by Cathy Lake
‘Me too.’ Clare smiled, hoping her lips wouldn’t quiver and show how nervous she felt.
‘This is my friend, Clare,’ Jenny said, as she ushered Clare towards the rear of the salon, past mirrors where women sat with their hair plastered to their heads with dye, with segments wrapped in silver foil or as a stylist brushed and snipped, curled and dried their freshly washed crowning glory. Clare raised a hand as she passed them, taking in how young all of the stylists looked and how sophisticated they seemed. ‘I’ll introduce you properly later but let’s hang your coat up and start your consultation.’
‘OK,’ Clare squeaked.
Jenny pulled out a chair in front of a mirror surrounded by bright lights and gestured for Clare to sit.
‘Right, what are we doing for you today?’ Jenny asked as she placed her hands on Clare’s shoulders.
Clare met Jenny’s gaze in the mirror and had to swallow a gasp because her friend was so pale and there were purple shadows under her eyes. It had only been a week and a half since the pub quiz, but Jenny looked much worse than she had then.
‘Are you all right, Jen?’ Clare asked, searching her friend’s face for clues about why she looked so poorly.
‘Yes, yes. I’m fine, just still a bit off colour.’
‘Shouldn’t you be at home resting?’
‘The twins have an INSET day and I’ll get no peace there, so I’d just as well be at work. Anyway, if this is just the big M, I can’t be taking days off for that, can I?’
‘You look like you should be in bed.’
‘Gee, thanks.’ Jenny gave a weak laugh. ‘I’ll get over it, I’m sure, or learn to live with it. Anyway, forget about me and let’s think about you.’
Jenny ran her hands through Clare’s hair, parting it this way and that, rubbing the ends between finger and thumb, then she nodded. ‘I think you could definitely do with a good trim, perhaps a bit of feathering around your pretty face – and how about . . . if we add some colour? Lighten it a bit.’
Clare looked from her own brown tresses to Jenny’s blonde ones. ‘Ooh. I’m not sure, Jen. I mean, it looks fabulous on you, but I’ve never seen myself as a blonde.’
Jenny laughed. ‘Not blonde, Clare, but you have such lovely chestnut brown hair that some highlights would really show it off. I could add some caramel and some gold and that will lift it.’
Clare looked at her hair in the mirror, at the colour that she was used to (although she did usually make an effort to tone in the greys with a home-dye job, using a colour as close to her own as possible) and then nodded. ‘Why not? Perhaps it’s time for a change.’
‘Yay!’ Jenny clapped. ‘Let’s do it.’
Two hours later, Clare was so relaxed, she was almost comatose. She’d had her hair combed, parted, painted with three different colours – a base colour the same as her natural one then two others running through in thinner strips and sections of it wrapped in foil. Then she’d been told to relax as a timer was set and Jenny had handed her three glossy magazines and a caramel latte.
Clare had sipped the delicious drink and watched the goings-on in the salon. Women and men of all ages came in and had haircuts, colours, booked appointments and some visited just to say hello to the stylists, who were all warm, friendly and welcoming. There was a gentle ambience to the salon; it was so relaxing, comfortable and safe, womblike in its ability to cocoon the customers from the outside world for a few hours. The chairs were padded, the footrests the right height. The white noise of hairdryers, the hum of conversations, the melodies from the radio and the snipping of scissors all flowed around her, soothing, mellow, comforting. Added to that the aromas of coffee, hairspray, perfumes and colognes and the vast array of styling products that came from the cupboards next to the chairs were uplifting, familiar, cheering. Clare could see herself returning to the salon time after time because it was just wonderful. There was no sense of feeling threatened as she had expected, no feeling of being undermined or scorned; it was all incredibly positive and she felt that she was important, a part of something there. Of course, it helped that her friend was the senior stylist, but even so, she knew that she’d have missed out by not visiting Turning Heads.
When the timer had buzzed, Jenny had slid a few strands of Clare’s hair from the foil and checked them, then smiled. ‘Come to the basin, my dear.’
She had washed Clare’s hair twice, running her long capable fingers through it then over Clare’s scalp, making Clare so relaxed she almost dribbled. The conditioner Jenny had massaged into Clare’s ends had smelt like a mouth-watering combination of mango and coconut and Jenny had then worked it through with a wide-toothed comb and Clare had been transported to the edge of consciousness.
After it had been rinsed away, Jenny had wrapped a soft fluffy towel around Clare’s head and led her back to her chair in the front of the salon. The woman who looked back at Clare in the mirror looked sleepy, practically seduced by the experience, and Clare had chuckled.
‘You could charge way more for that, you know.’
‘You don’t know how expensive it’s going to be yet.’ Jenny winked.
‘I don’t care. I’d give you all my money just to have that delightful sensory experience again.’
‘Good.’ Jenny gently squeezed Clare’s shoulders. ‘You deserve to be pampered. Now we need to get you cut and blow-dried.’
When Jenny had finished working on her hair, Clare gasped at her reflection.
‘Oh my God, Jenny! Is that really me?’
‘I told you.’ Jenny fluffed Clare’s hair gently, sweeping it from side to side so Clare could see how the colours caught the light and how they added depth and volume.
‘It’s wonderful! Thank you so much.’
‘My pleasure. I’m so pleased with how good it looks. I knew it would suit you.’
Jenny frowned suddenly and Clare turned in the chair and reached for her hand.
‘What is it, Jen?’
‘Low blood sugar probably. I just feel a bit nauseous.’
‘Well, let me treat you to a drink at the café.’
‘Mmm. I could take my break now.’ Jenny nodded.
‘I’ll go and pay, and you grab your things.’ Clare picked up her bag from beside the chair.
‘I’ve told the girls to give you my discount.’ Jenny smiled. ‘I’ll grab your coat from the back.’
‘You don’t need to give me a discount. That’s far too generous of you.’
‘It’s fine.’ Jenny shook her head. ‘Just go pay and I’ll be back in a moment.’
Clare went to the counter, flushing at the positive comments she received from the stylists and other customers. She kept stealing glances at her reflection and feeling waves of delight as she took in how good her hair looked. But when Jenny appeared at her side, holding out her coat, Clare’s delight faded away and concern for her friend took over.
There was something wrong with Jenny and she had a feeling she was about to find out exactly what it was.
Chapter 14
Sam strolled around Tesco, pushing the trolley in front of him and browsing the shelves. He’d got the usual groceries and needed to pick up some toiletries, paracetamol and eye drops. Working long hours and using the computer often left him with gritty eyeballs, so saline drops were incredibly soothing and he liked to have some in the cabinet at home.
He gazed at the Christmas candles on display. There was a three-for-two offer on them and he paused and picked one up. Alyssa liked candles, especially festive ones, so he could get some now and put them away for Christmas. Being the only family she had left meant that he had become very organised with things like Christmas shopping; and, of course, he had no one else to buy for – except for work colleagues and they ran a Secret Santa for that. He always ended up with a cupboard full of gifts for Alyssa and loved seeing her face on Christmas morning when they drank Buck’s Fizz and she sat on the floor in front of the sofa and opened her stocking, then her larger gifts. She was like a
little girl and always got so excited about it, which made it all better for Sam too.
After he’d selected three candles, he placed them in the trolley and continued on his way. The next aisle had an array of random festive gifts, deliberately positioned to catch shoppers as they went from fruit and veg to toiletries. He picked up a box of Belgian truffles and a hot chocolate mug set with a tiny whisk, knowing that Alyssa would appreciate both. As he passed a section of cuddly toys, he glanced at them and smiled. He’d occasionally felt a bit sad that neither he nor his sister had become parents. Deep down, he guessed he’d always sort of wanted kids, but the time had never been right; he’d never met the right woman and there had, perhaps most importantly, been medical issues to worry about. He sometimes felt that they’d missed out on something, because he’d always enjoyed preparing Christmas for Alyssa, so doing the same for his own children would surely have been wonderful. He was under no illusions that it wouldn’t be tiring and sometimes stressful being a dad, but felt sure that the rewards would outweigh those things.
Familiar laughter made his ears tingle and he peered around the end of the aisle. Was it? If not, she had a laugh doppelganger who shopped at Tesco. What would she be doing here at this time on a Wednesday? He was shopping in his lunch break, but surely she should be at work right now?
But no, there she was, holding up a packet of pasta and grinning broadly, looking for all the world like the sweet, carefree young woman she’d once been. And apparently still was when she was with her new beau.
Sam stared at the tall, broad man standing next to his sister, one large tattooed hand resting casually on the back of her wheelchair as he leant forwards and whispered in her ear. Her grin was broad, her eyes bright and she looked . . .
Delighted. Happy. In love!
Looking both ways, Sam went to reverse his trolley, but an elderly couple had paused right behind him and were poring over the tins of festive biscuits, so he tried to turn the trolley in the opposite direction but an employee was wheeling a large cart of vegetables towards him. The only way he could go was forwards . . .
‘Sam!’ He met his sister’s eyes. ‘What’re you doing here?’
‘Shopping, of course.’ He glanced into his trolley and realised her gifts were on display, so he quickly dropped one of his large shopping bags over the top of them.
‘Ha ha! Of course, I can see that. I meant at this time of day.’ Alyssa smiled at him, seemingly unaware that he was feeling quite agitated. ‘Never mind, anyway – this is Seb.’
‘Seb?’
‘Yes, Sebastian Monmouth. Seb, this is my big brother, Sam.’
‘Pleased to meet you.’ Sebastian held out a hand and Sam looked at it, picturing a garden spade being thrust at him, before shaking it. ‘Alyssa’s told me lots about you.’
Sam cringed inwardly at the cliché but told himself Sebastian was just being polite. He suddenly felt very small standing in front of the other man, although there could only have been about two inches height difference, but Sebastian was built like a professional wrestler. His bulging biceps were displayed in a faded black rock band T-shirt that had had the short sleeves hacked off (with a knife or his spades, it seemed) and his black combat trousers were stretched tight over meaty thighs. He wore scuffed black lace-up boots and his long black hair was pulled into a ponytail at the back of his head, exposing the shaved and tattooed sides. Everything in Sam screamed at him not to judge this man on his appearance, not to assume that he would hurt Alyssa or take advantage of her, but the big brother in him, the one who had looked out for Alyssa all her life – and especially since the accident – wanted to grab the handles of her chair, push her out to his car and take her straight home.
Shame crawled over him as he realised that he was being prejudiced. He’d met prejudice himself over the years and had never wanted to be that person. This was, he knew, a gut reaction because he wanted to ensure that Alyssa never got hurt again, and whatever Sebastian had looked like, Sam would have had a hard time coming to terms with the fact that this man was in a relationship with his sister. No man would ever be good enough for Alyssa, but that didn’t mean that no other man was good. He gripped the handle of the trolley and took some slow deep breaths, hoping that his gut reaction had gone unnoticed.
Luckily, it had, because Alyssa and Sebastian were waving at someone at the end of the aisle. He followed their gaze and his mouth dried up as a young girl in jeans and a fluffy cerise jumper skipped towards them.
‘Sam . . . I’d like you to meet Betty.’ Alyssa held out a hand to the girl.
‘Betty?’ he asked, trying to smile at the pretty child, whose shiny black hair was pulled into bunches and whose pale skin contrasted with the pink of her jumper.
‘My daughter.’ Sebastian nodded, his face drawn into a proud smile.
‘Hello, Betty,’ Sam said, and the girl who looked about nine or ten smiled back. ‘It’s very nice to meet you.’
But in his mind, a voice whispered . . . I haven’t heard lots about you.
And he could see from Alyssa’s expression that she’d been saving this news for another day.
‘Do you need to get anything?’ Jenny asked as they entered Tesco.
The vents poured the mouth-watering aroma of freshly baked bread and buttery pastries over them and Clare’s tummy rumbled.
‘I could pick up some bread for later, I guess,’ Clare said. ‘And perhaps something for dinner. Possibly some almond croissants.’
‘Thank goodness for that.’ Jenny hooked her arm through Clare’s. ‘I didn’t want it to be the only thing in the basket.’
‘Are you going to tell me what we’re buying now?’ Clare glanced at Jenny as they walked past fruit and vegetables, then milk, yogurts and cheese.
‘Hold on . . .’ Jenny led Clare straight to the medicine aisle. ‘I’m not sure exactly where they’ll be as it’s been so long since I bought any but . . . here they are!’ Jenny glanced furtively around them, then grabbed a white and blue box off the shelf and flung it into the basket that Clare was carrying.
‘What?’ Clare stared at the photo on the box of a small, white plastic stick. ‘Really?’
‘I’m hoping not, and if not then I need to book an appointment with the GP because it has to be the menopause, but I’ve been so nauseous this week and I passed out in the bathroom this morning with my head down the toilet.’
‘Ewww.’ Clare shuddered.
‘I know. Gross, right? But it was my en-suite toilet, so it was clean. I thought I was going to be sick, so I knelt down and next thing I knew, I came round with my head on the seat.’
‘Do you think you should get two? Just in case one’s . . . inconclusive?’
‘Good idea.’
Jenny dropped another pregnancy test into the basket, then wiped her hands on her coat as if worried they were contaminated.
‘Shit!’ She stiffened and turned her back to Clare. ‘Quick, put something else in the basket.’
‘What?’
‘Quickly! Before he sees!’
Clare reached out and grabbed a box from the shelf in front of her then scuttled a bit further along and grabbed a packet from the shelf, tucking them over the tests.
‘Hello there.’
It was Sam, standing behind a trolley, looking a bit out of sorts.
‘Hi, Sam.’ Clare smiled but her heart was pounding, and she felt the familiar heat he seemed to invoke crawl across her chest and into her cheeks. ‘What’re you doing here?’
He knitted his eyebrows, then gave a small smile. ‘That’s the second time I’ve been asked that, but I thought it would be obvious.’
Clare laughed nervously, the sound weak and bordering, she thought, on hysterical.
‘Shopping!’ she said.
‘What are you doing here?’ Sam asked, cocking an eyebrow as if in challenge, then he peered into her basket and she spluttered as she followed his gaze.
Horror turned her blood cold a
s she saw what she’d thrown on top of the pregnancy tests: a bumper pack of rainbow-coloured condoms, ribbed for her pleasure, and a packet of disposable elastic-waisted knickers for bladder leaks.
‘It’s uh . . . they’re for uh . . . my mum.’ She nodded. ‘Yes, for my mum.’
When she met his eyes again, he was smiling, and she willed her body to spontaneously combust. In that moment, if the only thing left of her had been her shoes and a plume of smoke, she wouldn’t have cared because she didn’t think she had ever felt so mortified.
‘I see.’
‘Anyway, we’d best get going.’ Jenny had reached Clare’s side and she took hold of her friend’s elbow. ‘Nice to see you, Sam.’
‘You too, Jenny.’ He looked at Clare again. ‘Nice hair, by the way. It really suits you.’
Clare raised her free hand and touched her hair. She’d forgotten that she’d had it done. ‘Uh . . . thanks. Jenny did it this morning.’
‘It’s lovely.’ Something in his eyes made her belly flutter and she had to look away to break the spell.
‘Yes, she looks gorgeous, doesn’t she?’ Jenny nudged Clare. ‘Right, let’s go!’
As they marched away, Clare turned to Jenny. ‘Do you think he’s OK?’
‘Why?’
‘Well, he seemed a bit . . .’ A bit what? She barely knew Sam, but in spite of the nice things he’d said, and in spite of the humiliation she’d felt as he’d looked at her incontinence knickers and giant pack of condoms, she’d picked up on something else about him. He seemed sad, a bit lost, and as if he could do with someone to talk to.
Jenny guided her quickly around the rest of the supermarket, throwing bread and buns and a few ready meals on top of everything else, and Clare commented on each item, but her mind kept straying back to Sam.
She wondered if she could be that someone for him to talk to.
Sam loaded his shopping bags into the boot of his car, closed it, then returned the trolley to the store. When he got back to the car, he sat in the driver’s seat with his hands resting on the steering wheel and closed his eyes.