by PH Morris
For the next half hour, I am covered in foils, and David, Antonio and I chat mainly about the best bars in Manchester, and I can see that there was once something between them but not anymore. I will ask him about that later. At about nine, I am about to have the colour rinsed off, when the glass door opens and an Adonis of a human specimen walks in. He has a white T-shirt on, stretched over impressive pecs, designer jeans hung on his hips. Tattoos of intricate patterns weave around muscly arms. On his head is a Harris Tweed flat cap, which would look naff on anyone else, and he removes it with a flourish to reveal a shaved head. Antonio’s eyes light up, and as they kiss quickly on the cheek, I now know why David’s flame for Antonio will never be any more than that.
“Who’s this gorgeous creature?” he asks in a gravelly voice that would make your knees weak. Wow. Just wow. He nods curtly to David.
“This is Melissa, David’s roomie,” he gestures grandly.
I hold my hand up in a hello. “Nice to meet you.”
“I’m Simon,” he smiles warmly, and his eyes, the colour of sapphires, twinkle. He must have 100 times more eyelashes than me, and they are very long, damn it – why do guys get longer lashes? “So, what are these two doing to you?” he asks, looking at me in the mirror.
“I don’t know,” I shrug, “I just went along with it.”
Antonio starts to use terms like 9.3 and panels of 813, and Simon mmmms in agreement while taking a peek under the foils.
“Right, let’s get these foils out. Come over to the backwash,” says Simon. “I’ll wash; all the girls love my head massage.”
After I recline slowly, he carefully removes the foils and starts to wash my hair. I feel like a dog being scratched behind the ears, and I think I hear a chuckle. I am sure if he carries on much longer, I won’t be able to stop my leg from twitching.
After another wash and an equally fantastic head massage with conditioning product, I am wrapped in a warm towel and sitting back in front of the mirror.
Antonio is back, twirling his scissors around his third finger like a pro. He combs through my hair and is cutting for ages, and it feels like a lot of hair is being removed. I swallow and try to not look at the floor.
Sensing my fear, he says, “Don’t worry, it is still very long at the back, I have just taken the weight out of it, so you can style it easier.”
Well, I’m all up for that.
Both Antonio and Simon grab a flat brush and a hairdryer and, standing either side of me, start blow-drying like a couple of demons.
Through the hair, which is being blown across my face like a cyclone, I can see David grinning. I stick my tongue out.
After a while, the dryers stop, and I can get a look at the overall colour and cut but not the finish. Next, it’s dual straighteners, and again off the pair go at synchronised speed.
Finally, with a finishing serum and a spritz of finishing shine, I see the full effect of the new cut. My parting has been moved slightly to the left, and there is a diagonal fringe cut into the front with a sweeping motion. He was right; Antonio has left the length nice and long, and when I move my head from side to side it swishes and bounces back.
The colour is no longer the dirty blonde that I imagined it to be but has multiple tones in it of lighter and darker blonde, and it is very complimentary.
Through all of the sound and crazy actions of these two hair gods, I hadn’t noticed the morning clientele arrive in the salon, and I can now hear comments behind me about the cut and the shine. One person says it suits my colouring and makes the green in my eyes brighter.
I look at myself in the mirror and, while I am usually a very self-deprecating person, I can appreciate what they see in me.
“Oh my god, I love it!” once again moving my head from side to side and, as I touch it, it is smooth as glass. I start to tear up, and when Antonio notices he begins to fan his eyes in a totally camp gesture.
“Pack it in,” growls Simon, rolling his eyes.
“I love it, I love it, but how am I going to replicate this at home?” I have no idea.
“It will be much easier now, I promise,” smiles Antonio wiping away a little tear. “I will give you some products to put on before you blow-dry, and a finishing spray. It won’t be as perfect as now, but it will be pretty close.”
After real hugs and air kisses and some fancy products in an elegant bag, I walk away from the salon, arm in arm with my fairy godmother. I have paid for the products, but Simon and Antonio said there was no charge for the cut and colour. It seems that my Auntie D had let Antonio in on the state of my love life, or lack thereof, and he has given me a pity appointment. I should, I suppose, feel embarrassed, as I always find it hard taking help from others, especially relative strangers, but I feel amazing and right now it’s what I need.
As it’s early we do a bit of shopping, and I treat Auntie D to a spot of lunch, after which we head back to the apartment to get changed for the night out.
David had assured me we were having a quiet-ish night and nothing too leery. But you never know with David .By the time we are ready to go out, there is a knock at the door, and I realise David is up to something because: firstly, he has a devilish grin on his face; and secondly, he has to buzz someone into the building before they can get to our floor.
On the other side of the door stands Shelle and Kat, waving at me with a bottle of Prosecco.
“Oh my god, Mel, your hair is gorgeous!” Croons Kat.
Shelle is stroking it between her fingers, “So soft and shiny,” she adds.
“Suits her, doesn’t it?” David comments from behind me.
“Shelle, Kat, it’s great to see you guts,” I gush; “seems like ages ago.”
“I know,” Shelle adds, “David texted me earlier today, said you guys were off out and wanted to know if we were up for it. And this one,” she throws her thumb in Kat’s direction, “couldn’t resist.”
“Moi?” Kat throws her hand to her chest in mock insult.
“Come on,” David says and grabs the Prosecco, “let’s get this bad boy opened.”
Just a couple of glasses later we are heading out down Deansgate to the first of many bars and, a few cocktails later, David announces in mock shock, as if he’s just remembered something, that he has a surprise for me.
As we teeter our way along, getting closer to the centre of town, we come to a grinding halt, so quickly that I bump into the back of Kat.
I look up to see that we are facing what appears to be a launderette .”What are we doing here?”
David turns with a cheeky smile. “I’ve got to drop some stuff off.”
“What on earth are you talking about? You don’t have anything with you.” I look at Kat, and she shrugs, and we step into the smallest launderette I have ever seen. It has two washing machines, a tumble dryer and at the end of the room a small old-fashioned telephone with a dial.
David walks over to the wall, picks up the phone, turns towards us and speaks into the mouthpiece, “Hello. Yes, I have three loads to drop off. Yes, in the name of David.”
He puts the phone back onto the cradle, folds his arms and stares at us. Ten seconds later the front of the tumble dryer opens – the whole of the front of the dryer – and I almost yell out in shock. A well-dressed young woman is standing there; she is wearing a black shirt, black trousers and a black apron.
“This way, please,” she gestures to us to join her. The back of the door is quilted, and as we step into the room the noise level increases, so we can now hear cool jazz music.
I stare at Kat, and she is grinning like a Cheshire cat. “Wow, this is soo cool!” Kat exclaims.
“I know,” he agrees, “I’m the best, right?”
“Oh, David, you are so the best,” I gush.
The server shows us to a small booth, and the room is dark but cosy and the tables lit with little t
ea lights. She explains the menu to us, which is just cocktails, and it takes a while to decide because the cocktails are fantastic.
I order cigarettes and alcohol, Kat and Shelle order a cherry pop and David orders a hashtag selfie, the latter involving the taking of a small picture on a Polaroid camera.
While we wait, we continue to peruse the menu, deciding what we are going to have next. Our drinks arrive, and they are a marvel to behold. My cocktail is sweet tobacco-infused foam in a round glass coffee cup, served with an espresso pot of coffee-flavoured alcohol, and on the side is a chocolate cigar, all served in a cigar box.
The ‘cherry pop’ drink is a luxurious foaming tall drink which is cherry red and sticking out of the top is a cherry lollypop. David’s drink is served in a classic martini glass, and across the top of the alcohol is a hashtag-shaped sprinkle of chocolate and attached by some mini clothes pegs to the side is the small Polaroid of our goofy faces smiling madly at the camera.
We try our own and each other’s, giving a verdict on whose is the best and deciding what we are having next.
By the time we leave the place we are seriously tuned in and decide we need some food. Otherwise, these lovely cocktails are going to be rather nasty later.
We find a nearby Italian restaurant where the wait is short and, once seated, we order quickly and proceed to shovel copious amounts of pasta in the general direction of our faces. I know I have carbonara on my face, but I am past caring as a suck and slurp the lovely dish.
After our bellies are full and feeling a little bit more in charge of our limbs, we hit the fresh air and…whoa, that is some serious fresh air. We decide to head back to the apartment and sober up along the way.
“Oh, I forgot to tell you,” Kate slurs.
“Oh yeah, watzzztha?” I am very pissed.
“Sophie’s sissser is having a hen dooo,” Kat offers weakly and then does a very unladylike burp.
Shelle and I start sniggering and then I have to stop as I make a loud guffaw.
“Oh my god, Kat, I’m gonna wee.” I don’t care who hears me, this is too funny. “What’s a sisser?” I can barely speak.
“You know, her sisser Sue,” Kate offers, but the alliteration seems like the funniest thing I have ever heard, and now we are both laughing uncontrollably. Shelle and David are laughing too, and we all stagger and laugh our way along the street, leaning on shopfronts while we catch our breath.
By the time we get back to the apartment we are a little less giddy and a tiny bit less drunk, but not by much, and Shelle, Kat and I collapse on the couch. David sensibly makes coffee.
“Right, tell me about Sue,” I try again, dying to know the story.
“Well,” Kat sits up, but it takes her a couple of tries as the sofa is very soft, and her legs wheel around for a bit before she manages to sit up. Steadying herself, she proceeds, “She’s getting married in four weeks, and so next weekend we are planning to head to Edinburgh for two nights. Sue has a friend who has a place up there, and he is heading out for the weekend to allow us to stay. So, we think you should come, and we can get some kilt action.” She wiggles her eyebrows at me.
“Oh, I don’t know…” I start to protest.
David is on me like a Rottweiler. “Oh, pack it in, Mel, you are bloody going, and don’t even start me on whatever lame excuse you have, cos it won’t work”.
“Alright, Mr Bossy, calm your farm…” I’m thinking now, and it wouldn’t be the worst thing ever so, hey, what the hell. “Okay, then, count me in.”
“Yeah!!!”Kat exclaims, clapping her hands like a toddler.
“Thank fridge for that,” David sighs in relief; “thought we would have to kidnap her.”
“Oh, stop it, David; I know how to have fun… I think,” and we are off giggling like a bunch of adolescent schoolgirls.
Chapter 8
A week later, on a warm Friday evening, I am standing on the platform waiting, with seven other girls, for the direct train to Edinburgh. I am travelling in some nice jeans, boots and a soft knit jumper. In my case, for the Saturday night drunken escapades, I have opted for the safe option and packed smart black trousers, a black G-string, suitable for the black trouser situation (nothing worse than a VPL), black strappy sandals and a dressy top.
I am reliably informed that we will get there around 8pm, drop our bags at the house and head to the local pub, and then the next day we are up shopping, which I don’t particularly like but needs must, and then getting dressed up for our night in the city. Sue has been informed she must wear the ‘Bride-to-be’ sash and L-plate stickers and a small fake veil all the way on the train.
Of course, we get some smiles and raised eyebrows. But once we settle into our seats, we chat easily and relax into the journey. A couple of us have a snooze, me included, and before too long we are pulling into the station in Edinburgh.
Two taxis later and we pull up in front of a large Victorian house near the racecourse. It is lovely, with high ceilings and original shuttered windows.
We dump our bags in the living room and, after reapplying our lipstick, we head out to the local pub which is a stone’s throw away at the end of the road. It is a cosy pub which is not too busy, and we manage to grab a table in the far corner. After a couple of drinks, we decide to head back to unpack and head to bed.
The sleeping arrangements are made up of two double beds, two reasonably comfy sofas, and a couple of smaller inflatable mattresses located in the living room. Thankfully the owner of the house has been incredibly kind and has inflated the beds for us. I manage to bag one of the sofas as I am short, and I change into my mini shorts and T-shirt and pull a blanket over me and quickly drift off. I think this weekend is going to be fun.
The next morning the sun is not shining, and for once I am happy because there is enough light shining through the open shutters to give me a photosensitive headache. I can hear noises in the kitchen next door and drag myself upright and stare down at the two bodies lying unmoving on the floor.
Wrapping the blanket around me, I shuffle off to have a wee and then find the girls in the kitchen drinking coffee. I stifle a yawn, grab some coffee and a piece of toast off Kat’s plate and sit down, with the blanket in tow, on the stool at the kitchen island.
“Nice place,” I offer.
“Yeah,” Sue confirms, “my friend at work moved up here when his grandfather left him some money and this house; he managed to get a transfer with work and because he had grown up here, he felt he really wanted to move and give it a go, felt he owed his granddad or something,” she shrugs.
“Makes sense,” I shrug back, not sure what else to say.
“So, you up for shopping today?” Kat asks as she pushes the lever down on the toaster, replacing the toast I nicked from her plate.
“I guess,” I shrug in an underwhelmed way.
“She doesn’t like shopping,” Kat offers to Sue, by way of explanation.
“Oh Mel, you will love it up here – some different shops and a great centre; just you wait, I will convert you,” Sue affirms.
“I very much doubt it,” Kat replies and then burns her finger on the toast as she’s trying to pull it out of the toaster too soon.
“Ha, god’s way!” I offer a sly smile to Kat, and she replies by sticking her tongue out.
Within the hour we are all awake, and an hour later we are all dressed and heading out of the door.
It has brightened up a bit, and the sun is trying to make an appearance as we hail a couple of cabs. We could easily walk into town, but we are ‘saving’ our legs for tonight, which can mean only two things: walking and dancing.
For July in Scotland, it is reasonably warm, although cooler than Manchester on account of it being 200 miles north. The taxis pull up in the city centre and spews us out onto the busy pavement outside many well-known shops.
We stay together,
going from shop to shop, giving words of encouragement and support as we go, and I must admit I am enjoying this time with the girls. Before too long, I have picked up a little black dress and am trying to judge it on the hanger, when Sophie appears next to me.
“You should try that on; the neckline would suit you down to the ground,” she says.
“I don’t know. Do you not think it’s a bit low?” I am not convinced.
“Just try it on,” she insists.
Sue appears on the other side of me, and I am officially cornered.
I head to the changing rooms, and I try it on, checking myself in the full-length mirror in front of me. It looks nice, not too low-cut at all, and even though it has a Bardot neckline I know I could get away with it on or off the shoulder. In a moment of impulsivity, I decide to buy it. I change back into my jeans, and as I exit the cubicle, I have an audience.
“Well?” they demand.
“I’m going to get it,” I confirm.
“Why didn’t we get to see it?” Kat sulks.
“I’m going to surprise you all tonight,” I explain.
I strut off to pay, feeling very much in my element with my new-found confidence.
I buy a choker, a couple of bracelets and a new lipstick. Some of the girls buy accessories and a couple of new items of clothing, and we have a quick pit stop for a light lunch and then head back out to the shops. A few hours later we are back in the cabs and heading to the house.
I sit down on the couch in the same place where I slept last night and close my eyes. Forty winks are in order.
I am aware of voices around me, but I don’t pay much attention, and I doze in a semi-awake/sleep until Kate nudges me. I open one eye and look at the window; it’s still bright out, and I’m not sure of the time.
“Wake up, sleepyhead. Here,” Kate holds out a coffee.
I take it tentatively from her, careful to hold it around the top edge.
“Thanks, Kat, you’re the best,” I smile at her. “What time is it?” I nod my head to the window.
“It’s eight, but don’t forget it stays lighter for longer up here.”