiral, and she is blissfully unaware. Everything she has will be taken away from her, but then again, it will be rightfully given to me. I should feel happy that this is finally happening. Excited, even triumphant, but right now I don't feel any of those things.
My legs kick furiously in a bout of frustration. She's wormed her way into a piece of my heart that I didn't know existed. A place that has lay dormant for as long as I can remember. A single tear slides down my right cheek and I bat it away. I can only hope that she will forgive me, in time. I don't expect her to be particularly thrilled when Jacob and I get together. I don't even expect her to ever love the two of us together, but she could grow to accept it, especially if I mean so much to her.
She is lucky, really, because she is so beautiful. With her kind bright eyes and smooth sallow skin, she has nothing to worry about, and I know in my heart that it won’t be long before the right man snaps her up. Maybe I could even help her find someone. Sign her up to a few dating apps, encourage her to go speed dating and be her wing woman when we frequent pubs and clubs. She will find someone that she was supposed to be with from the start, and then there will be no reason why we can't stay the best of friends. The first hurdle is going to be the hardest but when we get over that, everything will work out as it should. I just need her to understand that it’s not her life I’m stealing – she stole mine, and all I’m doing is taking it back.
The gentle chirping of birds between the trees and subtle splashes of waves hitting rocks in the distance are the only sounds I hear as I wake up early in this unfamiliar bed. There's no sound of chatter from the room next door and I can't hear any busy footsteps in the hallway. I am groggy and cranky from my disturbed sleep but as I start to come round, I begin to feel slight flutters of excitement for the day ahead. Today will be our last full day together. The last day where our friendship is pure and untainted, and I want to make the most of it.
The hot pulses of water from the shower help waken my limbs and I’m starting to feel a little bit fresher as each minute passes. I turn the knob back to an upright position as the water comes to a halt and slide open the cubicle door, grabbing the fluffy white towel from the hook and stepping out onto the bath mat. I wrap the towel around my chest and twist each side into each other to secure it in place.
I take my time as I apply my makeup. Firstly, smoothing moisturiser over my face before applying my primer and swirling a brush around my most expensive cream foundation before painting it gently onto my face. I make sure that it is blended perfectly at my hair and jawline. I apply a dark shade of brown powder to the crease of my eyelids and then add a pop of gold shimmer onto the base before adding a slick coat of smoky black liner.
There's no point in wasting time styling my hair seeing as it will soon be getting washed, but I still wish it looked a little better than it does. These Essex girls are renowned for their immaculate appearance; I've seen all the reality TV shows, and I don’t want to stick out like a sore thumb. I decide that my best option is to pile my hair into a neat bun on the top of my head, knowing that when it is pulled away from my face my eyes appear much bigger and brighter.
The weather today is dry and pleasant, so I open my suitcase and take out a little yellow sundress that sits just above the knee, that I pair with chunky black biker boots with silver studs and of course, my favourite leather jacket. My legs are still ever so slightly bronzed from the Tenerife sun so there is no need to apply fake tan today and yet I still do. I smother a healthy amount of instant tan onto my legs and hold my dress up as I wait for it to dry. Why is it your legs always seem paler than the top half of your body?
Now ready, I grab my bag, my room key and my phone and make my way down to the hotel's restaurant. I’m not really that hungry – nerves I think - but I make myself a cup of sweet coffee and pinch a pain au chocolat that has been left over from the breakfast buffet earlier this morning. I wrap it in a napkin and shove it in my bag for later on.
I swither at the door, realising that something doesn't feel right; something's missing. I turn on my heels and dart back upstairs to my room and head directly for the dresser, picking up the crimson red lipstick that almost escaped me. I twirl the black tube delicately between my fingers, considering that it might be too much for a daytime look. Sod it, I decide. I don’t care if it is too much, I always look great wearing it and more importantly feel more confident under its armour and so I smooth it over my lips, puckering them in the mirror in admiration. Now I'm ready.
Her salon sits on the corner of a long street, positioned perfectly at the end of a row of little boutique shops and busy local cafes. Its shopfront is white and glossy, with two large sized windows with frosted panels so that you're only able to catch a glimpse of customer heads and not their bodies. I look down at the Google maps app that is open on my phone but there really isn't any need to; I've definitely found the right place without a doubt. The signage itself is bold and vibrant; neon pink writing illuminating the name - Lauren, With Love. I take a deep breath to steady myself before I give the glass door a gentle push. The sound of busy hair-dryers erupts instantly, and you can just about make out that the radio is on in the background. The smell of peroxide, mixed with the subtle burning of hot hair is prominent, but expected, and yet I still manage to notice a subtle floral aroma that floats gently around the room amongst the chaos of scents, creating a calm and relaxing ambience.
I straighten the bottom of my dress and adjust the strap of my handbag back onto my shoulder and wait patiently at the desk for the receptionist with muted lilac hair to lift her head from her phone and acknowledge me.
‘Can I help you?’ Her tone clipped and somewhat unfriendly, and I’m a little startled by her abruptness.
‘Hello, yeah, I’m here to see Lauren’ I tell her. My own Glaswegian accent feels out of place and doesn't ring true in my ears and I force a painfully polite smile.
She stares at me, a look of bemusement and disgust; as if I’ve just spoken to her in a foreign language and then licks her thumb and flicks open a few pages of the diary sitting in front of her. She shakes her head as if to say that I am lying and I'm just chancing my luck in the hope that there has been a cancellation.
‘Do you actually have an appointment?’ she spits.
‘Yes... I mean, well no, not an appointment exactly’ I stutter. What the fuck is wrong with me? Why am I so affected by this little trollope's attitude? I am the customer here. She should be falling over herself to help me. I straighten myself up, ready to give her a mouthful of abuse when I hear my now second favourite voice in the world.
‘Zeeeeeee!’ Lauren's voice squeals from behind me. 'Thanks Becky, Zara is here to see me, aren't you babe? I must have forgotten to pop it in the diary. No harm done tough, right?’
She links her arm in mines and the sulky receptionist now seems to have had a personality transplant all in the space of two seconds as she beams brightly
at her boss; a stark contrast from the look she had just given me a few moments before. I decide that it’s not worth the hassle arguing with her now. The little minion is irrelevant to me now that Lauren has found me.
She pulls at my jacket, sliding it off my arms and hangs it up on the gunmetal coat stand. I wait for her to hand me over to one of her assistants but she doesn't. Instead she insists on washing my hair herself as she ushers me over to the row of ceramic basins. I notice a few bewildered glances passed back and forth amongst the rest of the staff as she wraps a black cape around my body before directing me to sit. It must be a very rare occurrence for the owner of the salon to carry out such a basic task.
The water is scalding hot, and her nails bite into my scalp as she massages the fruity scented shampoo into my roots. I don’t say anything to her, even though it kills. She really must be out of touch with the whole hair washing process, which isn't surprising I guess if she has people to do it for her. Next, she quickly applies some conditioner and then rinses my hair clean almost immediately. She didn’t leave it on for very long and I’m annoyed because it's going to be much tuggier than normal now when she comes to brush it. At home, I try to leave it on for at least 4-5 minutes before rinsing it off.
A sharp bolt of fresh pain interrupts my train of thought as the back of my head cracks against the sink. I let out a sharp yelp, but she doesn't seem to notice and continues to pull and jerk roughly at my wet hair. Maybe she didn’t hear me over the sound of the shower or the roar of hair-dryers. I know she would have stopped if she had thought she had hurt me. I really wish she had just let one of the others wash my hair. This was starting to feel like I was being tortured rather than pampered.
When she's finished with me at the basin, she wraps a towel around my head and directs me towards a black chair at the end of the row. As she attempts to comb out the knots, she makes a few tutting noises and tells me that it would do me good to chop a couple of inches off the length. It’s taken forever for my hair to grow this long, without the need for hair extensions, so I thank her, but tell her that I’m fine with how it is. It wouldn't have been this tuggy if she had just fucking used conditioner like a normal person. She doesn’t say anything in return, and I feel her touch becoming less patient on my head as she drags the comb from my scalp down to the ends, tearing out any knots she meets on the way. I think she might for the first time be annoyed with me. I can tell by her silence and I feel bad for being so ungrateful. I was lucky enough for her to free up some time to give me a free blow dry and now she’s offering to spend additional time trimming my hair too. I quickly change my mind, realising that I am being rude.
‘Actually, I could do with a trim now that you mention it. But only a trim, OK?’ I plead.
‘Of course! Don’t worry, you’re in good hands babe!’
I study her face in the mirror as she concentrates, sectioning my wet hair between her fingers. She takes the first chop confidently. Fuck! That’s way more than just a little bit off the ends. My eyes begin to water as she continues to hack wildly. Who does she think she is, fucking Edward Scissor Hands? I’m terrified of how short it’s going to look when it’s finally dried. Everyone knows that it bounces up a couple of inches further when it is. I should have just said no, why didn’t I say no?
She seems completely oblivious to my angst and doesn’t say much as she works away. She just carries on, not a care in the world. She takes her time to dry my now sharp and short hair; sectioning it with big barrel brushes that will create an end result of big and bouncy curls, although who knows how big and bouncy they are going to be now that she has butchered me.
‘Ta-daa! All done babe!’ she gloats.
The end result is horrifying. I ignore her gaze as she searches my face, waiting patiently for me to deliver praise. Was she fucking mad? I wasn’t exactly going to pat her on the back for this, was I? I wanted to scream at her, slap her. Do anything I could to punish her for not sticking to what we had agreed, but there was little point now. I can't turn back time. The damage is done.
I shuffle over to the pink crushed velvet sofa next to the door where I sit fizzing with rage as I wait for Lauren to collect her things from the staff room. I pull my bag onto my lap and unzip it carefully and discretely so that nobody around me is able to see inside. I hold the photograph of Lauren and Jack between my fingertips as my hand shakes furiously. I try to extract comfort from my weapon. She has ruined me today, made me look a fool and now I can’t wait to return the favour.
Chapter 14
A couple of attractive men walk towards us and I hang my head quickly; completely mortified to be seen without my luscious long locks. She notices though, and asks what’s wrong so tell her I thought I had felt a drop of rain. She crooks her neck to look up at the bright blue sky, searching for a cloud that is nowhere to be seen and her brow furrows in confusion. We chose to sit outside the coffee shop because of the nice weather. Our table is positioned directly under the warm glow of the sun. I could have and should have come up with a much better excuse than that.
Her red nails poke out from her open toe sandals as she sits with one leg gently draped over the other; sipping an iced latte through a straw. Her dark hair is styled poker straight today which is unusual as it’s normally curled slightly at the ends. She has on a plain black T-shirt that is tucked into a pair of high waisted stone washed blue jeans with an expensive designer belt wrapped around her waist. I wish she didn’t look so effortlessly beautiful, especially right now that I'm sat here looking like such a fucking train wreck.
She releases the straw from her dazzling white teeth before she speaks.
‘I have the house to myself for a bit, fancy coming over?’
I had expected her to invite me to hers again seeing as I refused yesterday and so today, I am more prepared. I don't need to worry about concocting an excuse this time because she's just told me that Jacob won't be at home.
‘Sounds good to me’ I beam. It pains me to smile at her. I am so angry at her for what she has just done to me but I need to get over that, and quick. I am finally going to see where my Jacob lives. Where he speaks to me so gently in a hushed but husky voice down during our late-night phone calls, where he undresses after a long day at work, exposing his beautiful tanned body and climbs into bed. I'm going to see all of the places where although he is with her, he is thinking of me. I've waited so long for this that I feel my insides tremble with sparks of excitement as they sprout wildly through my entire body. I grab my bag and push away from the table. My bad mood about my hair is slowly but surely beginning to fade as my heart is filled with something much more thrilling.
The blood pounds in my ears as I make my way up the red cobbled path behind her. She unlocks a tall wooden gate and I notice that we are entering the house from what appears to be the back door rather than the front. I wonder why that is. Some people do that though I suppose, don't they? She strides up to the door and pushes her key inside the lock and twists firmly to the right. The door to my future life swings open. I wonder if she realises how lucky she is, and just how good she has had it for so long.
I hesitate before stepping over the threshold, wanting to capture every detail of my surroundings. The garden is half grass, half concrete, and a freshly painted sage hut perches perfectly at the bottom right corner. The space is wide and inviting; perfect for hosting parties and gatherings. I can imagine it filled with Jacobs' friends and family, all laughing and joking – maybe standing by a barbecue as Hannah and I sip rose wine and watch them cook a variety of burgers and sausages. It feels so real, like it's meant to be. I can almost smell the meat sizzling away in the air.
I smile and step inside, closing the door gently behind me, aware that my fingerprints are now merging with where his have been. Suddenly I struggle to remember how to breathe. The room spins and jerks out of control and I have to close my eyes to steady myself before I fall over. I can’t believe I am finally here.
The back door that I ha
ve just entered has led us directly into the kitchen, and I allow my eyes time to float over the scene before me. I’ve seen some of these items before; the chrome silver kettle, the black marble worktops, a rack of grey and white mugs stacked neatly beside the microwave. All little insignificant things that I’ve seen in the background of pictures that didn't mean much to me before but now feel so familiar experiencing them in person.
She ushers me through an alcove towards her grand living room, and I pause to slide off my boots before I go any further. I don't want to leave any marks on my soon to be carpet. My bare feet land on the plush grey pile that is ultra-soft between my toes; like stepping onto a precious cloud. A grey but almost charcoal coloured couch beautifully accessorised with plump dusky pink feather cushions sits against the wall to my right-hand side; directly across from a huge silver framed television that has been hung carefully on to the wall. I can see him lying there, his arm stretched above his head as he flicks between channels whilst texting me - thinking of me - wanting me.
Believe it or not, I hadn’t originally planned to enter the house whilst Lauren still lived here. I intended to find out her address by accepting an invite to hers. I was going to ask for the address that I should tell the Uber driver, without any intention of actually showing up as expected. Instead, I was going to wait till it was late at night, when the street was dark and asleep. That's when I would have taken the trip over and slid the envelope containing those incriminating photographs through their letter box for an early morning surprise. I would have addressed it directly to him and when he opened it, chaos would explode throughout the entire house and I would be far enough away from the scene, back in the safety of my hotel room, completely detached from any roots of blame. Naturally, she would have questioned where it came from and if Lauren did have the audacity to accuse me, I would act completely affronted and steer the blame towards any one of her friends that dare I remind her, were also on that trip. Hell, it might even have been Jack. For all she knows he could have been some sort of crazy psychopath who tracked her down. The most important thing is that Jacob would be none the wiser of the true identity of the sender and would never in a million years suspect it was my doing.
The Lies She Told: A wickedly twisted psychological thriller that you cannot put down! Page 9