I tried going back to work, but I seemed to have lost my mojo.
I looked at a client waiting for my services, then to Flossy, jerking my head for her to take over. Emma was studying me in alarm. I was waiting for a bollocking.
I pre-empted. ‘I can’t do this anymore. My heart isn’t in it. This is so unimportant in the scheme of things,’ I said, snatching up my bag. I had no idea what I would do, and to be honest, at that moment, I didn’t care.
Emma took me by the hand. Taking the bag from me, she tossed it over the counter, leaving me speechless, relieved my phone was on me.
‘You’re coming with me,’ she said, pulling me out of the door into the high street. ‘I have a cure for you,’ she continued, dragging me past the shops. I was intrigued. Was she taking me to get acupuncture by the Chinese lady at number 52? The thought of needles being stuck in me sent a shudder down my spine. Or was I being frog-marched into the aromatherapy shop at number 98? It was neither; we stopped at a bench in the middle of the pedestrian precinct. Then placing her hands on my shoulders, she sat me down.
I looked at her, and she held up a finger.
‘You sit here and take a good look around you and, in particular, watch the women.’ Her eyes surveyed around the area before pointing to a harassed-looking lady in her twenties, struggling with a child in a pushchair, several bags of shopping hanging from the bars.
‘What do you see?’
‘A woman with a child?’ It confused me, wishing I could just go home and sulk.
‘Look deeper, what’s she wearing?’
‘Jeans?’
‘How much do you think they cost?’
I shrugged. Why would I care?
‘Fifty to a hundred pounds and doesn’t spend anything on her hair?’
The girl had passed us. My eyes followed her. Her hair was long, reaching the middle of her back, dark with silver streaks. It looked out of condition and in desperate need of a trim.
‘And what about this lady wandering this way with a stick?’
Again, I studied as the lady. Guessing in her sixties, had her hair yanked back with clips. Next, Emma pointed at two girls window shopping. I shuddered. Both heads needed a good seeing too. One girl’s hair was tied back in a kind of ponytail; the hair stuck out like a brush, ready to dip into a tin of emulsion to paint a wall. The other was blonde with the dark roots creeping down, an attempt at beading the front not done professionally. A lethal weapon if she twisted her head.
‘You sit here, then come back to work knowing we need your skills. You are, in your own way, a missionary. No, don’t laugh; it’s true. You make women feel good about themselves, hair and nails.’ Then with a big smile, she moved off, leaving me sitting there.
I hadn’t thought of it like that. I pulled my phone out from my jeans’ pocket to check my blog as a thought occurred to me. My worst fears confirmed. Paula had written two of the blogs. One stating a clean face showed the world who you really were. Women didn’t need to cover their face in ‘Crap.’ I was shocked. What was she thinking? I needed to get back on track. Emma was right; they required my skills. There were women out there wanting to feel beautiful, needed the skill set I possessed. I walked back into the salon glancing at two clients waiting. My chest tightened, but I needed to get on with it despite the look of disappointment on Flossy’s face. Maybe I would let her have Alice. She had little hair to mess up. I was ready and willing to get back into the saddle, as dad would say.
‘Hello Kelly, it’s nice to see you again. Please come over and be seated,’ I smiled at the first woman. Her hair was a mess.
***
One week later…
The one person I wanted to thank, who I liked to believe had helped me with his kind words and sincere eyes, was DI Handsome. I met him outside the station, having taken me a while to convince the desk sergeant to call him, but I succeeded with my pleading eyes. I was getting my confidence back. I had put on my Stella McCartney jeans, didn’t want to be too showy. And I was back at work full-time, Emma offering me a partnership in the business, not sure where she thought I would get the money from but was thinking about it.
I had allowed my hair to go back to its natural blonde. I looked good waiting outside the police station. I watched as the detective paused behind the glass door to survey me at a safe distance. Me giving him a wave so that he knew I’d seen him. Poor love looked confused, and I wondered if this was a good idea after all. Would it lead to my humiliation?
‘Hello, Miss West, and how can I help you?’ he asked as he walked with long strides towards me.
‘I just wanted to thank you in person.’ I gave him a view of my whiter than white teeth.
‘For what?’
‘For being kind.’
He grinned. ‘It’s my job. I’m glad to see you looking well.’
I was going weak at the knees. The smell of his cologne wafted around like a lasso, drawing
