‘Tea? Coffee?’ Jamal asked, breaking into her musings.
‘Coffee would be lovely, thanks.’
‘Decaff, I take it?’ Jamal winked.
‘Oh… uh… not really. I could do with the caffeine this morning, thanks.’
‘Well…’ Jamal clasped his hands in front of him. ‘I guess one is all right.’
As he walked away, Fran frowned. What was it with people telling her what she could and couldn’t drink? Then she caught sight of the title of the magazine she’d picked up – Your Pregnancy Month by Month – and she groaned inwardly. Of course, Jamal had seen her with the pregnancy test and with everything else that had probably spread around the village about her, he was probably convinced that she was pregnant too. She tossed the magazine onto the corner table and slumped on the sofa. How could one white lie get so out of hand? She was suddenly tempted to run out of the shop and straight into the cold blue water to escape the pressure. The image of her diving into the water, fully clothed, while people looked on made her giggle; it would surely set tongues wagging more than her fake pregnancy had. Perhaps she should do it to divert attention from the pregnancy. But then, it was so warm and cosy in the salon, whereas outside it was freezing and the sea would be too. She’d stay here and take her chances; hypothermia was not something she’d ever wanted to experience.
Jamal returned with a coffee that he set down on the table. ‘I added one sugar because I thought you might need it.’
‘Right. Thanks.’ She pulled her lips into a smile.
‘Bradley is just finishing up a blow-dry then he’ll wash your hair.’
‘Okay, wonderful.’
Fran reached for her coffee and sipped it slowly. It was warm and sweet and it smelt delicious; Jamal obviously used good-quality coffee. She gazed around the shop, eyeing the posters on the walls featuring perfect models with even more perfect hair and pouts that would make her look ridiculous if she tried to imitate them. Then there were shelves lined with the latest products to maintain colour, or to keep hair sleek and glossy or tangle and frizz free. Weren’t they basically the same things? Or did they all work differently? How did you know what to buy to create the right effect, because surely if you used them all simultaneously, your hair would end up as a greasy mess? She shrugged, glad that her hair was so low-maintenance.
The air in the salon was laced with the scent of a combination of hair products, from perming solution to dye and bleach, to mousse and hairspray. It was a comforting aroma that made Fran think of being pampered and spoiled, of time that was just for her. Jamal and Bradley had been very successful since they’d set up their small business and they even had an area for beauty treatments now, which was run by a newcomer to Penhallow Sands called Lucy Challicombe. Her little boy attended the village school and Lucy worked at the salon, but also at the library, and seemed to be as enthusiastic about beauty as she was about books.
On the far wall behind the counter were some framed photographs of competitions that Jamal had entered, and the most recent ones were from this summer when Catherine Bromley and Mark Coleman – a romance writer and Catherine’s partner – had modelled for Jamal. They had worn elaborate outfits and been perfect models and the whole competition had brought even more tourists to Penhallow Sands, which was always a positive for the location as many of the locals relied on the tourist industry for their incomes.
‘Fran?’ Bradley appeared in the archway that led to the sinks. Bradley’s slim torso was shown to perfection in one of the shop’s T-shirts featuring the logo of a staircase with a woman at the top, her long hair cascading down to the ground. ‘Are you ready to be washed?’ He ran a hand over his shiny bald head that looked whiter than ever because his well-shaped eyebrows had recently been dyed jet black.
She nodded enthusiastically. Bradley did the best head massages she’d ever had and she knew that a lot of customers went to Hairway just to have Bradley wash their hair. Jamal often joked about the noises that some of the customers made while Bradley washed their hair and Fran always tried to press her lips together to avoid moaning and groaning with pleasure. She could understand why some of the men and women who came to the salon would relax to the point where they couldn’t keep quiet, though; Bradley had magic hands.
She finished her coffee then followed Bradley to the sinks, sat in the chair then removed her glasses.
‘Let me just wrap this towel around your shoulders.’ Bradley fastened it at the front with a butterfly clip then gently eased Fran backwards so her neck rested on the lip of the sink. ‘How’s the water?’
‘Perfect, thank you.’
Fran closed her eyes and drifted as Bradley ran warm water over her scalp while his fingers smoothed it around her head and behind her ears. When he added some shampoo, the smell of apples and cinnamon washed over her, and as his fingers got to work, Fran felt her mouth drop open – in spite of her attempts to keep it closed – and her shoulders loosen. Who cared about fake pregnancies and possible husbands and handsome chefs when Bradley was around?
‘Fran?’
‘Uh?’ She blinked and peered around. She was still reclining at the sink, her body limp, her mouth open.
‘Are you all right?’ Bradley was frowning at her.
‘Oh… did I fall asleep?’
He nodded.
‘Sorry.’ She giggled then wiped a hand across her cheek, realising that she’d actually dribbled a bit too. ‘Your magic fingers are to blame.’
‘I don’t know how to change that.’ Bradley held his hands up and shook his head at them. ‘It’s just a talent, I guess.’
‘It certainly is. I didn’t snore, did I?’
‘No, darling, thankfully you spared us that.’ Bradley chuckled.
Bradley undid the clip that was holding the towel around her shoulders then gently squeezed the towel over her hair. ‘There you go. Head back through to the front and take a seat.’
Fran put her glasses back on then got up and walked on slightly unsteady legs into the brighter area out front. She felt as though she’d been asleep for hours and could easily head straight to bed to sleep some more. She sat in front of a mirror that reflected the street outside and felt glad that she hadn’t decided to run out of the shop earlier and race into the sea, as she’d have missed out on Bradley’s magic touch.
A woman who was sitting on the sofa in the window got up and passed Fran on her way to the sinks, and Fran smiled at her as their eyes met in the mirror. The lucky woman was off to have her scalp massaged.
‘Righty ho.’ Jamal put down the phone and came around the counter. ‘Let’s see what we can do with your hair then, shall we? Are we cutting much off?’
Fran ran a hand over her crop. ‘Not a lot. Just a trim, please.’
‘A pre-Christmas trim?’ Jamal ran his big hands through her hair, checking the length.
‘Yes, please.’
‘It’s grown quite a lot, Fran.’
‘I know. It always grows quickly. I think it’s all the ice cream I eat.’
‘Could be! Plenty of Cornish dairy. You know what though, Fran?’ Jamal tilted his head. ‘You really are glowing.’
‘Glowing?’
He nodded then leant closer to her. ‘Is it the pregnancy?’
‘Making me glow?’ She frowned at her reflection.
‘Yes. That’s what they say, isn’t it? That it can give you a special glow. I can even see it in your eyes… it’s like they’re illuminated from within.’
Fran met his warm brown gaze in the mirror and something inside her cracked. Her vision blurred and her bottom lip trembled.
‘Hey, Fran, what is it? What did I say?’
She shook her head and covered her eyes.
‘Fran, I’m so sorry.’ Jamal gently squeezed her shoulders.
‘It’s… okay. It’s… not you.’
‘Then what? Oh no… you haven’t lost the baby have you?’
Fran lowered her hands and met his eyes. ‘Jamal… there is n
o baby.’ Her whisper was so quiet she wondered if she’d actually uttered it but Jamal’s eyes widened.
‘Was there a baby?’
‘No.’
‘Oh, Fran, I’m so sorry. Did I get it wrong?’
She nodded. ‘Not your fault though. I was buying the test for someone else.’
‘Oh… okay.’ He smacked his forehead. ‘I really am sorry, Fran. That didn’t even occur to me. I guess I shouldn’t ask who it was for?’
‘Please don’t.’ A tear trickled down her cheek and plopped onto Jamal’s hand. ‘I don’t want to tell any more lies.’
‘Who have you lied to?’
‘Everyone who’s got the wrong end of the stick.’
‘I’m sure no one will blame you for this, as it seems like you were covering for someone. Am I right?’ He raised his eyebrows.
‘Yes.’
‘And that is completely admirable and I’m sure you have your reasons.’
He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and hugged her, his cheek next to hers, their eyes locked in the mirror.
‘Don’t you blame yourself at all, honey. You listen to Jamal.’ He kissed her cheek. ‘Now, let’s make you feel as beautiful on the outside as you are on the inside.’
‘Thank you.’ She sniffed and wiped her cheeks with the tissue Jamal handed her.
Twenty minutes later, just as Jamal was putting the finishing touches to Fran’s hair, the door opened. Fran looked up to see Ethan and Tilly.
‘Hello.’ Jamal greeted them. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘Hi, I’d like to book Tilly in for a haircut, please.’
‘Of course. Come with me and we can find a suitable appointment.’ Jamal led Ethan to the counter and Tilly wandered over to Fran.
‘Hi Fran.’
‘Hello, sweetheart.’
‘I’ve been to the dentist.’
‘Have you? I wondered why you weren’t in school when you came in.’
‘It’s a new dentist so I had to see her today and she gave me sticker for being a good girl.’ Tilly pointed at the round pink sticker on her school shirt, which showed a hippopotamus grinning broadly.
‘That’s a lovely sticker. Did you have any teeth out?’ Fran asked.
Tilly shook her head. ‘I’m brushing them very well, the dentist said, but some of them are a bit loose so they will fall out soon.’
‘My goodness!’ Fran feigned shock. ‘Are you nervous?’
‘No because Daddy says the tooth fairy will come and I can have money then I can save up and buy a… a… a dog!’
‘You want a dog?’
Tilly nodded. ‘Daddy said no when we lived in Bath but now he said we’ll see.’ Tilly deepened her voice as if imitating her father, then she shrugged. ‘It’s what Scarlett calls progress.’
‘It is indeed.’ Fran smiled. She could see how Tilly might be able to convince her father to do anything she wanted. ‘Are you going back to school now?’
‘Yes, in a bit. Daddy said to pop in and book a haircut on the way.’ Tilly stepped closer to Fran and peered at her hair. ‘Have you had your hair cut?’
‘I have.’
‘It’s short.’
‘I like it short.’
‘So do I.’ Tilly twirled some strands of her long blonde hair around her finger. ‘But I like mine long.’
‘It’s very pretty.’ Fran smiled. ‘It suits you long.’
‘But when I’m grown up I might have it short like yours. It’s probably easier to wash.’
‘It saves me a fortune on shampoo.’ Fran laughed.
‘Daddy uses shower gel on his.’
‘Does he?’
‘He likes to be fast in the shower so he uses the same gel to wash his hair and body. He said it’s a man thing.’
‘Right.’ Fran tried to shake the image of Ethan showering from her mind.
‘Fran, I’m going to be a star in the Christmas play.’
‘A star! Wow, that’s wonderful, Tilly.’
The little girl chewed at her bottom lip then reached out and touched Fran’s hair. ‘Fran… will you come to my play?’
‘Tilly, stop touching Fran’s hair. She’s just had it styled and doesn’t want your little fingers all over it.’ Ethan walked over to them and took Tilly’s other hand.
‘Sorry, Fran,’ Tilly whispered.
‘It’s fine, honestly.’
‘Daddy, I asked Fran to come to see my play.’
‘Oh…’ Ethan’s eyebrows rose slowly.
‘Will you come?’ Tilly asked.
‘Uh…’ Fran look up at Ethan. ‘I…’
‘She’d clearly like you to be there.’ Ethan smiled.
‘Well, in that case, I’d love to come. I can’t wait to see you as a star.’
‘Yay!’ Tilly bounced on the spot. ‘I’ll say my lines nice and loud and I won’t forget them at all and then you can all be proud and clap and have a merry Christmas.’
‘She’s been practising since Monday when they sent the lines home with the children,’ Ethan explained.
‘I’m already excited,’ Fran said to Tilly. ‘I will really look forward to it.’
‘Right, we’d better get you back to school, Tilly.’ Ethan led his daughter to the door. ‘See you at the weekend, Jamal. And Fran… I’ll get your number from Audrey and text you details of the play.’
‘Wonderful.’ Fran nodded, trying to appear calm, but her belly was filled with excitement.
As the door closed behind Ethan and Tilly, Jamal returned to Fran. ‘So…’ He raised his eyebrows.
‘So?’ She shrugged.
‘Ethan, eh?’
‘What do you mean?’ Heat flooded her face.
‘I can see why you might fall for him. He’s a very good-looking man and a single father too.’
‘Jamal, I have no idea what you’re talking about.’
‘He’s lovely!’ Jamal started to spray something into Fran’s hair as he tweaked the ends with his thumb and forefinger. ‘You two would make a good couple.’
Fran shook her head. Jamal was just being kind and had no idea what he was talking about. The situation was far more complicated than he realised.
She couldn’t help thinking…
If only it wasn’t…
* * *
Ethan had dropped Tilly back at school and although he needed to get back to the tea shop, he hadn’t given Audrey a definite time, so he decided to take a quick stroll along the beach. He walked back down the hill and along the front then padded down the stone steps to the sand. The breeze that met him was chilly so he pulled his coat collar up and tucked his hands into his pockets. He should have brought a hat but hadn’t known he’d come for a walk.
The tide was going out and the vast expanse of wet sand stretched out before him, dark gold broken up by blobs of green seaweed, pieces of driftwood and shells. He headed right, in the direction of the cliffs, knowing that he could return then along the sand and get in a decent walk.
Above him, seagulls cried, black and white forms against the gunmetal grey sky. Somewhere above the fast-moving clouds, a plane engine hummed and he could make out the crash of the waves as they hit the shore. The air was filled with the tang of brine and the deep, salty depths of the sea. It was refreshing, invigorating, and it lifted him, reaffirming how great it was to live so close to the beach. Under his feet, shells crunched and the sand sucked at his shoes, flicking droplets of water up into the air as he walked.
As he neared the cliffs, he paused and peered up at the houses that sat there on a fancy development. The properties must have cost a fortune because the land wouldn’t have been cheap with such a prime position overlooking the sea and the beach. It was something he’d probably never have, a home like that, but it was something to aspire to. He wanted to have dreams again, dreams that involved more than getting through each day. He yearned, sometimes, in the quiet of the early hours, to find what he was looking for, to feel complete. Growing up, he’d had dreams, bu
t then his mum had become ill, suffering on and off with cancer that was treated then returned, never releasing its hold on her body, until her flesh finally gave up its fight. All he’d wanted for such a long time was for her to recover completely, for her to have more time. He’d become lost in sitting with her, holding her hand and trying to hold on to the moment because he knew that if he looked ahead, then she might well be gone and his whole world would change irrevocably.
He felt the familiar stinging of his eyes and nose, so he turned and stared hard at the water, watching as it ebbed and flowed, sucking at the sand then foaming over it again. He breathed deeply until his vision had cleared, not wanting to let go right now, fearing the abyss that his grief could bring even after eight years had passed. When his mum had lost her battle, he’d faltered for months, struggled to keep going, but he’d also tried to support his dad. Then Melanie had come along and he’d focused on her, made her the centre of his world, put her high on a pedestal as he tried to fill the gaping hole of grief by loving another woman. Of course, in retrospect, he’d been trying to put a round peg into a square hole. He’d lost his mum and no one would ever replace her, plus it wasn’t fair to expect Melanie to heal him. He needed to grieve his loss and to feel the pain and to deal with it. Instead, he’d given himself a whole new set of problems. Except, of course, for Tilly. His daughter was the best thing that had ever happened to him and he would always be grateful to Melanie for giving him Tilly.
He turned and started to walk back in the direction he’d come, feeling the sand dragging at his heels and the wind ruffling his hair, making his eyes water. He wished his mum could be here to walk along the sand, to breathe in the sea air and, most importantly, to see her beautiful granddaughter. She would be so proud of Tilly and would be very excited about the school play. In the past, she’d spoken to him about having grandchildren one day and about how she’d look forward to things like the school run and school plays. She’d had no idea that she’d be taken so young, that all her hopes and dreams would be whisked away by the cruelty of cancer. The illness had been debilitating, painful and a dirty, dark thief; it had stolen the biggest gift of all from his mum – it had taken her time, her future and her dreams and made them impossible to realise.
The Christmas Tea Shop at Rosewood Page 15
