Chapter 6
GEORGIE
Georgie pushed up the heavy steel shutter that covered the window of Copper Curls, and then did the same with the shutter in front of the door.
Her hands were so cold, she struggled to get the key in the lock, and then, inside, took three attempts to switch off the alarm, because her frozen fingers wouldn’t obey her.
It was her own fault for leaving the house without gloves, but she’d been in such a fluster when the phone rang right before she left.
Her heart had almost stopped with the anticipation of whether it was going to be the call from the TV company delivering a life-altering dilemma, but it was only Flynn, saying he’d left his wallet on the bedside table and he’d pop back over for it after work.
Kayleigh’s comment about them sneaking around floated back into her mind, along with the acknowledgment that it was slightly ridiculous that her eighteen-year-old daughter was taking a more mature, pragmatic view of this situation than the fully-fledged adults in the equation.
A decision on how her future relationship with her ex would look was going to have to be made, but not today.
Today, there were way too many other things on her mind.
If felt strange coming into the salon on a Monday, because that was usually the weekday that they closed, except when she was asked to make an exception for special clients or special occasions.
Today, both of those things were true. This was her mum’s birthday and her first day of retirement, so a pamper here was going to be a lovely treat for her (with her pals, of course) and a fitting way for her mum to say goodbye to the salon – by getting spoiled and beautified, after decades of doing that for everyone else.
Although, for her own wellbeing in this moment, Georgie tried not to think about her mum actually leaving Scotland tomorrow morning.
She had no idea how she was going to deal with the party tonight either.
How could you celebrate two of the people you loved most in the world buggering off to another country?
And who threw a party on a Monday night?
Georgie and Grant had both suggested that they plan a big, lavish soirée on the previous Saturday, but Jessie had refused, saying she wanted somewhere she could ‘open the top button of her skirt after too many sausage rolls’.
Besides, most of the people coming were retired, so the night of the week didn’t matter to them.
Georgie walked the length of the salon to dump her bag in the staffroom at the back, pressed the booster button on the heating thermostat that lived in there, then wandered back through to the main salon.
Despite her inner turmoil and churning stomach, she couldn’t help but think how gorgeous Copper Curls looked.
Her mum had invested so much in this place, and she was meticulous about keeping it both modern and pristine.
Just last year, she’d blown a chunk of her profits on a complete renovation.
There were new copper tiles on the floor, the walls had been panelled and finished in a luxurious cream, and the shelves in front of each seat had been replaced with bespoke marble counters, and copper-edged mirrors above them carried on the metallic theme.
White leather chairs and a dramatic but modern globe chandelier completed the look.
At the back of the room, outside the staffroom door, the old backwash basins had been replaced with gleaming new sinks on top of an oatmeal marble pedestal.
The end result was chic, stylish and would do them for another decade – which was Jessie’s intention.
Her mum and dad still owned the building, but the running of this place was all hers now, and it had been such an incredibly generous gift.
‘I just wanted to make sure I leave you something that won’t need another penny spent on it for a few years to come,’ her mum had assured her, and Georgie had been thrilled with the thought that this was where she’d spend the rest of her career.
Delighted. Over the moon. Now, replaying that conversation in her mind took the stomach churn to spin-cycle levels.
The potential career-changing opportunity that had come her way last week had been a bolt from the blue, but even so, how could she even consider leaving here after her mum had done that for her?
How ungrateful could she be? She was so busy with the self-flagellation that it took her a moment to notice her phone was ringing again.
She pulled it out of her pocket. Unknown number.
This time, she refused to get her knickers in a twist because it was probably Flynn calling from his work to say that he’d also left his pants, his socks, or his razor, or someone trying to sell her double glazing.
‘Hello?’ She didn’t even try to hide her weariness.
‘Hi, can I speak to Georgie Dern please?’ She couldn’t pinpoint the accent. Probably one of those AI scams she was always seeing warnings about on TikTok.
‘Speaking.’
‘Good morning. At least I think it’s morning over there. This is Bonnie Katowski, and I’m one of the assistant producers on The Clansman . Ollie Chiles has passed on your details and a request that we bring you on board.’
‘Sorry, what?’ Oh God. Oh God. This was what it must feel like when a radio station called to say you’d won a cash prize or a tumble drier.
Bonnie Katowski repeated the important part. ‘Ollie. Chiles.’
Georgie had heard correctly the first time, but just wanted to make sure.
Earlier she’d wondered if the damned universe was playing games with her and now she knew it definitely was.
She plumped down on the nearest chair, ironically, the same one that Ollie Chiles – actor and a bit of a superstar – had sat in on his last visit.
Yes, that was correct. The man who had achieved worldwide fame as the star of The Clansman , a show about sixteenth-century rebellious Scots, had first found his way into this non-celebrity neck of the woods when his mother, Moira, had moved into the village six months before.
He’d dropped Moira off for her weekly shampoo and blow-dry with Jessie, and when he’d come early to pick her up, asked if Georgie, who was sitting at reception, having a quick break and reading the latest edition of Vogue , could fit him in for a quick trim.
Georgie had almost fainted when she’d realised who was standing in front of her.
There had been an emotional chain reaction that had gone something like: shock, disbelief, momentary thrill, panic, fear, knee-jerk reaction.
‘I’m sorry, but no. I’ve got my Aunt Cathy for a violet toner in ten minutes and if I’m not ready for her, she could run riot and wreck the place.’
‘Really?’ he’d asked, with a grin that she’d only ever seen on the telly.
Georgie had winced as she shook her head.
‘No, but it was the best I could come up with at short notice. I’m actually just terrified that I’ll see your photo on TMZ this weekend and there’ll be snarky comments under it asking who gave you a dodgy haircut.
I’m good, but I’m not used to that level of public scrutiny, and I don’t think my nerves could take it. ’
He’d taken a pause to consider her objections, and she’d thought about how he might be the most attractive man she’d ever clapped eyes on.
Not that he was available. Moira gave them a running commentary every week about his girlfriend, Stevie, who, in another non-celebrity twist, was a radiographer up at Glasgow Central Hospital.
‘Okay, well, how about if I handle your Aunt Cathy…’
‘You’re a brave man.’
‘And if my hair turns out dodgy and anyone comments, I’ll tell them that I let Ben Affleck cut it for a dare.’
Georgie had jumped to her feet. ‘Done.’
And that’s how a Hollywood TV star, and a thoroughly nice guy, had become her regular client and ended up in this very chair every fortnight for a trim and sometimes a few highlights too.
It had all been perfectly lovely and surprisingly easy until last week, when he’d opened a conversation with, ‘You know, I don’t want you to get too big-headed…’
‘Too late,’ Georgie had told him over the sound of the clippers. ‘I’m already insufferable now that I’m having regular brushes with fame. But carry on.’
That had made him chuckle. They’d got entirely comfortable with each other over the last few months, and he loved the fact that here he was just another customer.
Although, they did pull the blinds down and keep his appointments strictly confidential so that he didn’t get mobbed by the lunchtime bingo crowd coming from the church hall .
He had looked at her reflection in the mirror. ‘I wish I could take you with me.’
‘Where?’
‘My work. On to the set. I’m just about to leave to leave this tropical paradise…’ The torrential rain outside had been almost horizontal. ‘…to go film the new series of The Clansman , and my regular guy has been poached for the next Mission Impossible …’
‘They did ask me, but I wasn’t available,’ Georgie had gone along with the joke.
‘Georgie, I’m serious. Would you be interested?’
‘In what?’ She couldn’t quite get her head around what he was saying.
‘In coming to America to work on set as my hairdresser. I know it’s a big ask. It would mean at least six months away from your family, and it could be even longer if we get the green light on future seasons. Would you consider it?’