by A. E. Radley
Senior stylist? she wondered. Was that Hannah? She had no idea, and she was too nervous to ask. She didn’t want it to be obvious that this was her way of seeing more of Hannah.
“That sounds wonderful,” she said.
“Four-fifteen?” he asked.
“Perfect.”
“You know where we are? On the high street, next to the trendy café. It’s the only one in town!” He chuckled and she played along.
“I know the one you mean. I’ll see you this afternoon.”
She tossed the phone onto some papers on her desk and twisted her neck from side to side to release the nervous pressure. It had been a long time since she’d dated, even longer since she had been genuinely interested in someone. Hannah sparked something in her that she didn’t understand, including a drive to make their paths casually cross in order to spend some more time in her company.
It was a childish impulse, something that should probably be left to the form room, but she couldn’t help the way she felt.
A rap on the door had her jumping out of her skin. Hardaker walked in.
“And how are we today, Miss Spencer?” he asked. He walked around the room, examining her terrible paint job. She felt the pull to defend the quality of her workmanship by pointing out the terrible conditions of the walls underneath. How could she paint brickwork which was so starved for moisture that she could see it being pulled from the brush to deep within the crevices?
“Well, thank you, headmaster. And yourself?”
“Good, good.” He turned to face her. “You’ll be pleased to know that the electrician will be working on our power issues this afternoon.”
He had a knack of making it sound like she, and she alone, would be relieved to see the building being maintained. It was as if he thought everyone else was perfectly happy with the crumbling infrastructure.
“That is good news,” she played along.
“It does mean that the power will be off this afternoon,” he continued. “So, I’m afraid your painting—”
“That’s fine, I’m heading off early this afternoon,” she said.
“Wonderful. I’d best be off.” He headed for the door, presumably for his lunchtime nap, as the other teachers referred to it.
“Before you go, headmaster.” She stood up. “I have a gifted child in my class, Rosie Hall.”
She could tell the name registered with him by the small smirk that graced his face.
“I see,” he said but didn’t continue. She’d hoped that he would pick up the thread of the conversation and tell her the best way to proceed, but that looked unlikely.
“She’s very advanced for her age,” she tried again.
“Good, good. I’ll let you use your own discretion on this one. Keep up the good work.” He was out of the door before she had another chance to speak.
She flopped back into her chair. It was obvious that she was on her own with this one, too.
She had hoped that the headmaster’s usual lack of enthusiasm would be pushed to one side at the possibility of a genuine genius in their midst, but Hardaker was clearly more useless than she had first thought.
If Rosie was going to have any chance of a proper education, it was down to her.
19 THE MATCHMAKER
Hannah was relieved to get out of the bank. She had no idea why every retired older person in Fairlight simply had to use the bank at lunchtime, the only time she could go. Every time she went, she was confronted by a sea of silvery heads. They all insisted on having long chats with the cashiers about absolutely nothing.
Luckily, Adrian wasn’t a strict boss. In fact, he was massively unprofessional most of the time. He’d spent most of the morning teasing her about her date which she actually didn’t mind, because the banter was helping the day go by a little quicker.
She was wondering whether to drop Miss Spencer a text message, maybe arrange another date. Or was it too soon?
It had been so long since she’d been interested in someone that she’d forgotten all of the rules. How soon was too soon? Was it up to her to text? Or did she wait to be sent a message? Would she come across as too keen if she went first? Uninterested if she waited?
No wonder I avoided this for so long. It’s exhausting, she thought to herself.
She entered the salon only to be confronted with Adrian’s enormous grin.
“What now?” she asked.
He pretended to arrange things at the reception counter. “Oh, nothing. Just, you know, I know Miss Spencer’s name.”
“What? How?” She advanced on him, and he took a few steps back.
“She called. She’s coming in this afternoon. You’re cutting her hair,” he said before taking off at a run towards the staff room.
“What?! I’ll murder you!” She chased him into the back room. “What’s her name?”
“Not telling.” He raced around, eager to put the table between them.
“Tell me,” she demanded, changing direction quickly and almost catching him.
“No. I’ll take it to the grave.”
“Which will be in about five seconds if you don’t tell me,” Hannah threatened.
The bell above the shop door rang. They stopped where they were and stared at each other over the table top.
“Temporary truce?” he offered in a breathless voice.
“As long as there are customers in the salon,” she told him.
He edged around the table and into the shop to greet his client. Hannah followed him and approached the reception desk to look at the appointment book. She ran her finger down the page and let out a sigh as she saw MISS Spencer written in Adrian’s messy scrawl.
She glared at him and mouthed, ‘You’re dead,’ as he helped Mr Smithfield with his coat. She then went into the staff room to eat her lunch and conduct a thorough online search of all Miss Spencers who had ever taught in Manchester.
* * *
Adrian was good at keeping his promises. Firstly, he had managed to round up a lot of new appointments that kept Hannah busy all afternoon. Secondly, he refused to spill the beans about Miss Spencer’s name.
Hannah wanted to hurt him, but he’d offered to pick Rosie up from school so she could spend a little more time with the ever-fussy Mrs Lucas, so she’d decided to give him a temporary reprieve.
The salon had stayed quite busy, and so she hadn’t had the opportunity to get him in a headlock and demand the information she so desperately needed. Lucky for him.
She had ten minutes before Miss Spencer turned up and rushed into the staff room to give Rosie a kiss and ask her how her day was.
“It was great,” Rosie enthused. “Miss Spencer gave me different work to everyone else, but we didn’t tell them. It was fun.”
Hannah smiled. “That’s great, pumpkin. Say, do you know Miss Spencer’s name?”
“Miss Spencer,” Rosie replied, looking at her mother as if she were insane.
“I mean her first name, or the initial. Is it written down somewhere?” Hannah fished.
Rosie shrugged. “I don’t think so. I haven’t looked.”
Hannah couldn’t blame her. She was too young to have developed the curiosity about teachers that most students had.
She had a mental image of marrying the woman and the officiant asking if Hannah Hall took Miss Spencer to be her lawfully wedded wife. She shook her head. She’d have to ask. It would be mortifying, but she had to… and soon.
“Your four-fifteen is here,” Adrian said as he walked into the staff room. “She’s early—must be keen.”
Hannah stared daggers at Adrian as she left the room. The second she was across the threshold she plastered a wide smile on her face. “Hey, good to see you.”
Miss Spencer looked up from the framed style shot she was studying on the wall. Hannah felt her mouth go dry. The woman really was gorgeous and, for reasons she couldn’t understand, interested in her.
“Shall I take your coat?” Hannah offered.
“Oh, yes, th
ank you.” Miss Spencer turned around and started to shuck her coat off. Hannah held onto the collar and gently slid it down her shoulders. It was a gesture she performed multiple times a week, but this time felt different. The salon suddenly felt ridiculously warm.
Get it together, she told herself.
“Please, take a seat.” She gestured to a black, quilted salon chair and hung up Miss Spencer’s coat in the closet. She used the opportunity to take a couple of calming breaths.
When she got back, she stood behind the teacher and made eye contact with her in the mirror. “So, what are we doing?” Hannah asked. “I—I mean, with your hair?”
She was relieved to see the lightest blush on Miss Spencer’s cheeks as well.
“Just a trim, it’s getting a little untidy.”
Hannah looked at the dark brown hair that grazed the woman’s shoulders. She shook herself out of her stupor, realising that she would obviously have to touch the hair if she were to wash and cut it.
She ran her fingers through the back, feeling out the previous style and the thickness of the hair. She quickly got lost in the feel and started to run her fingers across Miss Spencer’s scalp, sweeping the hair from front to back to see how it fell.
“Feathering here?” She gestured to some unruly strands. “And take some of the weight out of the top?”
“Yes, exactly. Not too—”
“Not too much off the fringe. You like to tuck it behind your ears?” Hannah guessed.
“Exactly.”
“Great. Let’s get you shampooed.” Hannah stood back and retrieved a gown from the closet. She held it up and Miss Spencer slipped her arms in. Hannah reached around and pulled the material closed in the front, tying the gown with a loose knot.
It was obvious that her attraction was out of control. Every innocent movement felt somehow more sensual.
If I get through this haircut, it will be a miracle, she decided.
She gestured for Miss Spencer to walk through to the next room where two luxurious leather seats leant back into basins. Again, she gestured for the woman to sit down. She plucked a towel from the pile and wrapped it around her shoulders, tucking it into the collar of the gown and her blouse.
She placed a hand on her shoulder, gently encouraging her to lean backwards and put her head into the U-shape of the basin.
She turned on the water and placed her hand over the end of the shower attachment, waiting for the water to heat up. This was usually the point where she started making small talk with her client, but nothing was coming to mind. The only thing she could think of was her desperate need to know her name, and she had no plan on the best way to ask.
“How was school? Work? Well, both?” Hannah winced, thankful that Miss Spencer couldn’t see her face.
“It was good. Cold, but good.”
Hannah chuckled. “Hardaker still not paying for the heating to be switched on until the bitter end?”
“He claims it’s on. Supposedly, there’s an electrical fault which must be true as the lights won’t stop flickering, but I’m not entirely convinced it’s the reason for the heating being faulty.”
Hannah turned the shower head towards Miss Spencer’s hair and started to run water through her thick, dark locks.
“Is the temperature okay?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“The heating never really started working until January when I was at Willows,” Hannah explained.
“I suspected as much. The whole school is falling apart, and the headmaster doesn’t seem to care, or notice. I can’t decide if he’s ignorant as to how bad it is or if he is fully aware and doesn’t let it worry him.”
Hannah applied some shampoo to her hands and massaged it into Miss Spencer’s scalp. “He’s been doing the job for a million years, so it could be either,” she admitted. “I’m probably not the best person to judge. I never liked him, and he never liked me.”
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be complaining about work. It’s not very professional of me.”
“Whatever you say here will remain here. It’s the hairdresser’s code of honour,” Hannah promised as she rinsed the shampoo out.
“Ah, is this a little like seeing a therapist?”
“You’ll have to tell me. I think that if you work at Willows a few more months, you’ll probably need one.”
She applied the conditioner and suddenly remembered the mandatory scalp massage that she had insisted they include for every client. Her heart thudded against her ribcage.
In a split second she wondered if she should skip it. But then what if Miss Spencer spoke to someone else and realised that Chopz always gave a scalp massage? She sucked in a quick breath, plunged her spread fingers into the thick hair, and started to gently knead.
It was an act she’d performed thousands of times, but this was the very first time it had ever felt erotic. Usually she thought of it as a little extra service that they provided to emulate the big chains. This time she wanted Miss Spencer to enjoy it and feel the pleasure that a good scalp massage could provide.
She kneaded and massaged, slowly increasing the pressure.
A moan of pleasure escaped Miss Spencer’s lips. For a split second, Hannah thought the sound had come from her own lips.
She paused and leaned close to the woman’s ear. “I’m sorry, but I have to ask something…”
“Yes?” Miss Spencer asked breathlessly.
“What’s your name? I’ve been calling you Miss Spencer, and it’s driving me nuts.”
She laughed heartily. “Alice. My name’s Alice.”
“Alice!” Hannah said triumphantly. “Thank you. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Alice.”
“Likewise.”
She finished the scalp massage quickly, knowing that it had the ability to turn into something unprofessional if she didn’t. She rinsed the remaining conditioner out of Alice’s hair and then squeezed out the excess water. She wrapped a towel around the hair and placed her hand on the back of her head to encourage her to sit up.
“If you’d like to follow me,” she said as she led the way back into the main salon and gestured to the chair.
Alice sat down, and Hannah could see her cheeks were a little flushed. She was pleased that she wasn’t the only one so affected by the close quarters they were sharing. She recalled the appointment book and was equally happy and disappointed that there were no other bookings due. She’d have the entire salon to herself. Adrian would no doubt stay in the staff room and entertain Rosie as he often did.
She pulled up a stool and released the towel, watching the wet ringlets of hair fall. She used a comb to sort out the strands.
“I was wondering if you’d like to come over to dinner again?” Hannah asked. “Unless the chicken pie was too awful?”
Alice smiled. “It was delicious. And I’d love to, but maybe I could return the favour and invite you to my place and cook for you instead?”
Hannah concentrated on combing Alice’s hair. She didn’t want to refuse a kind offer, but it just wasn’t practical. It was the kind of offer a non-parent would come up with, not thinking about the realities of life with a child.
“That would be lovely, but Rosie goes to bed early. I’d have to get her home… it would cut the night short.”
“Oh, yes, course,” Alice frowned. “I’m sorry, I didn’t consider that.”
“It’s fine, you have to think of these things when you’re a parent,” Hannah replied. In the back of her mind she wondered when the things you had to think about as a parent would become too much for Alice.
“And I’d hate to cut our night short,” Alice added, “so if the offer is still open to come round yours, I’d love to.”
Hannah stood and fetched a pair of scissors. She wondered when to arrange the meal for. She didn’t want to seem desperate, so once again, she was back to the question of timing.
“I’m free on Thursday,” she said. Thursday seemed safe, three days away. Not too long, not too short.
/>
“Thursday sounds lovely,” Alice said.
Hannah smiled at her in the mirror, relieved that she seemed to be navigating the social cues despite her lack of practice.
“Is there a local cinema?” Alice asked.
“Well, there is, but you being from the big city would probably laugh at it,” Hannah replied. She chuckled as she thought about the amateur screen which was hastily assembled at the civic centre every Wednesday.
They drifted into conversation about the local amenities, what was in town and what needed to be sought out further afield. It was relaxed and nice. Hannah was used to the small talk that came with the job, but this was more. She wanted to know more about Alice Spencer.
She took a little longer than usual to cut and blow-dry the hair, allowing herself a little extra time running her fingers through the silky strands and leaning in to catch another sniff of Alice’s perfume.
Eventually she couldn’t drag it out any longer, so she reluctantly finished up. Alice paid, and they arranged to meet Thursday. The goodbye was stilted, neither knowing quite what to do in the very public space. Eventually Alice opted for an adorable wave and hurried out of the salon.
As soon as the bell rang to signal her departure, Adrian appeared. “Know her name yet?”
“Yes, no thanks to you,” Hannah said. She grabbed a broom and started to sweep.
“Good, good. So, what’s the gossip? Are you seeing her again?”
Hannah wanted to leave him hanging and not give him a crumb of information, but she also desperately needed someone to talk about what was happening.
“She’s coming to dinner again, on Thursday.”
He grinned. “Brilliant!”
“No, not brilliant,” she said. She thrust the broom into his hand and picked up the dustpan and brush.
“Why not?”
“Because I’m terrified,” she replied. “She’s… she’s really great.” She swept up the hairs and put them in the bin. “I want this to work, Ade.”
“It will,” he reassured her.
“She came from nowhere, and now I can’t stop thinking about her,” she confessed. “I’m waiting for her to realise what a mess I am.”
