It’s only hair, I tell myself. Nobody died. Get a grip and stop being so bloody self-centred. Tonight’s liaison can still go ahead. You’ll just have to wear a sexy headpiece.
‘That’s definitely not orange!’ Caroline’s voice is light with relief. ‘And it hasn’t all fallen out, either!’
‘Thank Christ for that!’ I exclaim, staring at my reflection.
It’s not only hair, actually. It’s my identity and I’m already feeling a bit weird about not being brunette anymore. If that makes me self-absorbed and vain then so be it.
Caroline starts talking about toner and how it might take a few more appointments for my hair to be properly silver but I’m not really listening. Instead, I’m gazing at the person in front of me. She looks like someone who makes choices instead of accepting her lot in life. She looks like someone who invests time and energy in herself instead of giving it all to everyone else. She looks like she could kick some ass.
She looks like Twinky Malone. My transformation is complete.
It’s another hour before I can leave the salon. My hair has been toned and conditioned and trimmed and I have handed over an extortionate amount of cash to Caroline, alongside proclamations of gratitude for her perseverance and skill.
But when I step outside into the busy street, I do not merely walk. I do not button up my sensible waterproof and bow my head against the driving rain like I would normally do, nor do I sprint for the cover of the car. Instead, I remember the YouTube clip that I managed to watch thirty seconds of last night before Scarlet walked in and I had to quickly minimise the screen and pretend that I was watching Bake-Off.
And then I slink my way down the High Street, effortlessly weaving my way in between bin bags and puddles and one very irresponsibly left pile of dog shit, like the carefree, sensual being that I now am.
Chapter Eighteen
‘What have you done to your hair?’ Scarlet stares at me as I stumble into the kitchen. My carefree sensuality lasted for all of two minutes before I remembered that there was no food in the house and that unless I wanted the kids to starve to death while I was out tonight then I was going to have to visit the supermarket. I did attempt to maintain some element of sexy but it’s surprisingly tricky to slink when pushing a shopping trolley with a wonky wheel. Plus, I spent at least five minutes lurking around the book section, waiting to see if anyone was going to pick up More Than Sex and slinking is not necessarily synonymous with discreet behavior.
‘Do you like it?’ I ask, dumping the bags on the kitchen counter and looking at her apprehensively. I am feeling surprisingly vulnerable and I’m not sure that I can handle teenage brutality right now.
Scarlet wrinkles up her nose and walks around me, scrutinising my new look from every angle. I hold my breath and tell myself that I do not need her approval to validate myself.
‘I love it,’ she declares once she’s completed her circuit. ‘It’s actually very empowering that you’ve decided to embrace the grey, Mum. I reckon if I inherit your genetics then I’m not going to bother dying it. You’re totally on-trend.’
‘It’s silver, not grey,’ I correct, but in my head I am whooping with joy.
Oh. My. God. Not only am I a sex vixen, I’m also an inspiration to the younger generation. I’ll probably get asked to contribute to one of those thought-provoking books where powerful women write letters to their daughters or their sixteen-year-old selves. My letter will touch on the importance of self-belief and refusal to conform to societal expectations and also a word of advice about not waiting until you are in the fifth decade of life to embrace your true identity.
I am lost in the depths of my own self-awareness when Benji barrels into the room and screeches to a halt in front of me.
‘It is you!’ he says triumphantly. ‘I knew it!’
‘You’re a genius,’ deadpans Scarlet, walking across to the fridge. ‘I am truly blessed to have such an Einstein for a brother.
‘I was looking out of my window, seeing if I could spot any suspicious goings-on,’ Benji continues, ignoring Scarlet. He’s been obsessed with suspicious goings-on ever since he saw an old episode of Sherlock. To begin with I encouraged him, mostly because I thought him doing anything that used his brain could only be a good thing but I’ve got to be honest, it’s wearing pretty thin now. The last thing I need is yet another skeptical, questioning child in this house, not when I’m attempting to conceal an entire identity from my offspring. And I’m seriously regretting buying him that ridiculous deerstalker hat.
‘Anyway,’ Benji says loudly, ‘then I saw a woman walking down our garden path. At first I thought that it was Granny because the woman had exactly the same hair as Granny but then I looked again.’
‘Words are coming out of your mouth but you’re literally not saying anything.’ Scarlet pulls the carton of orange juice out and turns to glare at Benji. ‘Why are you still talking?’
I would tell her to stop being so unkind if I weren’t reeling from the deathblow that my youngest child has just delivered. My hair looks like my mother’s? Is he fucking serious?
‘And then I realised that when Granny walks she always looks a bit like she’s dancing but this woman was staggering so it couldn’t be her.’
The knife plunges a bit deeper.
I was staggering under the weight of three bags of shopping, you ungrateful little—
‘And then I noticed that the woman was wearing your coat so I deduced that it must be you, wearing a wig. Is that a wig?’ Benji beams, clearly proud of his detective skills.
‘It’s not a wig,’ I say brightly, plastering a massive smile across my face in an attempt to hide my inner agony. ‘It’s my new hair and I’m very pleased with it.’
‘Oh.’ Benji grabs an apple from the fruit bowl. ‘You don’t look like you anymore though. Did you know that?’
‘That was kind of the entire point,’ I say, through gritted teeth. ‘It’s good to have a change every now and then.’
‘I suppose so.’ He takes a big bite and munches loudly. ‘I don’t know if I want you to change though.’
The knife twists in my heart. Of course he doesn’t want me to change. I’m his mum and I’m not supposed to do anything new. I get that. The unspoken agreement is that our children grow and develop and learn and make mistakes and then go off and have adventures. We have to stay exactly where they left us, ready to be there when they next require our attention. That’s the deal. I’m messing with the rules by trying to mix things up a bit.
It is only a change of hair colour, though. I’m not exactly staging a parenting revolution over here. Not tonight, anyway.
‘It might take a bit of time to get used to it.’ I step forward and pull him in for a hug. ‘I kept giving myself a shock when I was driving home. I thought there was a strange woman sitting in the back of the car every time I looked in the rear-view mirror.’
‘Well, this is fascinating and all,’ drawls Scarlet. ‘But I’m going to have to love you and leave you.’
I shake my head and block her exit from the kitchen.
‘You’re clearly forgetting our arrangement,’ I tell her. ‘You’re babysitting tonight because I’m going out and Dad isn’t going to be home until late.’
Oh yes, I’m going out. I’m going out to find me some sexy time and I won’t be home until my mission is a success.
The voice in my head sometimes makes me cringe.
Scarlet scowls. ‘What arrangement? Are you paying me?’
I nod firmly. ‘Yes, of course and it’s double-bubble this evening. Not only do you get all of your food and lodgings absolutely for free but I won’t be charging you for the endless love and affection that I show you on a daily basis.’
I smile sweetly at her and she rolls her eyes.
‘You’re hilarious,’ she says. ‘Have you at least bought us anything to eat because the cupboards are as bare as Mother Hubbard’s? Dogger is the only one in this house who’s actually got any food.’
It gives me a warm swell of happiness to hear her make a literary reference and I make a mental note to discuss the possibility of her applying for an English degree at university next year.
‘There’s pizza,’ I tell her, pointing at my abandoned shopping. ‘Don’t worry, you won’t have to eat dog kibble tonight.’
‘It’s not that bad,’ Benji tells us as we start to unpack the bags. ‘It’s like eating crunchy cereal that tastes like marmite.’
‘You’re an animal,’ Scarlet tells him, in between some dramatic fake retching. ‘You’re actually disgusting.’
‘You should try it.’ Benji is unperturbed. ‘It’s better than that chicken toothpaste Mum bought the other week.’
‘Benji!’ I swivel round and stare at him. ‘Tell me that you didn’t use that. It’s for Dogger!’
He shrugs and takes another bite of apple. ‘You said that I couldn’t go out on my bike until I’d cleaned my teeth,’ he mumbles through masticated apple. ‘And I couldn’t find any toothpaste in the bathroom so I thought I’d use that instead.’
I put two tins of baked beans onto the shelf and then close the door, contemplating whether I should be asking Google whether canine toothpaste is harmful to small boys. But then I catch sight of the time and decide that the damage is already done.
‘Very inventive,’ I tell him, ignoring Scarlet’s howl of protest. ‘But don’t do it again, okay? Now, I’m going to get ready and then I’ll be heading out. Benji – Scarlet is in charge so make sure that you listen to her. However, if she says anything that you’re even a bit unsure about then text me. We don’t want a repeat of the kitten incident.’
‘Are you going to keep going on about that for the rest of my life?’ Scarlet protests. ‘I was nine years old!’
I turn to look at my daughter. ‘Yes. Yes, you were. You were entirely old enough to know that sending your two-year-old brother out into the street to rescue a stray kitten was a bad idea, but you still did it, didn’t you?’
Scarlet scowls. ‘I knew he was your favourite child so you wouldn’t be as mad at him,’ she mutters. ‘And I really wanted a kitten.’
‘Darling, that’s just not true,’ I tell her, shaking my head. ‘None of you are my favourite child. Now, please look after your brother and don’t be a dictator. You do not, I repeat, DO NOT, have the authority to instigate sanctions as you see fit. Your Head Girl privileges have no jurisdiction in this house. Have I made myself understood?’
She nods reluctantly. ‘I’m not sure what’s in this for me then,’ she mutters. ‘If I can’t even give him a warning card or a detention every time he talks with his mouth full.’
‘I bought you a bar of chocolate,’ I tell her. ‘And you can both have some popcorn.’
She smiles and turns towards the cupboard. ‘Have a great time,’ she says. ‘We’ll be fine.’
Sometimes, teenagers are bewilderingly easy to please. I know that I should appreciate it but it just makes me uneasy.
‘By the way, have you seen my scarf?’ I ask, turning back to look at Scarlet as I reach the kitchen door. ‘I still haven’t seen it since you stole it on the day we took Dylan to uni.’
‘Nope.’ Scarlet busies herself with the popcorn. ‘I haven’t seen it anywhere.’
I could challenge her but now really isn’t the time so, resolving to ask her again tomorrow, I head up the stairs. Sounds of music waft towards me when I reach the top, followed by laughter. Scarlet and Benji are obviously engaged in one of their rare moments of unity which is excellent news for me because I really, really don’t want to be interrupted. It would be very bad news for all of us.
Heading into my bedroom, I close the door and then pause. I’m about to do something massive. Something that I’ve never done before and that, in all honesty, is making me feel extremely nervous. This is a big move and I need to be absolutely sure that I can do it. It’s all very well and good telling myself that it’s in the name of research but surely I have to consider the ethics too? If I were a crime author then I wouldn’t just go out and kill someone so that I’d have the necessary knowledge to write about it. Maybe what I’m doing isn’t so very different. I’ve had to lie to my husband and I’m abandoning my children to an evening alone just so that I can find my inner sexy.
I feel ruthless. Because tonight isn’t just about helping me to write Book Two (I am never going to think of a title). Sure, I want to know what Daxx’s reaction would be to Bella Rose surprising him wearing unexpected attire but it’s more than that.
I want this.
I need this.
Pulling the dominatrix jumpsuit out from where it is hidden at the bottom of my wardrobe, I quickly undress before I can change my mind and then hoik it and yank it and tug it until it’s on. When I look in the mirror, a small gasp escapes my lips. It seems more daring now than it did in the shop and my almost-silver hair makes the black wet-look fabric seem even more aggressive.
And Cassie was right. It doesn’t need a scarf.
But there’s no time to dally. I have a date and he’s not going to hang around if I’m late. I thrust my feet into my celebratory author shoes, feeling a momentary pang of guilt. This is definitely not what Nick envisaged when we bought them. Then I totter over to my mirror and slap on some very red lipstick that’s lurking at the bottom of my make-up bag and which I have no recollection of ever buying and ring my eyes with a black kohl pencil before glancing again at the time.
I’ll have to do.
I lurch downstairs clinging on to the banister for dear life and then grab a coat from the hooks in the hall.
‘See you later!’ I call towards the kitchen and opening the front door. ‘No need to come out!’
‘Mum!’ The kitchen door flies open and Benji races towards me. I frantically do up the coat and then turn around, praying that Scarlet hasn’t followed him. Her eyes are like lasers and there’s no way that I’ll get this outfit past her.
‘You were just going to leave,’ he says accusingly. ‘You can’t go without saying goodnight.’
I am a bad, bad mother.
‘Of course I wasn’t,’ I tell him, trying to bend over to kiss his head but giving up halfway. This jumpsuit is very unforgiving. ‘I was just about to come and find you.’ I pat his hair and push him gently back into the kitchen. ‘And I’ll tuck you into bed when I get home later.’
And then, feeling like the worst kind of double agent, I leave.
The Uber that I’ve ordered is waiting for me outside the house. It’s not a particularly long walk into town but it might as well be Timbuktu in these heels. I like the idea of arriving in real style and for one mad minute yesterday was toying with whether I could justify the cost of a rented limousine because that does seem like the kind of transport that Twinky Malone would use. Then I got a grip and thought about how much Prosecco I could buy for the cost of one hour in a stretch car. It’s a lot.
Checking the registration plate, I lean towards the car and smile at the driver.
‘Hi,’ I say. ‘Can I check your name?’
I am nothing if not street savvy.
The man behind the wheel looks across at me. ‘I’m Matthew,’ he says, smiling. ‘Are you Hannah?’
I shake my head and grin. ‘Not tonight. Tonight Matthew, I’m going to be Twinky Malone!’
Matthew eyes me warily. ‘Then I’m not your Uber,’ he tells me. ‘Sorry, love.’
He puts the car into gear, forcing me to grab hold of the handle and open the door.
‘No! I’m sorry!’ I say, flinging myself onto the back seat. ‘I am Hannah really.’
He looks at me in the rear-view mirror and frowns. ‘Which is it, then? Hannah, or that other name? Because if I take you and my genuine passenger gives me a crappy rating then I’m not going to be very happy.’
‘I am your genuine passenger,’ I assure him. ‘I ordered an Uber to take me into town, to that new wine bar on Bridge Street. Is that the destination that you had?’
> He nods reluctantly and pulls away from the pavement. The car fills with silence and I try to focus on what I’m about to do, calming my mind in readiness for what lies ahead. The problem is that it’s exceptionally difficult to find any kind of tranquility when my jumpsuit is making it almost impossible to sit in any position other than bolt upright.
I wriggle backwards in an attempt to get more comfortable but the wet-look fabric squeaks on the leather seats, making an awkward noise that could easily be mistaken for flatulence. Some people would probably deal with this situation with laughter. I do what I always do in these situations and ignore it. Unfortunately for me, the jumpsuit fabric is not playing ball and instantly emits another vaporous-sounding squeal.
‘You alright back there?’ calls Matthew, sounding concerned. Probably for the upholstery of his vehicle.
‘I’m fine!’ I trill. ‘And just so you know, I’m not – you know – passing wind. This jumpsuit is wipe-clean which I guess is a plus when it’s being used in a dominatrix scenario but doesn’t make it the most practical for travel purposes!’
I glance at Matthew just in time to see him gulp.
‘Not that I’m a dominatrix,’ I add hurriedly. ‘God, no. I couldn’t be doing with all those needy men begging me to do weird stuff to them.’
My mouth has a life if its own when I get nervous.
‘Right you are,’ says Matthew, fixing his eyes firmly on the road ahead.
I am pathetic. I am in no way equipped for the role that I am about to play. I can’t even pretend to the Uber driver that I’m someone I’m not, so how the hell am I going to fool the man that I’m about to meet?
‘My husband has no idea about what I’m up to tonight,’ I say, as we pull up at the traffic lights. ‘And I have to confess, that’s making me feel nervous.’
I turn and look out of the window. ‘But then again, if we just keep doing what we’ve always done then we’re going to get what we’ve always got and that’s not working for me anymore. What is life without a few risks, am I right, Matthew?’
Faking It: The most hilarious and laugh out loud page turner you’ll read this year! Page 17
