Chapter 14
14
The Hideaway, St Aidan
Pony tails and dark horses
Saturday
‘I s this pink too bright?’
Tallulah’s newly coloured hair swings in front of us in a luxuriant arc. Having emerged from this afternoon’s dedicated blow-dry area by my bed for her ‘ta-da’ reveal, she’s scouring the circle of faces in the living room searching for approval.
‘It’s fab – the most vibrant yet.’ I’m leaning out from the kitchen, talking through my chocolate brownie.
Tallulah nods. ‘That’s why I went last. We’ve been winding up the dose.’
With nine newly coloured heads, there’s so much swishing of hair it’s like being in the dunes when the breeze sweeps through the marram grass. Except here in the beach hut every version is a different shade, all the way from pale oyster to pulsating crimson.
Milla laughs. ‘With magenta, there’s no such thing as too much, Tallulah.’
I smile at Milla. ‘Not feeling left out? I’m sure we could persuade your mum to let you have a pearl-blush version?’
IMHO Sophie might need to flex a little more now Milla’s getting older; if she holds her reins too tight, it could blow up in her face. But what do I know?
Milla twists a flaxen tress between her fingers. ‘Pink doesn’t really suit who I am now.’ Her sigh is fraught with frustration. ‘If I struggle to be taken seriously as a woman with mayonnaise-coloured hair, I doubt that looking like I’ve collided with a raspberry milkshake will help any.’
That’s stopped me in my tracks. ‘Wow!!! Good point well made.’
She pulls a face. ‘I know I’m letting the pink-hair fundraiser down, but I am planning to support it – just in my own way.’
‘Great!’ It’s good she’s being true to herself. ‘I’ve only ever seen the world as a dark brunette – except when all my hair fell out, obviously.’
That was so traumatic, I’ve been glad of any hair at all ever since. When I was ill I tried never to grumble, but my first chemo round hit me like a freight train. I should have known what was coming – after all, the cocktail of poison was designed to kill the worst cells invading my body, so it wasn’t going to do much for the rest.
Everyone responds differently to treatment; some people lose their hair, other luckier ones don’t. Looking back I wish I’d bitten the bullet and been brave enough to have a pixie cut straight away; at least then I could have done some good and donated my locks to wigs for kids. Instead I clung on to my optimism and my long hair simply because it was so much of who I was.
Milla grasps my hand. ‘You were super pretty with a shaved head. But it must have been hard.’
Chemo knocked me so low I didn’t brush my hair for a week, and when I finally did it came out in clumps that made me feel sicker still. My hairdresser was so kind – she was round with scissors in the hour – not that there was much left to crop. But at least that way I wasn’t the one picking my hair up off the floor.
Milla hesitates. ‘I promise whatever I do with my hair won’t be that extreme.’ She smiles. ‘You look so fab with the choppy style you have now – and it’s almost down to your shoulders!’
These days I have my hair cut into layers because since it came back it’s been more like wire than silk, but I’m not sure who I’m kidding. It’s an achievement that it’s long enough to catch into a ponytail with a scrunchie. But I have to admit it’s so fabulous to have. ‘I love it too.’
With so many girls to get through the bathroom they arrived extra early this morning, then headed straight off along the beach. We all knew collecting driftwood for this evening’s fire was just a ruse to scope out the hotel grounds, and the woodpile by the front deck is big enough to roast a hog, not toast a few marshmallows.
Between us, I’m not a fan of crispy pork. Any celebration Dillon’s friends had, from weddings to an ‘ I got a new BMW ’ party, invariably included a hog roast. As someone with animal rights sympathies, the sight of a pig on a spit has always sent me running to find the veggie burgers, so I’d rather not encourage my own beach version.
It was dry when they arrived earlier, but it’s one of those mercurial St Aidan days where one moment the sun is shining from a cornflower sky, and the next it’s the colour of a dungeon, and the rain is thrashing down so hard it’s drilling holes in the sand. But far from us feeling cooped up, the day has flown by.
There was a moment of disappointment when a text arrived to confirm that the hotel groundsmen’s shift had been called off due to bad weather. And I could have done without the graphic descriptions of Kit and his loved-up couple-of-the-day, even if it was great news that he’s switched his preferred location for photo ops to further along the beach. I know I’m not supposed to look that way, but there’s still no sign of his fiancée shepherding the couples along the beach. Then a few moments later, the girls were diving in the towel pile and deciding who was next for the shower.
Our little chat over, Milla turns from me, back to her friends. ‘Okay, so I’ll take the last turn in the bathroom. Tallulah and Scarlett are coming to help with my styling, Aunty Flo needs help with more baking. And someone needs to break up some sticks so the campfire is ready for later.’
There’s a flurry of discussion, then Shadow, me, Sarah and Sadie head for the kitchen. In a beach hut bursting with teens, a pile of M&M cookies goes a long way to keeping everyone chilled. We’re sliding the third batch onto the cooling rack when the call finally comes from the bedroom alcove.
‘Stand by, everyone come in from outside! Milla’s ready for her reveal!’
They’ve been so long they must have done a deep condition and a fancy style. I grab a last handful of broken biscuit and step out for a better view.
‘Surprise!’ Milla does her jazz hands, then steps forward into the living area.
After so long I’m expecting braiding, and for a second I think she’s still got a towel over her head. It’s only as I blink and look again that the awful truth sinks in. Instead of Milla’s pale blonde waves cascading over her shoulders, the dark glossy mane I’m looking at makes me choke on my cookie.
‘What…’ the hell? I strangle that mid-phrase and try again. ‘What … a transformation!’
If it weren’t for the stains around her hair line, I’d think it was a wind-up, but there are tell-tale dye marks on her scalp too.
Milla tosses one inky tress over her shoulder. ‘I’ve taken a leaf out of your book, Aunty Flo. I’m rocking the raven shimmer.’
Not that I’ve ever had hair the colour of shiny coal. I’m more dark coffee, but compliments where they’re due. ‘You’ve got it beautifully even.’ It’s not easy with blonde hair. The tone is so solid it’s wiped away every bit of Milla-the-nymph and instilled her with a different force altogether. If Sophie was dead against pink, this will send her ballistic.
I cough. ‘Not wanting to spoil the party, but…’ it’s a pertinent question a savvy brunette should be able to answer, no problem ‘…what’s your mum going to say when she sees you?’
Milla tosses her head. ‘I feel ten times more kick-ass than before.’ She turns to the girls. ‘Let’s FaceTime her now!’
Milla’s phone is already in her hand, and as Sophie picks up on the second ring, everyone crowds around Milla and choruses ‘Ta-da’ again!
There’s a beat of silence, then Sophie’s voice. ‘Who’s this? What are you doing on Milla’s phone?’
Milla giggles. ‘It’s me, Mum, I’m showing you my make-over! Ebony suits me so much more than cerise would have, don’t you think?’
Sophie’s voice jumps up an octave. ‘You are joking me? Milla? Milla? ’ As Milla lets a curtain of black hair drop across her face, Sophie’s squeal turns to a roar. ‘This is not funny. Put Aunty Florence on. Now! ’
Milla holds out her phone to me. ‘While you deal with Mum, we’ll be outside sorting the campfire and the fairy lights.’
‘I’ll ring you on mine, Soph.’ I wave away the phone, then listen to the footsteps tramping out onto the deck.
I take in Shadow’s side eye. ‘At least that will give me the time to find a hard hat and a flak jacket.’
I know from back in the day, Sophie on the warpath is never a pretty sight. This may be my cue to leave town, and fast.