Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-Six
ELLIE
After convincing Mike I’ll be as quick as I can and I definitely don’t need his help, I head to my sister’s house, cranking up the volume on a ‘Power Ballads’ playlist to help build up courage.
I don’t proclaim to be a decent singer, but there’s something about the protective bubble of my car which makes me feel invincible, even more so when the crescendo builds and I pull off a high note.
She won’t answer any of my questions. She won’t admit she sabotaged my chances with Mike all those years ago. She won’t come clean about the money she owes me. So, why do I think she’s going to be any different tonight?
She’d probably do something crazy, though. The mirror in the salon would be just the start for her. Maybe I should take a leaf out of Kathryn’s book. Because if she can play games, so can I.
I shake my head, upping the volume on the stereo, trying to distract myself, but it’s no use. Because she wouldn’t think twice. In fact, she doesn’t think at all. Not really, anyway. Not when it comes to anyone else .
I come to a stop at the crossroads. Typically, I’d continue straight on, but something’s pulling at me to turn left. Maybe it’s the courage acting. Maybe it’s the fact that I’ve had enough.
As the lights flick from red to amber to green, I signal left, speeding off towards the salon, wondering if this really is a good idea.
Five minutes later, I conclude it’s absolutely not a good idea, and by the time I pull up outside the salon, I’ve decided it’s the worst idea I’ve ever had, but I’m going to do it anyway.
I owe this to myself. And to Mike.
The emptiness of the salon is obvious as soon as I get out of the car. I go around to the boot and pull out the stash of reusable shopping bags I never remember until I’m at the till, tucking them under my arm as I head towards the doors.
Deep breath.
At least there’s no one around to see me—not that they’d suspect something unless Kathryn has updated the neighbourhood watch—but I slip the shutter key into the lock and rotate it fifteen degrees.
The shutters spring to life, jutting upwards as they clear the bottom of the door.
Then they breach the half-way mark and I cut them there, ducking underneath and rooting through my keyring for the front door key.
Bingo.
She’s not changed the locks … but I know for a fact she’ll do that once she’s noticed I’ve been here.
She must have got Greg to remove the mirror, along with the fragments of glass and the broken vase, because the floor is clear, which makes things easier for me. Less pussyfooting.
I shake out several bags, setting them on the floor, then I start grabbing things. All my things, anyway.
My scissors, hot tools, combs, and brushes.
My stylist belt, prep products, dye samples—basically anything I bought or invested in.
I decide to leave the trolley—because frankly, getting that replaced is relatively easy and carrying it out may draw too much attention to myself and I’m not sure it’ll fit in my car.
But I finish stuffing the bags as best as I can, turning back to the window to check the coast is clear before ducking outside and cramming them into my boot.
But I don’t feel satisfied.
I stand on the pavement for a few seconds, worrying my lip before I head back inside, straight for the counter where I fire up the computer.
How pissed would she be if I deleted her entire bookings record?
It’s petty but?—
I shake my head and back away from the desk, the glow of the computer screen fading as I move over to the nail station instead. The rows of gel polish are lined up like soldiers. Kathryn’s army of colours, ready for battle.
A thought flickers through my mind.
I can’t … can I?
But I’m impulsive. Not capable of thinking rationally, apparently.
Just like Kathryn.
I pick up one of the bottles from the middle row— ‘Pillar-box Red’ . The colour of danger—untwisting the cap. I set it back down, lid open, air rushing inside.
Exposed.
Then I move along the row, ‘Leonardo’s Model’, a glittery shade of purple is next. Followed by ‘Pigment of my Imagination’ , and ‘You Had Me at Halo’ —summer favourites, now slowly spoiling under the glare of my payback.
Five shades in, I pause. This is pathetic, right? Petty and childish and—maybe a few more won’t hurt. I’m not exactly ruining her relationship with Greg, right? It’s not like I’m smashing the bottles, is it? I’m not storming in here, breaking mirrors and causing chaos.
No. I’m just doing a little sabotage—like she did with my mirror.
I’m just … letting air in.
Giving these bottles space to breathe so they can feel as free as I do.
She’ll be wondering why her stock is gloopy next week. She’ll probably call the rep and complain, accuse them of sending her a bad batch; something she’d have got me to do before.
But this can be her time to waste.
Not mine.
Not again.
I know two wrongs don’t make a right, but surely this only scrapes the surface of wicked given Kathryn’s extensive list of wrongdoing.
‘Love is in the bare’ is the next victim. Followed by ‘Baby, take a vow’ , then ‘Lavendare to find courage’, which makes me laugh out loud before I change my mind and fasten the lid, slipping it into my pocket instead.
Battle paint.
Armour.
The last colour I let free is ‘ Fifteen minutes of flame ’, then I step back, gradually retreating to the counter where I change the password to the terminal instead.
I slip out, locking the door behind me and pulling the shutters back down, then I slide behind the steering wheel of my car.
A half-hour later, I’m back in the comfort of my home, staring into the mirror of my dressing table, fixing my makeup and finishing my hair, wondering if I’ve made a huge mistake, but several minutes later, I’m calling Jess, wondering if she can convince me otherwise.
I prop my phone up on the dressing table as it rings out.
“I need your advice,” I say as she answers. “Though it’s something I’ve already sort of done, so I basically need you to tell me I did the right thing.”
“You did the right thing,” she says on cue.
I fill her in on the story of ‘House of Kathryn’ and Kathryn herself, avoiding every attempt I’ve made to contact her .
“Basically, I got to the point where I wanted to get my stuff back,” I say. “So I went to the salon, and I let myself in. I grabbed my things, literally throwing them into the bags … but I couldn’t call it quits, Jess. I did something.”
She raises an eyebrow. “Is this going to sicken me or turn me into a cheerleader?”
I bite my lip. “I changed her password for the bookings computer,” I blurt out. “And I took the lids off several gel polishes.”
Jess bursts out laughing. “Oh, my God, Ellie. I love this.”
“But it’s petty, right?”
“Yes, but not petty enough, if you ask me. I’d have redirected the phone lines to a premium rate number or something.”
“No, that’s not good for the clients,” I say.
“True. So, what now?”
“Well, now, I wait. Because if she didn’t want to talk to me before, she probably will want to talk to me now.”
I stand up and make my way to the wardrobe, opening the door and reaching for my gown.
“Wait,” Jess says sharply. “Come back to the phone. Now.”
“What?” I say. “I’m sort of on a time crunch.”
“Sit back down,” she says. “Show me your hand.”
I clench my jaw but slip back into the seat.
“Start talking,” she says.
And I have no choice but to tell her everything.