While Sophie had given her a blank canvas for the colour scheme and design of the salon, Jude had felt restricted by the endless list of necessary features required for the salon kit-out which had reduced her own choices tenfold. She never realised there were so many considerations involved. But now she was in a position to make every solitary decision there was to make by herself. She would do it just like it were her own. Only Jude knew that her working time was almost at an end even though she was creating a new beginning for another lucky soul.
“Does this phone never stop!” Sophie groaned as she stood in the reception area waiting to hand over her trade card before she could access the warehouse and its competitive pricing. She didn’t recognise the number.
“Sophie Kane speaking.”
Jason had bobbed about nervously as he waited for the phone to ring. He had never felt so scared in his entire life.
“Hi, Sophie. It’s erm, Jason Hamilton here.”
Her eyes widened. “Hi, Jason. I didn’t expect to hear from you. What can I do you for?”
“I, erm . . . didn’t expect to be calling you, Sophie . . . so, erm, please don’t tell my mum, erm, Kath . . . will you?”
Sophie grinned as the quake in his voice broke through. He was very nervous, she could tell. He’d also had a tough time of it lately and Sophie hoped he wasn’t in any further trouble.
“I won’t, Jason . . . unless it’s something sinister that they need to know about of course. Or if you’ve won the lottery and you aren’t planning on sharing it with them . . . you know . . . simple stuff like that!” she laughed.
Jason was pacing back and forth outside the Kane’n’Able salon looking oddly suspicious, as though he was about to tear through the doors and hold the place up.
“I wondered if you had, erm, any vacancies? Mum mentioned the new salon and I . . . I thought perhaps you might need a general dog’s body . . .”
Sophie roared with laughter, ignoring the attention she received from the customers queueing to enter the store.
“I didn’t see that coming,” she told him, wiping a tear from her eye. “I expected you to ask me for bail money or something like that, Jason, but not a job!”
Jason had not expected Sophie to laugh. He was serious. He would have to do better than this.
“Look, Sophie. I have no, erm, experience whatsoever . . . but I’m willing to work for free until you trust me enough . . . and I thought that, hhmm,” he cleared his throat, “I might go on to college, you know, learn how to be a proper hairdresser. I’ve always been interested in it . . . actually.”
Sophie’s body pricked with goosebumps which made her shudder like someone had walked over her grave. Her spine shivered at the revelation she had heard loud and clear. The inflection in his voice was so familiar that she felt a blow to her stomach as the memories came flooding back.
“Jason, are you trying to tell me something?”
Jason felt the tension of the past years melt away and the emotion he had carried around with him for so long – confused isolation – set itself free through his tearducts.
“Yes,” he sobbed.
Sophie raced back to the carpark, shoving her trade card into her pocket.
“Where are you, sweetheart?”
Jason’s shoulders convulsed. “Ou–tside yo–ur sa– alon.”
“Stay there. I’m coming to get you.”
As Sophie drove through the streets ignoring the speed limits, it all made sense. His confusion, his inability to decide what to do in life, how to be. No girlfriends or any other serious relationships. No real male friends. No real friends, in fact. Her self-absorbed thoughts had got in the way of her seeing straight. Jason was gay. He was coming out of the closet after years of repression, lashing out in anger that no-one understood him because he didn’t understand himself. Of all the conversations the women had shared over Jason, their bewilderment about his difficult behaviour, his strange volatility, it had never occured to them that he might be in need of help of a different kind other than a good measure of discipline.
But Jason had a confession to make and it had taken witnessing the burial of his grandmother to make him see that the time he had with his own father mattered so much to him. The relationship they had was far too important to be ruined, thrown away through his rebellious actions as he tried to cover up his true identity. Jason had guarded the secret out of love for his father and out of a fear that if his father couldn’t cope with his son turning out to be gay, then he – single-handedly – would be responsible for the break-up of yet another generation. And that wouldn’t do.
Helena sat at her desk scribbling on a piece of paper. She had doodled away the past half hour as the sunny weather kept the customers at bay, basking in the glorious rays. The banking hall was rarely this quiet but it gave her a chance to clear out her desk and make a start on the plans for her new role. She couldn’t wait. It was the opportunity of a lifetime and it had taken her until her early thirties to achieve something she should have done in her twenties. Nathan Bream had held her back, only she hadn’t realised it at the time.
Helena saw a client she knew – Mr Peters – approach Maggie directly. You couldn’t fail to notice that she was staff with her oversized name tag hanging loosely from the black lanyard, her name in bold with the words Branch Manager typed out below in matching font. Helena watched, trying to gauge the conversation. It was clear to see that Mr Peters was not a happy man, but Maggie as ever was calm and influencing. They headed towards her and Helena swallowed hard at his agitated expression.
“Helena, Mr Peters has a problem about a withdrawal. Can I leave you to sort it out, please?”
Helena smiled sweetly. “Of course. Take a seat, Mr Peters.”
He sat down, armed and rigid.
“How is your grandson? I remember you taking out money for his birthday present . . . house deposit, wasn’t it?”
Maggie smiled at Helena’s memory, watching as her natural interpersonal skills disarmed the angry gentleman. She walked away, content that all would end well. She had yet to receive a single complaint about Helena.
“That’s right. You’ve got a good memory.” He sat back in his chair, upright and a little stiff and Helena could see that she had her work cut out.
“How is the new house coming along then?”
“He’s not actually in it yet but he should be by the end of the month.” His shoulders relaxed a little. “Thanks for asking though. I’m impressed with your memory.”
“I never forget a friendly face.”
Helena leaned forward on the desk, hoping he would copy her body language and relax before she embarked on unravelling his complaint.
“Now, what seems to be the problem, Mr Peters?”
Maggie watched Helena from behind the counter – its bulletproof glass muffled her words but she could see already how the gentleman had collected himself in no time at all. Helena Wright would be sorely missed from that desk. The place wouldn’t be the same without her but Maggie knew that if she didn’t promote Helena, she would lose her. She was too good for that place anyway. Always had been.
Sophie, Jason and Karl sat in the white Shaker-style kitchen at the back of the Kane’n’Able salon. Jason’s eyes were red raw and puffy and Sophie held onto his hand, stroking it tenderly as though he were her own son. She felt his pain even though her own pain was caused by someone like him. But Sophie knew that if he came out, admitted to all who he was and what he was, then the propensity of him breaking someone else’s heart would be abated. Between them, they could stop someone else going through what she had gone through and Jason too could live his life freely.
She would never know how Ricky ended up, but somehow she imagined that he wouldn’t have suffered like she had. He was a taker, self-centered to the end, but at the time her youthful immaturity had blinded her.
“I’m scared that they’ll never take me back in if they know I’m . . .” He couldn’t bring himself to say the words.
; “Gay?” Karl risked saying it but what was the point in denial? He had come this far.
Jason nodded.
“Look, Jason, I’ve rung your mum and dad and they’re on their way over here now,” Sophie told him earnestly.“I had to do it. I can’t even say I’m sorry. I absolutely believe it was the right thing to do . . . for you.”
Jason dived from his seat, sending the chair crashing to the foor.
“What . . . why . . . I’m not ready.”
She stood, facing him head on, reaching up and grabbing his shoulders roughly. “You’ve had long enough to be ready, Jason . . . let it out . . . now’s the time. You’ve nothing to be scared of. Okay?”
Jason chewed on his nails. He looked like an overgrown child who had lost his way.
“Mum told me about you and Ricky . . . I’m so sorry about that . . . that’s erm, that’s the other reason why I need to do something about . . . well . . . it.”
Karl eyed Sophie to see how she reacted. She barely moved a muscle and his heart somersaulted with pride in her stoic backbone.
“It was hard, Jason, I’m not going to lie. In a way what happened shaped me for the worse even though I was in denial over it . . . but if he’d had the strength, like you, to come clean and be to honest with himself . . . he could have saved me a lot of bother . . . and an awful lot of heartache.”
Karl saw the pain and depression sweep over her face.
“But the sex was good, wasn’t it!” he teased. He didn’t want Sophie to change entirely, become a frumpy, celebate mother figure. There was so much about her that was endearing and far more of her traits he wanted to keep than to change. “You have to take something positive out of it, don’t you, Soph?”
“It was good actually.” She grinned. “But you know what, guys? I’m tired of it now. Been there. Done that. Got the T-shirt.”
“You’re lucky that’s all you got.”
Sophie slapped Karl across the arm deservedly and Jason managed a smile. He had noticed the relaxed exchange between the two of them, the easy banter, but moreso the way they looked at each other, his face filled with admiration and her gaze filled with adoration for her staunch companion.
Helena waved to Mr Peters who shuffled away, lifting his hat to bid her farewell. That was one of the things she loved so much about dealing with the elderley – their respect towards people – the traditions they kept hold of such as walking on the outside of the pavement to protect their women, ready to draw their sword at the first sight of danger. Young folk had a lot to learn from them.
Helena’s telephone shrilled loudly. When the hall was busy with children screaming and people chatting it seemed quiet, but now with the scarity of foot traffic the phone seemed to shrill loud enough to wake the dead.
Helena shuddered as she thought of Elizabath rotting away. Where was her head when she had considered that a vintage bottle of Dom Perignon might ease the pain?
“Helena Wright.”
“Maggie here. Two things, Helena. I have your contract here for signing so you may like to check it over. Secondly, I need to take a look at the complaint form, please. It needs investigating. I’m not having an error like that again and I need to get to the bottom of it, so be as thorough as possible with your details please and I’ll pass it to the complaints team to look into. Whoever did that needs to be reprimanded.”
Helena stared into the blank room. When one door closes, another opens, she told herself. Only Helena wondered this time which door was going to close first.
Hattie stood in the centre of Jude’s kitchen, shaking her head.
“Darling, are you ill?”
Jude chortled at the sight of her mother stuck for words for once.
“No, Mum. Why?”
Hattie pointed to the breakfast dishes in the sink, the endless pairs of shoes by the back door and the stacks of paperwork sprawled across the black-granite centre island.
“It’s just that I’ve never seen a thing out of place, darling, but lately everywhere seems to be so . . . untidy.”
Jude flicked on the kettle and made a start on the dishes. She grabbed the chrome swivel spout of the tap, pulling it down, aimimg it at the dirty crockery where it power-blasted the dried-in cereal which was proving itself difficult to remove.
“I did ask the kids to wash their own dishes this morning, Mum, but it seems they haven’t.”
Hattie blinked repeatedly. She must be hearing things.
“Jude, darling, why would you ask the children to wash their own dishes when you’ve got all the time in the world?”
Jude continued to scrub at the square white bowls with the soapy scourer.
“I’ve been working,” she declared boldly. “Sophie asked me to be the interior designer for her second salon, Mum, and I said yes . . .” Then she added before her mother could pass further comment, “And I’ve loved every minute of it.”
“But you don’t work! You certainly never told me about it.”
Jude grimaced. She had heard those words before. But you don’t work!
“I’m finishing off this project and then I’ll stop. I just need to get it out of my system . . . it’s been too long, Mum. I’ve spent the guts of fifteen years wondering what I could have achieved from life and now, short-term as it is, I’m living out those dreams. Is that so wrong?”
Jude could not recall a time where she had spoken so candidly to her mother.
Hattie took two spotty Kath Kidston cups from the cupboard above her.
“Dreaming is for other people, darling. Wouldn’t you prefer to keep yourself in the real world, focusing on the important things in life. Like your family?”
Jude rinsed the dishcloth, throwing it in the middle bowl of the Villeroy and Boch cream ceramic sink. She dried her hands on the tea towel before folding it perfectly, replacing it over the steel bar of the oven.
“I am in the real world, Mum. The working world, doing something for myself and remembering that I have all these capabilities other than using them for making beds, cooking dinner, chauffeuring the kids around, entertaining Clive’s clients . . .”
Hattie shook her head at Jude in dismay.
“What does Clive have to say about it? I can’t imagine he’s particularly happy, darling.”
Jude took over from her mother. She spooned the coffee into each cup, pouring boiling water over it. It sizzled as it came into contact with the dried granules.
“He doesn’t know,” she answered truthfully. Jude could never lie to her mother.
Hattie fetched the milk, pouring it into a matching spotty milk jug. She stood back admiring its pretty design before her daughter’s words sank in.
“I don’t know what is going on here, Jude, but I do know that lying to your husband simply won’t do. Imagine what your father would think?”
Hattie’s tone grabbed Jude’s attention. Her mother had been cross with her only a handful of times in her entire life. But Jude stood tall as she felt a waft of cold air hit the back of her neck.
“Dad is right behind me on this one, I know it.” Her chin wobbled as she felt the coldness travel down her spine. “He’d say ‘You go for it, girl!’ . . . that’s what he’d say.”
She hurried from the kitchen before the tears flowed. Her father would have pioneered her like he always did and Jude needed someone on her side. She wasn’t strong enough to take on Clive and her mother with their archaic values and 1950’s approach to life. She had tried it and enjoyed it for the most part until she felt the void inside her swell until it reached bursting point and Sophie Kane had stepped in to save her before its toxic spread. Her timing was perfect.
Jude felt isolated and hurt at their short-sightedness and her stomach sank as she counted down the weeks before this wonderful chapter in her life would be closed, for good. She felt a little spark of the light which had shone so brightly fade away.
Darren sat opposite Roni in the juice bar of The Hamptons where she had suggested they meet. She rarely went near
the place and knew very few people, so bumping into anyone – bar Kath – was highly unlikely.
She sat back in her chair as far from him as possible, willing him to do the same. But Darren leaned forward across the table, his long arms covering the width of it, within touching distance of her hands. She could feel the warmth exude from them – his soft but skilful, boyish hands.
Roni went to speak but hesitated. Her face was flushed and her neck red and patchy and Darren wanted nothing more than to hold her, tell her that from this point on, everything would be alright. He knew it.
“It’s okay,” he spoke in a low voice. “I know why you’ve asked me here, Roni . . . and it’s okay.”
Roni bit her lip. It had started off as an innocent crush. The new arrival in her home had stirred something in her, awoken her sexual desires, but Roni in her wildest dreams never imagined that it would turn into anything else. She never imagined that anyone would want her, like her even. Few did.
“It has to stop. I can’t do it anymore, can’t risk it,” she whispered, playing nervously with her symbollic wedding rings. “I can’t cope with the guilt . . . it’s killing me.”
Darren noticed that Roni had no other jewellery on apart from her rings. She was usually weighed down by the stuff, it was a statement of her financial assests visible for all to see, but today she was free from her decorative trinkets and she looked all the more beautiful without their restraint.
“I never meant for it to happen, Roni.” Darren took hold of her hand as it left the safety of her other hand reluctantly. “I could tell there was something unique, something different about you when I met you . . . but over the time we’ve spent together I’ve seen exactly what it is.”
“What?”
Darren longed to reach out and kiss her but he couldn’t. Never again.
“What is it about me, Darren? Because I don’t see it. I see a horrible cow who has taken pleasure in being mean to people. A woman who has kept herself shut off from the rest of the world and a woman whose purse-strings could have done so much good for others . . . but haven’t. That’s exactly what I see.”
Some Like it Hot Page 30
