In fact, she told everyone. I would have told her the police only wanted a statement. I hadn’t been under arrest. Not dragged off in cuffs. DI Hampton had been sweet to me. Suppose though it’s part of his job.
‘If you hadn’t got the gun and shot him, he would have killed us both, no doubt about that.’ She went on sitting opposite me and crossing her arms as if anybody would dare contradict her. I nodded with a mouthful of fish. Until then, I hadn’t realised how hungry I was. I warmed to Mrs Brown, now insisting I called her Janet.
‘And I would be happy for you to call me Kim, as I don’t like Kimberly.’
‘Okay, but Kimberly is such a lovely name. A beautiful name for a beautiful girl.’
I was definitely warming to her. Looking at her, her round face with its wrinkles was kind. The lines caused by laughter, and I thought now she was younger than dad. Her hair silver bobbed around her face. Catching me checking her out, she put a hand to her grey locks, all embarrassed.
‘Bit untidy,’ she blushed.
‘If you like, I can give your hair a trim and a bit of shaping.’
‘Would you do that for me?’
I didn’t mind admitting I felt ashamed of the way I had treated her. I nodded.
‘Tomorrow, if it suits you. I have my tools… Oh, that’s if I can get them from the house.’
She winked at me. ‘We could sneak in through the back.’
‘Why, Mrs Brown!’ I fake shock, and she laughed.
When dad finally came back from the pub, I wanted to escape to a bedroom, but I took a long bath instead since my bedroom was the sofa. Mrs Brown told me she had put dad in the spare room to spare my blushes if he shared with her. I had assumed he would. It amused me as the image of Mrs Brown sitting on my dad bouncing up and down flashed in my memory, but I appreciated the thought.
‘What?’
‘Nothing,’ I murmured, as dad caught me staring at him. I was thinking about how comfortable he looked in the armchair with Mrs Brown fussing over him. How long had this thing between them been going on? And he was kind of taking her for granted. A little outraged for our neighbour, I decided to have a word with him at some point. Tell him a bunch of flowers, a box of chocolates wouldn’t go amiss for her.
It was another two days before we got back into our own home. To my surprise, the police had cleaned the kitchen or whoever they hire it out to. It was like nothing had ever happened in there. And the people that had gathered outside didn’t come back. It was old news. Much more interesting stuff was going on. The local mayor had been caught in a hotel room at the taxpayers’ expense with two prostitutes.
I tried going back to work, but I seemed to have lost my mojo.
I looked at a client waiting for my services, then to Flossy, jerking my head for her to take over. Emma was studying me in alarm. I was waiting for a bollocking.
I pre-empted. ‘I can’t do this anymore. My heart isn’t in it. This is so unimportant in the scheme of things,’ I said, snatching up my bag. I had no idea what I would do, and to be honest, at that moment, I didn’t care.
Emma took me by the hand. Taking the bag from me, she tossed it over the counter, leaving me speechless, relieved my phone was on me.
‘You’re coming with me,’ she said, pulling me out of the door into the high street. ‘I have a cure for you,’ she continued, dragging me past the shops. I was intrigued. Was she taking me to get acupuncture by the Chinese lady at number 52? The thought of needles being stuck in me sent a shudder down my spine. Or was I being frog-marched into the aromatherapy shop at number 98? It was neither; we stopped at a bench in the middle of the pedestrian precinct. Then placing her hands on my shoulders, she sat me down.
I looked at her, and she held up a finger.
‘You sit here and take a good look around you and, in particular, watch the women.’ Her eyes surveyed around the area before pointing to a harassed-looking lady in her twenties, struggling with a child in a pushchair, several bags of shopping hanging from the bars.
‘What do you see?’
‘A woman with a child?’ It confused me, wishing I could just go home and sulk.
‘Look deeper, what’s she wearing?’
‘Jeans?’
‘How much do you think they cost?’
I shrugged. Why would I care?
‘Fifty to a hundred pounds and doesn’t spend anything on her hair?’
The girl had passed us. My eyes followed her. Her hair was long, reaching the middle of her back, dark with silver streaks. It looked out of condition and in desperate need of a trim.
‘And what about this lady wandering this way with a stick?’
Again, I studied as the lady. Guessing in her sixties, had her hair yanked back with clips. Next, Emma pointed at two girls window shopping. I shuddered. Both heads needed a good seeing too. One girl’s hair was tied back in a kind of ponytail; the hair stuck out like a brush, ready to dip into a tin of emulsion to paint a wall. The other was blonde with the dark roots creeping down, an attempt at beading the front not done professionally. A lethal weapon if she twisted her head.
‘You sit here, then come back to work knowing we need your skills. You are, in your own way, a missionary. No, don’t laugh; it’s true. You make women feel good about themselves, hair and nails.’ Then with a big smile, she moved off, leaving me sitting there.
I hadn’t thought of it like that. I pulled my phone out from my jeans’ pocket to check my blog as a thought occurred to me. My worst fears confirmed. Paula had written two of the blogs. One stating a clean face showed the world who you really were. Women didn’t need to cover their face in ‘Crap.’ I was shocked. What was she thinking? I needed to get back on track. Emma was right; they required my skills. There were women out there wanting to feel beautiful, needed the skill set I possessed. I walked back into the salon glancing at two clients waiting. My chest tightened, but I needed to get on with it despite the look of disappointment on Flossy’s face. Maybe I would let her have Alice. She had little hair to mess up. I was ready and willing to get back into the saddle, as dad would say.
‘Hello Kelly, it’s nice to see you again. Please come over and be seated,’ I smiled at the first woman. Her hair was a mess.
***
One week later…
The one person I wanted to thank, who I liked to believe had helped me with his kind words and sincere eyes, was DI Handsome. I met him outside the station, having taken me a while to convince the desk sergeant to call him, but I succeeded with my pleading eyes. I was getting my confidence back. I had put on my Stella McCartney jeans, didn’t want to be too showy. And I was back at work full-time, Emma offering me a partnership in the business, not sure where she thought I would get the money from but was thinking about it.
I had allowed my hair to go back to its natural blonde. I looked good waiting outside the police station. I watched as the detective paused behind the glass door to survey me at a safe distance. Me giving him a wave so that he knew I’d seen him. Poor love looked confused, and I wondered if this was a good idea after all. Would it lead to my humiliation?
‘Hello, Miss West, and how can I help you?’ he asked as he walked with long strides towards me.
‘I just wanted to thank you in person.’ I gave him a view of my whiter than white teeth.
‘For what?’
‘For being kind.’
He grinned. ‘It’s my job. I’m glad to see you looking well.’
I was going weak at the knees. The smell of his cologne wafted around like a lasso, drawing me closer to him. He stepped back.
‘You are quite famous, I hear now. Is it true they have asked you to take part in next year’s I’m a celebrity?’
‘Exaggerated.I’ve gone veggie, so bugs would be off the menu.’ Not that it would have stopped me if they asked.
‘If that’s all?’ he went to leave.
‘Are you married?’ I blurted out, feeling the heat rising from my neck to my face. He stopped, turned, and looked at me,
shocked.
‘No.’
‘A significant other?’ My heart spiked, making my voice squeaky.
‘No,’ he answered like he was under pressure.
I grinned. ‘Then can I ask you out for a coffee sometime?’ Thump, thump in my chest, knowing my face could light up a dark room.
I watched him consider. I think I had stopped breathing. The old me would never consider asking a man out, not my style. The way I saw it, he could only say no.
‘Sometimes, yeah, can do that.’
‘Tonight, at seven?’ I shot at him. He thought he’d got off lightly. He didn’t know me.
‘Coffee at seven?’
‘Could be eight. Doesn’t everyone drink coffee after dinner?’
He laughed out loud, and I was not sure that was a good sign, but I crossed my fingers, my toes, and everything. I’d never asked a boy or a man out, always the other way around. But lying awake at night thinking of this guy was driving me nuts, and I needed to know if I stood a chance.
‘Okay, Miss West, dinner at seven. Should I pick you up?’
‘Yes, James, you can.’ I had looked him up and found his first name.
With a smile on his lips, he turned back to the station while I punched the air, then aware he had watched through the glass door. A bit late to be all dignified, I gave a little wave.
Back home, I felt I was walking on air, bouncing along all but bursting into song like one of those old musicals my dad likes to watch.
Opening the door to the house, I was greeted by Mrs Brown in the kitchen with dad, and a dog, being petted and fed treats. I wandered in bemused.
‘I thought since the thing with the awful man, a guard dog would make you feel more secure,’ said Mrs Brown. Dad lifted his eyes to me. I think he was just along for the ride.
‘Got him from an animal shelter,’ beamed our neighbour, pleased with herself.
The dog, a Rottweiler, eyed me and growled through its teeth. I stepped back. No way was I touching the thing.
‘Now, Maggie, you stop that.’
‘Maggie?’ I swallowed.
‘Yes, it’s her name, left abandoned in a house. Isn’t she beautiful? She’ll be company for both of you.’
The following day I moved in with Alex.
End
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