Struggle to Forever: a friends to lovers duet

by Lilliana Anderson

  “We’ve got about ten minutes before the train gets here,” Naomi says, pulling my attention away. “Just enough time to grab tickets.”

  I assume I need to pick up the pace. Shooting a glance over my shoulder, I look at the Paige lookalike again and fill with disappointment. It makes me realise how much I wish I could see her again. And how shitty I’m being even entertaining the idea of sleeping with Naomi.

  Paige

  I’m a little on the early side for my trial shift at Stylz. The roller door isn’t even up yet. Eager much? The shopfront is inside on the main level of the station, so at least I’m not standing outside in the cold, freezing my arse off while I wait for the manager to turn up.

  I run my hands over my hair to make sure everything is in place. I used plenty of product and straightened it to a glossy shine. When I do my hair this way, I feel like I should be in a Shampoo ad, flicking my hair around and talking about how fabulous my conditioner is. But, fuck I’m nervous.

  Thankfully, I’m not left stewing in my nerves long before a girl comes walking towards me while fiddling with a set of keys. Her smile is friendly and her curly black hair bounces as she walks. As she gets closer, she extends her hand. “You must be Paige. I’m Andrea. We spoke on the phone yesterday.”

  Reaching out to take her hand, I smile brightly. It’s show time. “Hi Andrea, it’s lovely to meet you,” I say as I look her over. She has a small, slim build and smooth light brown skin with dark chocolate-coloured eyes. On closer inspection, I notice her hair has red highlights scattered through it. She wears little more than lip gloss for makeup and is dressed in a pair of black pants and a fitted shirt with ‘stylz’ written in poison green letters across the bust.

  Unlocking the roller door, she presses a button and we stand back to watch it rise. “Were you waiting long?” she asks.

  “I literally just got here.”

  The inside is like any other salon you’d visit, with chairs and magazines in front of a reception counter. It kind of reminds me of the Just Cuts I used to go to before I started my apprenticeship.

  “You called at the perfect time,” she says, as she bustles around preparing to open. “My other stylist up and quit on me two days ago, and I’ve been run off my feet. The other girl, Amanda, can’t do Wednesday through Friday, so I’ve had no one. We get a lot of walk-ins in this location, so I’ve had to turn people away.”

  “That can't be good for business,” I respond astutely.

  “It's not.” She walks over to me with a t-shirt in hand. “Here, put this on. We have a fairly busy morning ahead of us. I really hope you’re good because I booked knowing I’d have you here today.”

  “It’s fine,” I say. “I mean, I’ll be fine. I’ve worked in busy salons before.”

  “So you’re in the UK indefinitely did you say?”

  “I did. I have dual citizenship, so there’s no visa to force me back.”

  “What made you want to leave Australia? It sounds like the ideal.”

  “Time for a change,” I say, leaving it at that. She tilts her head in a ‘fair enough’ gesture then directs me around the salon to help her get things ready. When we flip the sign to say we are open, there’s already a customer waiting.

  Elliot

  God, I wish we had open top buses in Sydney. It'd be so much better traveling with the sun shining down on you than inside a closed off vehicle that smells like damp socks. It’d suck in the rain though. ;

  “I have been here a whole month and I haven't seen any of this stuff ,” Naomi says, holding her phone out to snap a selfie of her and me in front of Big Ben. “These are all going in my Instagram story.” Fantastic. She’s an insta-girl.

  “I don't do social media much,” I say, taking a few shots myself. I have Facebook but that's about it. I don’t even use that much.”

  “But you'll put these photos on it, won’t you?”

  “Well, yeah. How else is my mum gonna see them and show my gramma?”

  She scoffs out a laugh. “Oh my God. You’re adorable. You’re supposed to put this stuff online to make all your past enemies jealous because you’re off living your best life while they’re trapped behind a desk somewhere slowly selling their soul to corporate greed.”

  "Sounds like you've put a lot of thought into this.”

  She stands up and takes a photo of herself fake laughing as we pull up near Buckingham Palace. “The people I went to school with were arseholes. Most of them are already married and popping out kids. And the rest went from high school to uni to work. I don’t think a single one kept following their dreams.” She sits back down and focuses on posting her photo. "Actually, no. That’s a lie. One guy in my grade is still chasing his dream. He’s in a band but it’s like his side hustle. A couple of the girls me and Stephanie used to hang with, follow him like groupies. Pretty lame. But I guess they figure if Matari—that’s the band name—make it big, they'll get a front-row seat on the world tour.” She holds her phone out for me to see the screen. “That’s them.” I’m looking at a photo of some guy on stage, his mouth open while he sings into the microphone with his eyes closed.

  “Why is his guitar on his back?” He’s wearing it like a backpack.

  “Because they’re using the piano in this song. His brother is playing it off to the side.”

  “Are you friends with the brother too?”

  “Nah. We barely know each other.”

  “As you think their band has what it takes?”

  “I don't know. I think it needs a little something else. Like strings or a feminine backing vocal. They’ve got a good following, gigs most weekends. They kind of sound like Muse and Damien Rice had a baby. And if that baby would do a Billie Eilish and pair up with someone like Khalid, they’d kill it.”

  I’m watching her mouth move but I’m not sure I understand what’s coming out. “I know Muse but I'm not sure on the rest of them, so I'll take your word for it.”

  She shrugs and returns to taking tourist photos. "Music is kind of my thing. I get a bit carried away sometimes.”

  “Your thing? As in you create it? Or you enjoy listening to it?”

  “Both. But I'm taking a break from creating. I lost my joy.”

  “That sucks.”

  “Sure does.” She turns her camera on me and watches the screen as she talks. “What’s your passion, Elliot?”

  “Fitness.” I grin. “Boring, huh?”

  “Nothing’s boring when it feeds our soul, Elliot.”

  We see pretty much every landmark you’ve ever seen on TV. It’s astounding to see them all in real life, and even though you recognise them all, they’re now a three-dimensional object in your mind instead of the filtered media image you normally associate them with. It’s lunch by the time we’re finished, so Naomi and I find a café to have something to eat.

  “I can’t believe I’ve waited so long to do that,” Naomi says, in between bites of her open sandwich.

  Nodding, I chew my mouthful of steak sandwich, waiting until I can swallow to speak. “It was number one on my list.”

  “I’m glad I got to join you. Thanks for letting me tag along,” she responds.

  “It was nice talking to you without all the innuendo if I'm honest.”

  She laughs. “Figured an open-top bus wasn’t the best place to try to jump your bones.”

  “There she is.” I laugh, as I flick through my photos before I post them to my Facebook page. There is already a message on my wall from my mother reminding me to send her my UK phone number. I remind her I installed Skype on her computer and phone, but private message her my number, anyway.

  “I really love it here,” Naomi says, taking a deep breath before she chatters away about all the culture and history in London. But I’m not really listening, a woman with wild curly brown hair just walked past, and now I can’t stop thinking about the woman I saw at the station earlier. The more I think about it, the more I think that girl was Paige. Which would be nuts. In a city o
f eight million people, what are the odds of us settling in the same area?

  I suddenly feel a great need to return and push back from the table. Naomi stops speaking mid-sentence and looks at me in wide-eyed surprise.

  “I’m ready to go back. I’ll see you there?” It sounds like a question but I'm actually telling her.

  “Oh,” she says looking around at her half-finished food. “Um, but we’re not finished yet.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. You stay. I’ll go alone.”

  “Did I say something wrong?” She frowns, and now I’m feeling like an arse.

  “No. Not at all. I just have some stuff I want to do.”

  “Oh, well, I’ll just come back with you now.” She gathers her things off the table, and I pick up her bag, handing it to her.

  “Tell me about your music,” I say once we’re seated on the train. “Do you play an instrument?”

  “I play the violin.”

  “Classically?”

  “Classic, modern; if you can play it on a fiddle, it's something I can do.”

  My brow shoots up. “I didn’t expect that”

  “What did you expect?”

  “I don’t know. Piano?”

  She smiles. “I can play piano too.”

  “Wow. I’m impressed.”

  “I went to a performing arts high school. I dabbled.”

  We chat about her school days all the way back to Waterloo. I’m enjoying talking to her without the flirting. It’s helping me think with my head instead of my dick, and I’m even more glad we didn’t fuck last night. I would have missed out on getting to know her if we did. I think I want to keep her as a friend. Especially when my mind keeps straying, thinking about Paige instead of listening to Naomi. That alone says something.

  “I’m thinking of getting my hair cut. You think you can head back to the flat without me?” I ask as we walk towards the hair salon. Nerves build up inside my chest as I stop walking and look in, hoping the girl I saw is still there. When my eyes find her, I watch her movement as she talks to a customer while taking their money at the counter. I’m now positive it’s Paige. She’s smiling and animated and well, beautiful. An odd feeling overcomes me as I watch her. It’s like I’m being enveloped in some sort of mist, and she’s the only person I can see around me.

  “Do you know her?” Naomi asks from beside me. Turning towards her voice, I need to blink a couple of times before she comes into my focus.

  “What?” I ask in return.

  “That girl in there, do you know her?”

  “I think I do,” I say. “I met her on the plane.”

  “Small world,” she says. “Is she why you want a haircut?”

  My eyes settle on her soft brown gaze before I nod. “I want to know her.” It would be cruel to be anything other than honest here.

  “I see,” she says, forcing a smile.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “What’s there to be sorry about?” She reaches out and nudges my arm. “My offer is still on the table. You know, in case chasing her falls through.” I can’t help but smile as she gives me a wink then tells me she’ll see me at home.

  Paige

  “Just make sure you keep up your weekly treatments. You've over bleached your…” I stop talking as the bell above the door jingles and a person I never expected to see again walks through. Betraying my mind, my stomach flits about happily as I look back to the customer and try to finish. “Sorry. You’ve over bleached your hair. We’ll have to cut it really short if you don’t take good care of it.”

  “Well, I don’t want that,” she says as I hand her the bag full of products she’s just purchased.

  “That will all help it stay in good condition until your next appointment,” I say before bidding her farewell.

  As I watch her walk out the door, I have to force myself to look over at Elliot. I don’t know why, but it’s really freaking me out that he’s standing in front of me, smiling like we’re long-lost friends.

  “Long time no see,” he says with that gorgeous smile of his.

  “If you call yesterday morning a long time ago,” I state. “Are you here for a haircut? Or are you just passing through?”

  He looks at the other customers sitting on the chairs waiting. “Um, yeah. I want a haircut. Can you fit me in?”

  “Ah,” I cut my eyes to the clock upon the wall while I think. “It could take a good hour. I have two clients ahead of you.”

  Drumming his hands on the counter, he nods. “That’s fine. I'll wait.”

  Six

  Paige

  “You know that guy who's been waiting for an hour?” Andrea says behind me as I blow dry my current client’s hair. I nod in response, still focusing on curling the brush to create enough volume.

  “Well… he’s asleep.”

  “What?” I laugh incredulously, turning my head slightly to spot him in a chair with his head slumped on his chest. Oh wow.

  “You think I should wake him?”

  “No. He flew in on the same flight as me yesterday. Probably jet lagged. I’ll get him when I’m done here.”

  When I finish up with my client, I walk her to the counter, quickly offering her some product, but not caring if she takes any. I can’t seem to stop my eyes from flitting constantly to the sleeping figure in the waiting area.

  The moment she leaves, I walk over to Elliot and stand in front of him as I contemplate how best to wake him.

  “Wait, wait, wait!” Andrea calls out in one of those whispers that might as well be a yell. “I want to witness this.” She stands beside me and adjusts her shirt as she prepares herself.

  “What are you doing?” She looks like she’s getting ready to catch a ball or something.

  “I don’t know,” she shrugs, laughing a little. “Just wake him. Wait. Do you think I should film it?”

  “What? No.”

  “You’re right. That would be mean.” She pulls out her phone. “I’ll just take a couple of pictures.”

  Elliot

  I jerk my head up as a loud clapping sound startles me awake. Wait. I was asleep? Slowly, my eyes focus and I’m met by the sight of Paige and her co-worker standing in front of me, smiling their arses off. The co-worker takes a couple of pictures. Great.

  “Jetlag can be a bitch, huh?” Paige comments. “You still want that haircut?”

  I scratch my head and stand up, stretching to bring myself fully awake. “Yeah, I still want that haircut,” I reply through a yawn. "Won't mind you getting rid of those pictures too.”

  The co-worker shakes her head. “Nah-uh. I need these to show my sister while we laugh about you later. They might also go on our Instagram to show our customers how comfy our waiting area is.”

  “Always bloody Instagram,” I mutter as Paige inclines her head towards the wash basins. I follow her over, taking the seat she points to.

  “Not a social media fan?” She places a towel around my neck and gets me to lean back against the hard porcelain.

  “Hate it. I prefer talking in person.”

  As she turns the water on and tests the temperature on the back of her hand she says, “Try not to fall asleep on me. I don’t want to have to pull your hair to wake you up.”

  I laugh. “I’ll do my best, but no promises.”

  God, I love getting my hair washed by a hairdresser. The way they massage your head is brilliant. Knowing it’s Paige doing the massaging makes it that much better.

  “All right, sit up,” she instructs as she throws a towel over my head and dries it off. Once finished, she walks me over to a chair and drapes a waterproof cape over my clothes, securing it around my neck.

  “Just a trim? Or you going for a whole new style?” she asks.

  “I have no idea, what do you think?”

  She smiles to herself, and I think I catch an eye roll. “Well, if it were up to me, I’d shave it off. I like very short hair on guys,” she replies, her eyes on me via the mirror.

  “How short
are we talking?” I ask, suddenly worried she might try to shave my head bald.

  “A number four,” she tells me, and I can see the challenge in her eye.

  I look at my hair in the mirror. It's gotten long to the point that it gets in my eyes and almost touches my shoulders. “Number four it is,” I say seriously, holding her eyes in the mirror.

  She raises her eyebrows slightly and nods, preparing the clippers to buzz all of my hair off. I’m a little nervous, but hair grows back… right?

  Paige

  I really didn’t think he’d go for it. Truthfully, I don’t care how long or short a guy’s hair is, but I enjoy the way it feels when it’s short and you run your hand over the spikes. My very first relationship was with a guy with cropped hair, and before it went to shit, playing with his hair was my favourite thing to do. So it wasn’t a total lie.

  As I lift the clippers towards Elliot’s hair, I look at him in the mirror. “Are you sure?” He looks at me and nods confidently, so I take the strip of hair away straight down the middle of his head.

  “Reverse Mohawk,” he says.

  “Can’t change your mind now.”

  He laughs. “I don’t want to.”

  I run the clippers slowly through his hair, watching as his golden locks cascade over his shoulders and slide down the cape to the floor.

  “Where are you staying?” he asks.

  “Heathrow, near the airport. I’m there for a couple of weeks until I find a share house. First stop was a job though.”

  “You got a job in a day?”

  “I got a trial in a day.”

  “She got a job in a day,” Andrea interrupts. “As long as she wants it.”

  I pause and smile at Andrea. “Really? Thank you, Andrea.”

  “Well, you’re good and I need help. It’s a win win.” She winks at me and carries some wet towels into the back room.

  “Congratulations,” Elliot says, smiling.