“Sorry?”
“Swimming with the dolphins. I was saying we never got round to making a time to go. I’d like to get to know you a little better.” Pausing for a moment, a dimple appeared on his left cheek as the corner of his mouth lifted in a smile. “So tell me, when am I going to hear about your history, Ms Loughton?”
She tittered nervously. “Oh, nothing to tell. I’m an open book.” She could tell he knew that wasn’t entirely true, by the way his eyes—which looked decidedly grey today against his light-blue work shirt—bore into hers.
A sudden loud honking made them both jump. “I don’t believe it,” Rebecca muttered through clenched teeth. Jack had plonked himself in the front seat of the Land Cruiser and was cheerfully hitting the horn. “Has nobody ever taught that kid that patience is a virtue!”
David laughed. “I love the way you do that.”
“What, screech like a banshee?”
“No, speak in clichés all the time. It is charming.”
As the horn parped again, she turned away and stomped across the car park before he could see her blush.
A moment later, David pulled up alongside them as she slammed the back door shut on Jack’s protests. Leaning out the window, he said, “I got hold of my mate, Steve, after I saw you this morning. He’s running a tour on Friday morning. The boat leaves the jetty at ten o’clock.”
She pasted what she hoped was an excited grin on her face. “Great! I’m looking forward to it.”
“Yeah, me too.” He gestured over his shoulder with his thumb. “Gotta run or the karate kid here will be late for his lesson.”
Rebecca glanced over at Ben and was surprised to see him looking steadfastly ahead; her gaze flickered over to the back seat of her wagon to Jack. He, too, was seemingly absorbed in studying the fabric of the seat in front of him. That was weird; maybe they’d had a fight? She made a mental note to ask Jack about it on the way home. Peering in closer, she saw that the little sod hadn’t done his seatbelt up either. Sighing, she opened the door; with the mood Jack was in, she’d be better to do it herself.
As she leaned across to make sure her sulking nephew was clicked in, a blast of warm air ripped through the car park. How bizarre; a nor’-wester in the middle of winter, Rebecca thought as she experienced an aerated sensation. Remembering she’d left her tights off in anticipation of her waxing appointment, she instinctively straightened up to pull her skirt down, when a sharp thud resounded as she smacked her head on the car roof.
“Shit!” she yelped, simultaneously clutching her skirt and her head when she spotted David’s Jeep. It was sitting, indicator blinking, waiting to turn out onto the road.
“Didn’t see a thing!” he shouted, leaning out the window. “Blue’s your colour, by the way.” With a wink and a smirk, he turned right and disappeared off down the road.
She didn’t know about blue being her colour—more like flaming red! Kicking Jack’s door shut, she got behind the wheel and revved the engine like an ageing boy racer. For once in his short little life, Jack had the sense not to speak to her on the hairy ride home.
An irritatingly peppy little tune she recognised from Hannah’s Hi-5 DVD welcomed them when they got home; it was a sound that did not befit her current mood. Striding into the lounge a moment later, it became apparent that Melissa had relaxed her no dancing with preschoolers policy and that Hannah had gotten her second wind. Pushing past them into the kitchen, she fished out a couple of biscuits and poured a glass of milk. Not that Jack deserved afternoon tea, she thought darkly, blaming him for the car park debacle.
Seeing his auntie’s grim expression, Jack silently reached up to the bench. He decided not to ask if there was any chance of chocolate biscuits instead of those horrible plain ones she’d just put on his plate, before running upstairs with his stash.
“This is great exercise, Rebecca. My pedometer says I’ve already burnt off two hundred seventy calories.” Melissa held out her wrist to show her the evidence. She couldn’t resist adding, “You want to try it sometime.”
Refusing to be riled any further that afternoon, Rebecca instead asked for directions to the salon Melissa had booked for her. In short, breathy bursts, she puffed out the straightforward instructions.
As Rebecca headed out the door, Melissa was far too busy doing a particularly high leg kick—while Hannah looked on in wonderment—to notice her friend’s departure. So, banging the door shut behind her, Rebecca left them all to it.
On Rue Lavaud, Rebecca found the hairdressing salon by the café where they’d bumped into Jeremy Thompson the other day. Pulling into a parking spot in one tidy manoeuvre, she locked the door behind her and gazed at the building where she was about to be beautified.
With slightly flaking paint, what once had been a home was now a business. Though, the building had seen better days. Somehow it carried the image off, still managing to retain its colonial charm. A folk art styled sign proclaiming the shop’s name Hair for You was swinging on that dastardly nor’-wester, emitting little squeaks as it rocked back and forth on rusty hinges. Rebecca hoped it wasn’t a sign of things to come as she pushed open the salon door.
A bell jangled somewhere out the back, and her eyes flitted around, registering that there were no other customers or, for that matter, stylists in the salon. A dual set of washbasins at the far end of the room sat poised for action, as did the two black swivel chairs facing the wall mirrors. She noted, glancing over at herself, that they could do with a bit of a spit and polish. Behind the deserted front counter, an oversized poster of a model with a cherry-red bob and matching pout peering out from behind a peek-a-boo fringe had been blu-tacked onto the wall. Probably to hide the fact the place desperately needed a paint job. No wonder business wasn’t exactly what you’d call brisk.
A rustling noise from the back of the shop distracted her. So there was someone else here then. Looking towards its source, she spied a woman emerging from behind the beaded curtain separating the shop from what she assumed were private quarters. Looking at the woman, the word “resplendent” sprang to mind. A resplendent vision in tie-dye. Never mind that the pale two-toned lavender pinafore clashed something terrible with the halo of red frizz sitting on top of the woman’s head; that she had a presence, there could be no doubt. A waft of smoke followed behind her, snaking its way out from whatever lay behind the curtain. As it drifted in Rebecca’s direction, her nostrils flared suspiciously. Oh yes, whatever was smouldering in the ashtray out the back there would give old Rollo the airport beagle something to get his rocks off over.
Suddenly, she became aware that she was staring. With a forced blink and smile, she at last managed to speak. “Hi. I was looking for Beauty for You. I’ve got an appointment at four o’clock.”
“Are you Rebecca?” The woman’s voice was low and husky, and as her heavily made-up eyes swept over her, they paused momentarily on her nether regions, causing Rebecca to flush as she answered, “Yes.” It had been unnecessary for Melissa to be so over-the-top on the telephone because the woman wasn’t run off her feet. She did, however, look sympathetic to her cause.
“Well, it’s nice to put a name to the face, Rebecca. Melissa told me all about you and,” she tapped the side of her nose, “shall we just say, your little problem.” She took a step closer, and Rebecca inadvertently stepped backwards, nearly stumbling over a broom.
She didn’t appear to notice, grinning widely and reminding Rebecca of Ronald McDonald. “I’m Marina. As you can see, I run a bit of a double act, doing hair down here,” she laughed and pointed up at the ceiling, “and as you know, hair up there or down there, as the case may be.”
Ha-ha, bloody ha. Rebecca cringed; this was far worse than she had imagined, and they hadn’t even got to the waxing bit.
A feeling of trepidation stole over her as Marina turned on a fleshy, veined ankle and walked heavily back towards where she’d come from. Holding the beaded curtain to one side, she whispered a bit too theatrically for Rebecca
’s liking, “Follow me.”
So this was what it must have felt like to enter Doctor Who’s Tardis. Half expecting to find a group of hippies lying around on old mattresses as they passed a bong around and discussed the meaning of life, she was surprised to find instead a small but tidy kitchen. An ashtray sat smouldering on the bench and Marina, following her gaze, winked at her. “It’s purely for medicinal purposes. Stress.” She waved her hand. “You know what it’s like. Today’s busy world and all that.”
Rebecca, who was beginning to feel very stressed herself, nodded her head sympathetically and followed Marina up the squeaking, narrow staircase that was hidden away at the back of the alcove like an afterthought. Beauty for You operated out of two tiny rooms. As Marina disappeared off into one, she called out, “Have a seat, love; I’ll be with you in a jiffy.”
Rebecca looked around the nook and found herself standing alone. At least it was sunny. An old-fashioned sash window permitted the late afternoon sun entrance in slivers of light. Beneath the window was an overstuffed armchair. Foam was beginning to ooze out from one of its faded floral arms, and next to it a pile of magazines spilled out from their cane rack. The overall effect was unexpectedly inviting.
Near the door through which Marina had disappeared was a U-shaped white counter. The clinical look of the stainless-steel wall-unit standing to attention behind it looked oddly out of sorts with the rest of the room. On closer inspection, Rebecca saw that the unit’s shelves housed row upon row of expensive-looking, shiny white boxes. Picking one up randomly, she turned it over in her palm to read about the miracle properties it no doubt contained within, but realising that the writing was all in French, she gave up.
The price sticker, however, was in English and Rebecca gleaned comfort from it. Surely Marina’s setup here couldn’t be that Mickey Mouse if she sold pricey French things? Plonking herself down on the armchair, she picked up a Woman’s Weekly featuring Princess Diana and her latest scandal. It was practically vintage. It was strange to see a headline enticing you to read all about the princess when you knew what lay in store. She was pondering Diana’s unhappy ending when the door opened, and Marina beckoned for her to come through. Closing the magazine reluctantly, Rebecca hauled herself up out of the depths of the chair.
Although she would have thought it near impossible, the other room’s proportions were even smaller than its counterpart. White and windowless, she couldn’t help but think of a cell. Hang on, though, she thought; no windows was probably a good thing, seeing as she was getting her bikini line done. The fewer spectators at that event, the better. In the centre of the room and adding to the whole Bad Girls / Prisoner feel of it was a narrow bed with a white cotton sheet draped over it. A neatly folded white towel was placed at the bottom of the bed like an upside-down pillow and squeezed between the wall and the bed was a trolley housing all sorts of gooey-looking pots. It all looked quite professional, she concluded, beginning to feel marginally more confident about what was about to transpire.
“Ready, love?”
“As I’ll ever be.” There was a stinging sensation as the hot wax hit Rebecca’s tender skin, and then, “AAAAAGH!”
“No kids then?” Marina stated rather than asked.
Twenty minutes later, Rebecca stole a glance downwards. “Um, Marina, I don’t usually go that wide.”
Marina looked at her blankly, a blob of wax landing on the top of Rebecca’s thigh as she paused.
“What do you mean you don’t normally go that wide? You’re booked in for a Brazilian, love.”
“Sorry, a what?”
“A Brazilian. You know, it’s the latest craze; does wonders for the libido—both his and hers.”
She winked and Rebecca blathered, “I know what a Brazilian is. I just never planned on having one.”
“That’s not what your friend Melissa said when she made the appointment.”
She couldn’t argue with that. Bloody Melissa! She’d kill her, and no court in the land would uphold a conviction after hearing what had driven her to it.
Marina was looking a bit worried now. “Do you want me to carry on? Might look a bit funny if we don’t.”
Rebecca gazed dolefully at the remains of what had never been her crowning glory and mulled over her limited choices. She could attempt a comb-over like her dad, or worse, look like something out of the film The Last of the Mohicans.
She nodded, giving Marina the silent go-ahead, and then shut her eyes until at last, her ordeal was over.
“There you go, love; it’s all done. That wasn’t so bad, was it?”
Stupid, stupid question, you stupid woman, Rebecca thought, not bothering to answer it. Opening one eye, she leaned up on her elbows and peered down, instantly recoiling in shock.
“Hope you haven’t got a hot one planned tonight, love!” Marina chuckled, and then seeing her panicked expression soothed, “Look, don’t worry, love. The spots will have gone down by tomorrow and then he won’t be able to keep his hands off you. Might pay to leave the spray tan for today, though.”
Rebecca, not only virtually pubic hairless, was also rendered speechless by Marina and her not-so-comforting words of wisdom. Sensing now might be a good time to leave the room, she left Rebecca to get dressed.
Sitting up, she eased her legs over the side of the bed gingerly. It took her an age to slide into her clothes, but at last fully dressed, she ambled into reception like a cowboy heading for a showdown. Marina was standing behind the counter with her hand already hovering mid-air in anticipation of ringing up the bill.
“REBECCA!”
Oh crap, she thought, turning around and seeing Ciaran jog towards her, looking casually rumpled in his faded jeans and hoodie as she closed the salon door behind her. She didn’t want to see anyone and especially not him. It wasn’t just because seeing him in the early evening light on Rue Lavaud instead of their normal Dublin office setting was bizarre. It was also because it was paramount that she get home and dab calamine lotion where the sun didn’t shine.
“Hey, fancy meeting you here.” He reached her and kept stride as she headed for her car.
“Yes, fancy.” Considering the population of Akaroa was roughly 630, it wasn’t exactly a staggering coincidence—just a badly timed one.
“Are you okay, Rebecca? You are walking kind of funny.”
She paused and softened, seeing the genuine concern on his face. “Um, yeah, not used to these heels, that’s all.” A little white lie but she could hardly tell him the truth.
“Oh right, well, you look lovely.” He gave her the once-over, and she winced, thinking if only he knew.
“Thanks.” They looked at each other and for a moment Rebecca was aware of nothing but the gentle lapping of the nearby water and the nearness of Ciaran. She forced herself to break away from his gaze, annoyed with the way her stomach automatically somersaulted every time she laid eyes on him.
“Where have you been?” he asked, glancing over at the salon.
“Er, just to get a little trim.” She fluffed up her hair. This time it was a definite half-truth. She was relieved to see that they’d reached her car, and she fished around in her bag for the keys. “What have you been up to?”
“A bit of exploring. It’s a beautiful place, although I’d much rather you were showing me the sights.”
If only he knew the sight she could show him! “I, uh...” She shifted from foot to foot. This was awkward and at seeing him, she couldn’t help but feel guilt about her impending day out with David. It was like she was two-timing him but then she reminded herself that she didn’t owe him anything. “I’ll, uh, I’ll be in touch.” She just wanted to get away because she was not going to be swayed by the hurt and puzzled look in those brown eyes of his.
Chapter Twenty-Four
“MELISSA! I WANT A WORD.” Rebecca kicked the front door shut behind her. Barging her way into the living room, she found Jack curled up in the armchair. A bowl of what she presumed to be dinner was balanced
on his lap, and he was watching the TV. Though, goodness knows how he was managing to do so, as Hannah and Melissa were absorbed in what looked to be some boisterous game. Hannah was sitting on the couch, shouting out animal names while Melissa cantered around the room, braying, “No! Try again.”
Rebecca’s expression was not one of amusement as she asked, “What on earth are you doing?” Her hand flew up for silence. “No, on second thought, don’t answer that because I don’t want to know. Outside—now.”
Melissa stopped cantering. “Anything you’ve got to say to me you can say in front of Jack and Hannah. Right, kids?” Hannah, her new BFF, nodded while Jack didn’t even bother looking up from the TV. “Besides, me and Hannah are busy. We’re playing animal charades. I made it up, and it is such a cool game! Do you want to join in? We’ve already had pigs, cows, and what was the other one, Hannah?”
“Sheep!”
“And who’s winning?”
“You are, Lissa!”
Rebecca’s face contorted. “Hardly surprising when your competitor’s aged three and a half, which is precisely why I cannot say what I need to say in front of her.” She clicked her fingers and pointed to the back porch. “Outside NOW!”
Recognising her friend’s expression as one not to be trifled with, Melissa did as she was told. “I’ll be back in a minute, Hannah. Why don’t you pretend you’re a hen while I’m gone?”
She obligingly hopped off the couch and began flapping her arms, simultaneously making an awful screeching noise.
Rebecca stood in the kitchen with the back door wide open, waiting.
“Bit cold now the sun’s gone in to go outside, isn’t it?” Melissa shivered as she hovered nervously around the kitchen entrance. “Can’t we just sit down somewhere nice and warm and talk about whatever it is that has upset you like rational adults?”
“I would dearly love to sit down, Melissa. Believe you me, I really, really would. Thanks to you and your little beautician’s appointment, I probably won’t be able to sit down for the rest of the week. So, considering what I have been through this afternoon, a moment of your time outside is not much to ask.”
Michelle Vernal Box Set Page 80
