Wildflower Bay

by Rachael Lucas

Shannon raised one eyebrow, and carried on chewing. She was a riot of colour – rainbow-coloured hair and arms covered with brightly inked tattoos.

  ‘First things first. I’m not sure when our first client is in, because the book isn’t up to date and I can’t get the computer to turn on. Secondly, whilst you’re working for me I’m afraid I have a no-chewing-gum policy.’

  Shannon simply looked at her, and chewed a bit harder.

  ‘And I’m going to need you to clear out and bleach the shelves in the back room. The corners are full of dust. This place needs a major clear-out, if you ask me.’

  Shannon raised the other eyebrow, cocking her head sideways in a challenging gesture. ‘Nobody did ask you, though, did they?’

  ‘I think you’ll find Jessie did.’ Isla bristled. This girl was impossible. If all the staff behaved like this, it was going to be a long eight weeks.

  ‘Aye, and Jessie employed me. And she disnae mind me chewing gum. Better that than breathing bad breath all over the customers.’ She looked at Isla as if she was somehow a halitosis-ridden culprit. Nettled, Isla ran a tongue across her teeth, double-checking they felt clean. All those years of being picked on at school had never quite left her. Yes, she’d brushed and flossed and rinsed with mouthwash that morning, as always.

  Crossly, angry that she’d allowed Shannon to hit a nerve, Isla moved sideways, motioning with an arm towards the back room. Her voice was clipped. ‘Anyway. If you can get on. Thanks.’

  Shannon skulked across the salon, making her way to the back room, where she proceeded to spray and wipe in a desultory fashion.

  ‘When are we expecting the junior?’ Isla looked up from the computer, which she still hadn’t managed to coax into life. Without it, she had no idea how she was going to operate the EFTPOS payment system that stood on the countertop.

  ‘Jinny?’ Shannon strolled out of the back room. ‘She’s always late in. Got to get her wee brother to nursery first.’

  Isla tutted. This place was the most inefficient salon she’d ever experienced. There was no way of saying as much to her aunty Jessie, mind you; and her uncle Calum, who was following his wife over to the mainland a few days later, didn’t seem to have a clue what was going on. She tried his number again. Still no reply.

  ‘Who you calling?’ Shannon asked, nosily.

  ‘I’m trying to get hold of Calum, so I can ask him how the computer works.’

  ‘The computer? It’s not exactly rocket science.’ Shannon rolled her eyes and slouched over, still, Isla noticed, chewing like a cow in cud. She pressed two buttons simultaneously, and the system kicked into life.

  ‘Is it online?’

  Shannon indicated the broadband router on the shelf behind, hidden by a dusty stack of out-of-date hair magazines.

  ‘Do we need these?’ said Isla, more to herself than anyone else. Not waiting for an answer, she hefted them down and carried them outside onto the pavement, where she shoved them into the bin.

  ‘They’re recyclable, you know.’ A low voice behind her made her jump. She turned round to see a sandy-haired stranger on a mountain bike regarding her with interest.

  ‘You’re not Jessie.’

  ‘Very observant,’ said Isla, briskly.

  ‘Because Jessie’s good at recycling,’ he said, with a tease in his voice.

  ‘And life’s too short,’ Isla retorted. ‘This place needs a good clear-out. In fact, I’d say the whole town could do with one.’ She waved a hand to indicate the tattered state of the streets.

  ‘That’s a load of bollocks,’ said the stranger, reaching into the bin. He pulled out the magazines, slotting them under his arm. ‘I’ll sort it out. You get back to your decluttering, or whatever it is you’re doing. What have you done with Jessie? Have you decided she’s surplus to requirements?’ He made to check the bin, clearly amused at his own joke.

  ‘She’s gone away.’ Isla had no idea who this man was, and she wasn’t about to start sharing family secrets with a random stranger.

  ‘Aye. I can see that.’ He laughed. ‘There’s no flies on you, are there?’ He eyed her confidently, with a level gaze. ‘Well, it’s been lovely chatting, but I must get off. Recycling to do, people to see, that sort of thing. Plus I’m not hanging around here to be decluttered.’

  Isla, realizing with a start that she’d been dismissed, watched him as he wheeled the bicycle down the street, stopping at the paper recycling bin on the corner of the harbour road. He turned back as he dropped the pile of magazines in, giving her a wink.

  How did he know she was even watching? Arrogant sod, she thought, turning back to the salon. Whoever he was, he clearly thought pretty highly of himself. Isla turned and made her way into the salon.

  A tiny, elfin-faced, very pretty girl burst in through the door. ‘Sorry I’m late, Mikey wouldn’t go into nursery. He was having a complete meltdown about the weather. Said he wanted to wear welly boots. I told him it was far too warm but he wouldn’t listen. Anyway I gave up in the end and took him back to the house because I couldn’t face the fight. Then he got there and started crying because he didn’t have his sandals on like Sara so I had to go all the way home again and – oh. You must be Jessie’s niece Isla. I swear I remember you coming to visit years back. Your dad’s a taxi driver, right?’

  Isla, taken aback, hadn’t even begun to form a sentence before the girl – Jinny, presumably – continued.

  ‘Anyway I said to Jessie I was sure I remembered you from the arcades one summer because I never forget a face, except you don’t really look the same at all – she was really scruffy-looking and you are super glam – I mean you don’t look like I expected at all. I suppose people change, mind you, don’t they.’ She drew breath before continuing. ‘I mean I haven’t, I’m exactly the same as I was the first time you met me but you don’t remember meeting me – but then actually I was six, so . . .’

  ‘I’m Isla.’ Isla extended a hand. ‘Lovely to meet you.’

  ‘And you’ve met Shannon, then?’ Jinny asked. Shannon had the decency to look a bit guilty.

  ‘So you knew I was coming?’ Isla raised her eyebrows.

  Shannon fidgeted. ‘Yeah, but I had a feeling you were going to be a stuck-up cow, so I thought I’d take you down a peg or two. And I was right. But to be honest, I haven’t got the energy for it. Cup of tea?’

  Isla looked at her in amazement. This island clearly sent people slowly insane. Just keep counting the days down, she thought, gritting her teeth.

  ‘Yes, please.’

  Shannon climbed over the stack of towels she’d placed on the floor (Isla winced, thinking of the hygiene rules) and headed for the tap, filling the kettle from one of the hair-washing sinks.

  ‘You can’t do that, it’s completely against the rules!’ How on earth was this place still running?

  ‘I just did.’ Shannon snapped her gum and raised a cocky eyebrow at Isla.

  ‘Well, it’s the last time for eight weeks.’

  Shannon shot a glance at Jinny. Isla, who’d clawed her way up from behind a broom at the tiniest two-chair shampoo-and-set shop in Dalkeith to the gleaming perfection of Kat Black’s designer salon, fixed Shannon with a steely gaze. She had attitude. It would be nice if it turned out she had talent, too. Isla had seen plenty of girls like Shannon over the years she’d worked in the salons, watched them grow under her tutelage until they were ready to spread their wings and head out – the teaching was her favourite part, these days, more than the styling work, not that she’d ever have admitted that to Kat. But these girls – well, Jinny was young enough – not even twenty, by the look of her – and Shannon . . . she had plenty of time to get her under control. Turning on her heel, she returned to the computer.

  ‘How many clients do we get on an average day?’

  Jinny counted on her fingers. ‘Well, we always get the wifeys coming in for their shampoo and set on a Tuesday morning, and again on a Saturday – that’s . . . five. Jessie always does them.’


  ‘I do the younger ones,’ said Shannon with a challenging look. ‘I’m young enough to know what they like.’ She scanned Isla’s outfit with distaste, smoothing down the sequin-covered T-shirt that clung to her chest, barely skimming the top of her jeans.

  ‘I think I’ll be the judge of that,’ said Isla, shortly.

  Leaving a sullen-faced Shannon in charge of clearing out the back room, Isla sipped coffee and checked through the order book. She’d worked in enough small salons to know that this one was so set in its ways, it would take a miracle to get anyone to do anything differently. In which case, Isla decided, she wasn’t even going to bother trying. She’d keep it ticking over and then hand it back with a sigh of relief. The part-time hours would give her more than enough time to focus on getting herself ready for the reunion. And thank God she had the car, and she could escape back to Edinburgh for the weekend and spend some time hanging out with Hattie.

  ‘Well, hello. Who’s this then?’

  The bell above the door announced the arrival of the first client of the day, a sweet-faced old lady. Her hair floated in grey wisps around a face with cheekbones that suggested she must have been a striking beauty fifty years ago.

  ‘Mrs Mac, in you come. Cup of tea?’

  Mrs Mac nodded and sat down gratefully in the chair in front of the mirror, placing her handbag by her feet. Then she looked up with a smile. ‘How’s you, Jinny?’

  ‘Oh, waiting for the word from college.’

  ‘Can’t be long now.’

  ‘No, well, we’ll see. I’m no’ sure Mum can spare me, to be honest.’ Isla watched Jinny’s heart-shaped face drop for a second before she gathered herself. ‘I’ll maybe do a day release or something. Anyway. Sit yourself down.’

  ‘Kettle’s just boiled.’ Shannon hopped down from the worktop in the back room, where she’d been sitting (to disapproving looks from Isla) folding up the towels and placing them back on the newly cleaned shelves. Moments later, Isla watched as Mrs Mac folded her gnarled fingers around a steaming cup and looked up at Shannon’s reflection in the mirror.

  ‘And how was the big date?’

  Shannon hooked a strand of yellow hair behind her ear and sat down on the stylist’s stool, wheeling herself in close. She leaned forward, confidentially.

  ‘He’s asked me out for a drink on Wednesday.’

  The elderly woman’s rose-pink lipsticked mouth formed a perfect O of delight. ‘And you’ll be going?’

  ‘I said no.’ Shannon looked pleased with herself.

  ‘You did not?’ Mrs Mac, enjoying the scandal, shook her head.

  ‘Just for long enough to keep him on his toes.’ Shannon’s face was a picture of mischief. ‘It says in The Rules you mustn’t make yourself too available. I got it out of the library.’

  Jinny propped herself up on the sweeping brush. ‘Aye, but that maybe makes more sense when you’re livin’ in New York or London or somewhere like that. Rab knows you’re no’ busy, because he lives two houses down from you. And you can’t fart in this place without everyone knowing about it.’

  Shannon gave a snort of irritation.

  ‘Ahh,’ Mrs Mac closed her eyes with the first sip. ‘You girls.’ She gave a cackling laugh. ‘I’m not worried about my hair. I only come in for the tea and the gossip.’

  ‘Aye, we know,’ Shannon said, a tease in her voice.

  ‘So, is anyone going to do the introductions?’ Isla’s voice rang out clearly in the little room. Shannon swung round in her chair, including her for the first time in the conversation.

  ‘Mrs Mac, this is Jessie’s niece Isla. She’s the hotshot stylist from Edinburgh. Isla – this is Mrs MacArthur.’

  Isla flushed uncomfortably at the tone of this introduction. Shannon looked at her, registering her unease and marking up ten points for herself on an imaginary score chart. Isla pulled herself up taller in her five-inch heels.

  ‘I’m in charge for the next couple of months whilst Jessie is away looking after my cousin. Now, Shannon, I think perhaps you should get back on with sorting out the mess that back room’s been left in.’

  Isla stepped forward, staking her claim with prize position at the back of Mrs Mac’s chair. She pulled a comb out from her apron. Shannon stepped back, her expression flat. Isla felt a pang of regret at taking over from Shannon and throwing her weight around – but if she didn’t stamp her authority now, the next eight weeks would be impossible.

  ‘Now then.’ Back in control, fingers running expertly through the pale candy-floss of Mrs Mac’s hair, Isla felt herself settling in. ‘So what would you like today? Maybe a light colour rinse to warm it up a bit?’

  Mrs Mac’s reflection registered alarm. ‘Ooh, no, no. None of that. I’d like a shampoo and set, like I have every week. Shannon knows what I want.’

  Isla looked across at the back room, where Shannon was spraying cleaning fluid into a cloth with a hard-done-by expression.

  ‘Don’t worry, Mrs Mac, I’m sure Isla will do a lovely job with your hair.’ It was clear from Shannon’s face that she thought no such thing, and the old lady looked at Isla through hooded green eyes, sizing her up.

  ‘Och, I’m sure Isla here has done her fair share of shampoo and sets, would I be right?’

  Isla felt her rigid cheeks breaking into a small smile. She’d spent years in the salon in Dalkeith, combing through the perfumed setting lotion, rolling fine grey hair onto narrow rollers, parking elderly ladies side by side under the hood dryers with cups of tea and copies of My Weekly. She’d show Shannon. She’d earned her place. Much as she’d loathed the aching feet and the raw skin on her fingers, the scent of setting lotion that had stayed lodged in her nostrils long after she’d got home, she’d loved working with the older women, listening to their stories. She’d enjoyed their company far more than that of the brittle, glamorous women who’d made up the majority of her clients at high-class salons as her career took off. The older clients had such humour and kindness, and they made her feel at home. Mrs Mac gave her the same feeling. She was smiling up at Isla now, crinkles forming at the corners of her eyes.

  ‘I’ve done a few.’

  Isla’s uncharacteristically modest response seemed to please Mrs Mac. She sipped her tea and gave an approving nod. Shannon slunk out of sight, muttering something to Jinny. Isla cast about, looking for the trolley that held her equipment. It had moved since she’d placed it by the window earlier. Hooking it with a foot, she drew it closer, casting a quick eye over the rollers, making sure she had everything to hand.

  ‘Jinny, can you please shampoo Mrs Mac, whilst I get organized?’

  There was an ominous silence.

  ‘Jinny?’

  Isla peered across the salon to where Shannon stood, a picture of industry, folding towels. Her face was completely blank.

  ‘Shannon, can you ask Jinny to come out here and wash Mrs Mac’s hair for me, please?’

  There was a small, triumphant snap of gum. ‘She can’t.’ Shannon tipped her jaw up, a tiny smile forming at one corner of her mouth. ‘She’s away to get the milk. We were almost running out.’

  Isla narrowed her eyes slightly, pinning Shannon with a gaze that she hoped said everything. She’d deal with this later. She’d brought a new bottle of milk down to the little salon fridge just that morning, and there was no way that three mugs of tea had used it up. It was pretty clear that Shannon and Jinny were in cahoots, determined to reassert their positions in the pecking order.

  Isla picked up a gown and towel and helped Mrs Mac up from her seat. Three could play at that game. Isla had spent years learning from the masters. She went for the surprise tactic. Shannon, who was waiting with an excuse, stood watching, trying to disguise the expression of surprise on her face as Isla sat her client down at the sink, and – using one of the bottles of aromatherapy shampoo she’d brought from home – proceeded to carefully massage the lather through her hair, explaining as she did that with the application of conditioner she’d perform a relaxin
g head massage.

  ‘That was very nice.’ Mrs Mac, eyes closed in blissful relaxation, sat forward as Isla carefully wrapped the towel around her head.

  Isla hadn’t washed a client’s hair in years. Standing by the sinks, it was almost impossible to remember that just a couple of weeks ago she’d been queen bee at the best salon in Edinburgh, her appointment books full for weeks in advance.

  For a moment, standing there, the warm water cascading down, it had felt like she’d stepped back in time. She was back at the salon in Dalkeith, nervously washing the hair of her first clients, watching and learning from the girls who could casually gossip amongst themselves whilst styling their clients’ hair. Isla seemed to spend months biting her lip in concentration, brow furrowed as she made sure she did everything right. Back then, she’d gone home every night with a headache from the effort of concentrating so hard.

  ‘Right, let’s get you over and sorted out.’ Isla, looking at Shannon – who busied herself stacking the towels neatly, corner to corner – decided that she wasn’t even going to give her the satisfaction. She extended a hand to help Mrs Mac out of the shampooing chair.

  ‘Sit yourself down here,’ Isla gave her a smile. ‘That tea’s gone cold. Do you want me to get you another?’

  Shannon had the decency to look a bit surprised, Isla noticed, as she bustled around the back room, preparing another china teacup for Mrs Mac, who was now reading a copy of Woman’s Own.

  ‘Here you are,’ Isla placed it down carefully in front of her. ‘You relax, and I’ll just comb your hair through and neaten the ends before we get it set.’

  It was like working on autopilot. Isla combed the setting lotion through, parting the hair deftly with the handle of the pintail comb, picking up one roller after another and twisting Mrs Mac’s soft grey hair up, clipping it in place. The old lady sat peacefully, sipping her tea. Isla looked up from her work eventually, realizing that she was being studied in the mirror.

  ‘So, you’re Jessie’s niece.’

  Isla nodded. ‘I am.’

  ‘And you’re a big-shot hairdresser in the city.’ Mrs Mac looked at her, pink-painted lips pursed in thought.