by Shari Low
‘That’s sounds good. Where are we going?’
He hesitated.
Damn. If it was somewhere she didn’t love, she was definitely cancelling.
‘Thought we’d go to Grilled. I know you love it there.’
Okay, so that was another result. It was her favourite restaurant and she always got some fab pics there, so at least it wouldn’t be a total washout. And with her mum and dad it would be even better. Unless of course, she got a better offer – but no point showing that hand just yet.
Instead, she used her entire childhood and teenage experience of weekly drama classes to project enthusiasm and glee. ‘That sounds great. Can’t wait. Oops, have to go, another call coming in. Love you babe.’ She rang off, and looked at the other call flashing in front of her. The office again. Jeez, they were persistent today. And she was just as persistently ignoring them. Probably the area manager wanting to make sure she was on target for this month. Of course she was. It was only the fact that she was so bloody good at her job that gave her the luxury of being able to take the odd easy shift like today.
Some people found the life of a rep hard to adjust to because it was a pretty solitary existence, especially if, as in her case, the head office was down south. Lila’s job was to represent the company in the west of Scotland and central belt, so she spent four days a week out on the road visiting clients and one day a week working from home doing admin and planning the following week’s appointments. She’d been doing it so long it was an absolute breeze. Along the way, she’d picked up a few habits that made it all so much easier – like scheduling Glasgow meetings on a Friday so that she was close to home and could get away with pretty much taking the day off. The call sheet she would submit to the office would have her meeting with Kenneth Manson, a few fabricated conversations with other doctors in the same hospital, a couple of fake cold calls and a few other manufactured stops that would make it look like she’d had a busy day. Of course, she couldn’t get away with that all the time. Next week she’d work her ass off in Stirling, Edinburgh, and a few other smaller territories to make up for it. Balance. It was all about balance and making the system and circumstances bend to her best advantage.
Talking of which… She dressed, brushed her hair, reapplied her lipstick and headed out to the car. On the way past reception, she dropped the key in the slot and registered a flash of judgement on the receptionist’s face.
‘My husband,’ Lila wittered, with a smile and a dramatic shudder. ‘He can’t get enough of me.’ She strutted on past, adding just a shade of an extra wiggle to her walk.
In the car, she checked the time. Two p.m. There was a hospital just a mile or so from here – maybe she could fit in a couple of spec calls after all. Or she could completely fabricate this afternoon’s appointment sheet and take the rest of the day off. Maybe go get her nails done. Nip into House of Fraser for some new Clarins.
Or she could phone his wife again.
Or…
Maybe his wife would be home now. Perhaps she shouldn’t call. What if she just went over there and knocked on her door? What if she just calmly and honestly told his wife what was going on. She must know anyway. She must. Ken had fallen out of love with her so long ago she was probably desperate for him to move on and find happiness elsewhere. They could discuss it calmly, rationally, and make a plan for going forward.
Ken’s house was only about fifteen minutes from here. It wouldn’t be a stretch at all to get there, speak to her, get this done. And then… Cammy. He’d be home from work at six, so she could let him know, break it to him gently, and they could all just get on with their lives, be with the people they were meant to be with.
What was the alternative? Wait another seven years? She’d be heading for forty by then, and much as she didn’t ever see herself with children, if she changed her mind she might be too late.
That wasn’t what bothered her most though. It was spending more years without Ken in her bed every night, going on holiday without him, spending special days without him there. It reminded her too much of her childhood. Dad’s job took him away so much that half the time he didn’t even make it back for Christmas. Mum tried to hide the fact that she missed him – hair done, lipstick on, face the world – but Lila knew. There was one year, the best year ever, when he’d walked in the door unexpectedly late on Christmas Eve and Mum had been so happy she’d danced for hours.
The circumstances were obviously very different, but Mum had her husband with her all the time now. Wasn’t it time that Lila had that too? It would work out so much better for all of them. She’d be happy. Ken would be happy. And she’d get to spend more time with Mum again because Dad would have a new golfing buddy. And even better, he was a heart surgeon, so they’d already have stuff to talk about. What was the chances? Her dad had a heart condition and she was marrying a cardiac surgeon. It was fate. Serendipity. Yep, this was the best outcome for all of them and it was up to her to make it happen.
She indicated left and turned on to the expressway that headed out to the West End, to the house that she’d driven past so many times over the years, wondering what he was doing inside. In the early days, sometimes she’d just go and sit there with a coffee and her favourite songs on the CD player, just watching the curtains, feeling close to him because he was a few feet away, but trying not to think about the wife that was in there with him.
This was her time to get the life she wanted.
She deserved it. So did Ken.
And if she wanted those obstacles and challenges gone, she was more than prepared to make that happen.
2 p.m. – 4 p.m.
Chapter 13
Caro
It took Caro a while to decide where to start. In the end, geography made the decision. Of all the places that Lila visited, the beauty salon on Ingram Street was one of the more regular, and that was only a five-minute walk from the tapas restaurant, a bonus given that it was a freezing cold day.
She left her table, fought her way through the piles of Christmas shopping bags hanging on the edges of chairs and piled beside tables. That was what normal people were doing this week, yet Caro had no notion to celebrate. This year, it would be just a day like every other now, where she’d sit by her mum’s side and hope for a miracle.
On the way out the door, she stepped aside to let a tall guy and two older women come in. He was past her before she got a chance to get a look at his face, but from the back she could see that he was probably in his twenties or thirties, so she guessed one of them was probably his mum. Pretty cool way to spend a Friday afternoon, out with mother, doing a bit of lunch and shopping. She’d give everything she had to be doing the same thing.
The sadness never got any easier, but she shrugged it off and kept walking, using the map on her iPhone to guide her. Straight along, right, left, a few hundred metres, past a holiday-wear shop – Sun, Sea, Ski – and what looked like a trendy guy’s boutique, CAMDEN, and there it was, on the left-hand side: Pluckers.
There was a moment of hesitation, before she shrugged off the fear, pushed open the door and was met by a wall of music and chat. There were three nail bars with about six seats at each one, all of them full, and behind them, ten leather chairs facing into a circular mirrored console, hairdressers working away at every station.
Caro had been in one of these places exactly zero times in her life. Much to Todd’s considerable frustration, she never visited his salon, preferring to just have him pop round to her flat and trim the bottom of her hair every few months, before she stuck it up in a ponytail and forgot about it until the next time.
‘I could do so much more with this,’ he’d moan.
‘And it would be wasted on me,’ she’d reply, every time.
Nails fell into the same category. They’d occasionally get a quick coat of clear varnish on school days, and something that matched her outfit for special events, but that was as far as her beauty regime went.
This was another world to her, a
n alien landscape, one that – she scanned the room – showed no sign of Lila. What to do. Go or stay? Go or stay? Go or…
‘Hi, can I help you?’ A stunning woman behind the counter had looked up from the computer and was smiling at her expectantly. Rabbit. Headlights. Suddenly, she felt slightly intimidated by the trendy surroundings, a ridiculous reaction, really, given that every day of her life she stood in front of thirty eleven-year-olds. That was a far tougher crowd, yet she handled it with cool ease. Right, what was the plan? Walk out now or wait and hope Lila turned up? She knew from Facebook that this was her regular Friday haunt, so it was her best option. She could do this. She could.
‘I’d like an appointment please.’
‘First time here?’ the receptionist asked.
Caro nodded. See, her out-of-depth-ness was written all over her face.
‘No worries. I’m Suze, and this is my salon, so let me know if you don’t enjoy your first experience and I’ll fire whoever was responsible.’
A few of the nail technicians at the nearest nail bar overheard and laughed. Suddenly, Caro felt a bit more comfortable. There was a really good vibe in here. It might look flash, but the atmosphere was chilled out and relaxed, thanks – she suspected – to the woman behind the counter.
‘Okay, so would you like beauty, hair or both?’
Caro hesitated. ‘I’m not sure. Nails? Yes, nails.’
‘No problem. There will be a space in about half an hour, would that be okay?’
Hopefully that would keep her here long enough for Lila to appear. ‘Perfect.’
Just at that moment a hair stylist, a spiky-haired guy who was dressed like the lead singer in a punk band, popped his head around Suze’s shoulder. ‘Suze, I’m on a roll of magnificence today – who’s next?’
‘No one. Your 2.30 just cancelled.’
Hair! A hair appointment would stretch her time here even longer.
‘I’ll take it!’ Caro blurted, then immediately backpedalled. ‘I mean, if that’s okay?’
Suze’s grin became a cackle. ‘Are you sure? His last customer left looking like Cindy Lauper from 1984.’
The stylist feigned outrage. ‘1986! Man, I’m working with amateurs here.’
‘I’m sure,’ Caro said, feeling a wave of gratitude that, for at least the next hour or so, her mind would be on something other than the purpose of today and anxiety over whether or not she’d succeed in getting answers.
‘Excellent. I’ll get a nail technician to come over to Rod’s station and do your nails while he’s massacring your head. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.’
‘Ignore her. She’s bitter and twisted,’ Rod said, eliciting another cackle from Suze, as he came around to the front of the desk. ‘So what can I do for you today?’
Caro shrugged. ‘Maybe just a trim? I don’t know. Coming in was… spontaneous.’
He was right next to her now, touching her hair, moving it around, thinking, serious for the first time. ‘How about you let me give it a bit of a cut, put in a few layers, nothing drastic? And I’d love to see how you look with a bit of brightness around your face. We’ve got some brush-in colour that would just lift it and it washes out. What do you think?’
He started walking backwards and Caro automatically followed him. Talking and walking now, talking and walking. ‘That sounds fine. Whatever you think…’
‘Ace, let’s get cracking.’
At the back of the salon, she was handed over to a junior to wash her hair, then taken forward to one of the seats in the circle.
A woman in a black T-shirt that announced she was in the ‘NAIL TEAM’ strolled over, pulling a small trolley behind her packed with nail paraphernalia.
‘Hi, I’m Daisy. What colour would you like?’ she asked, with a sweeping hand towards the vast array of varnishes on the top of the trolley.
Caro pondered for a moment. What would Lila choose? From her Facebook pics, she knew it would be a dramatic red or a bright cerise. Caro checked them out and plumped for a pale pink. Nothing too dramatic or over the top. Surely there was no way they were related.
Rod reappeared behind her, sat on a wheeled stool and pushed himself around her from side to side, studying his canvas. ‘Okay, you sure I can go for it?’ he asked.
‘I’m sure.’ This would normally be terrifying, but compared to everything else that was going on today, this didn’t even register as a blip of fear.
Rod stopped talking and got to work, lifting hair, cutting, combing, sometimes just flicking the hair up and cutting it while it was in the air, scissors tapping at an almighty speed. Todd would kill her for letting anyone else near her locks, but right now Caro was so grateful for the safe haven that she didn’t care.
Without moving her head or doing anything with her hands that could smudge Daisy’s work, she glanced around the other customers in the circle. Still no Lila. However, she was surprised at the wide spectrum of clients. There were a couple of young women she suspected were models, long, elegant limbs, and cheekbones like spring rolls. There were two elderly ladies in rollers. A teenage boy with the biggest quiff she’d ever seen. And four women in a group conversation, their ages suggesting they were two mums and their adult daughters.
A pang. She’d never done this with mum. Never would now. Mum had gone to the hairdressers religiously the day before Dad came back from a trip, so sometimes it was once a fortnight, sometimes a month, sometimes a couple of months. She was a bit more adventurous than Caro. Their hair was the same colour, but twice a year mum would have blonde highlights to brighten up her natural waves. She was pretty without trying, striking but in a completely manageable way.
Caro clenched her jaw to try to keep herself together. Now wasn’t the time. There had been enough regret and recrimination since her mum got sick, and nothing new would come from revisiting it all now. She’d rather just, for a while at least, forget.
But, no. That thought came with the wrong choice of words.
A flashback. Mum. Caro. That first time. About four years ago. Caro had already been living on her own for many years, since she left university and started work, but she still popped over to see Mum a couple of times a week. That Sunday, she’d found the house empty, the cooker on, a chicken burnt in the oven. She’d waited an hour. More. Called her mum’s mobile. No answer. She wasn’t one to panic, but she still breathed a huge sigh of relief when her mum walked in the door.
Caro gave her a hug. ‘Mum! I was getting worried!’
‘Why darling? I’m absolutely fine.’
‘Tell that to the chicken in the oven.’
‘The…?’ Yvonne stopped, a look of concentration coming over her, as if she was searching for something in her mind but just couldn’t quite grasp it.
The chicken. That’s how it had started. The first thing she’d forgotten. Old age, she’d joked. The menopause. Too much on her mind. Caro had gone along with it, unconcerned at first. After a while, that changed.
Her mum would make plans and not show up. Drive to the shops, then come home on the bus, completely forgetting where the car was parked or that she’d even taken it in the first place. Every time, she’d laugh it off, blame being dippy, or being too busy or stressed.
Caro researched Yvonne’s behaviour on the internet and came up with many possible reasons, but there was one suggestion that stood out – forgetfulness could be a symptom of depression. It wouldn’t have been a surprise. Her mum had always had highs and lows, so perhaps this was something in the same vein. That must be it. She tried to persuade Mum to see a doctor but she wouldn’t agree, so she’d left it for a while, visited as often as possible, hoping that it would get better.
It didn’t. And now…
‘Okay, so what do we think?’ Rod asked her, snapping her back to the present.
Caro checked out her reflection – her damp hair still looked a similar length to when he’d started, but it seemed fuller, with choppy layers, some of which fell to just under the curve of her chi
n. There was definitely a touch of relief that she didn’t look like Cindy Lauper, circa 1984 or 1986. She loved it. She looked the same, but different. Better. Healthier. ‘It’s a triumph, thanks,’ she told Rod, laughing as he gave her a low bow in return.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Suze come towards her with a young girl, maybe about sixteen or seventeen, dressed in the salon colours of black trousers, her black T-shirt emblazoned with the words ‘Face Team.’
‘Since you’re a new customer and we like to throw as much emotional blackmail as possible at you so that you’ll leave a great review online and then come back, we’re wondering if Kylie here can give you a facial and make-up? On the house. She’s still training so she needs as much practice as she can get. And don’t worry, if it’s a complete balls up, there’s always wet wipes.’
The young girl looked so hopeful that Caro didn’t have the heart to argue.
Before she could respond, the door pinged and Caro almost jumped, then craned her neck to see the new arrival. Nope, not Lila.
She sighed and then realised Suze and Kylie were waiting for an answer. ‘Sure, that would be good actually.’
Rod took advantage of the moment to attend to his next appointment.
‘I’ll be back in a sec. I’ll just go sort out my next client then I’ll be back to give an even more triumphant blow dry.’
Off he went, while the newest addition to her glamour team grabbed a cotton wool pad and a cleanser.
‘What kind of look do you normally go for?’ Kylie asked, beaming at the opportunity to flex her talents.
‘Erm, I’m not sure. I don’t usually wear make-up, so something really natural would be great,’ Caro suggested.
The teenager’s nod and look of determination told her she was up for the challenge. Rod returned and picked up a dryer and a huge brush.
Slotting in on the opposite side of Daisy, Kylie got to work, and suddenly a whole host of images popped up in Caro’s mind – photographs that Lila had posted of very similar situations. In this salon, hair being done, make-up, nails too, surrounded by stylists and technicians. So this was what it felt like to be Lila. This was part of her life. Part of what made her who she was. Caro took a moment to think about how it felt and came up with… nice. That was it. Not amazing, or wonderful or special. Not boring or annoying. She appreciated their work but this wasn’t her. If anything, all the attention was a bit embarrassing. Give her Todd and his hairdressing scissors in her kitchen any day of the week.
