ELLIE
Just when I thought things couldn’t get any worse, I load up Friday morning’s calendar on the salon computer to find a change in my schedule.
“This can’t be right,” I say to Kathryn, who’s busy opening the blinds.
“What can’t be?” she says.
“My appointments look … different,” I say. “My nine-thirty was supposed to be—” The salon door creaks open and in walks none other than Judith Betts. “—Mrs Smith.”
Mike’s mother stands in front of me at the counter, beaming at me with a perfect set of teeth. Her hair, an auburn poker straight bob, shines in the light from the window.
“Oh, yeah, I had to move some things around. Something came up. Judy’s after a full set of gels which you’re more than capable of,” Kathryn says, moving towards the counter to stand next to me.
I feel sick.
A heavy knot of anxiety sits heavy in my stomach because, not only has Kathryn arranged for me to treat Mike’s mother, she’s also cancelled one of my regulars.
I wish I could say this is the first time, but Kathryn has pulled this trick before with no consideration for me.
“Right,” I say, trying to keep my smile from waning.
All I can think about is that she knows, and that’s why she’s here.
She knows, and she’s come to confront me—ask why I lured her son into such a fate … but when she talks, she sounds positively happy to be here.
That’s not the reaction of someone who knows.
At least, I don’t think it is, anyway .
“Oh, my goodness. I didn’t realise this was your salon, girls,” she beams.
Damn. I forgot how nice she is. And now I’m definitely of the opinion she doesn’t know. Even though I feel a flicker of warmth toward Mike’s mother, bitterness toward him knots in my chest—and his face clings to my thoughts like a balloon snagged on a branch, refusing to drift away.
“Yeah, well, it’s mine, but Ellie helps me out,” Kathryn says.
“Well, that’s lovely. How are your mam and dad? I bet they’re thrilled you’re doing so well here.”
Kathryn reels off a reply while I stand here, completely flabbergasted that this is even happening. Why, out of all the salons she could have picked, did Mrs Betts choose to come here?
I catch a peek at her nails—they look good. Like she keeps on top of her nail care. Which means she’s probably been going to another salon or something … okay, so maybe she knows after all. She knows, and he’s sent her here to talk to me.
“Ellie?” Kathryn says, nudging me in the ribs. “Are you okay to take Judy’s coat?”
I blink, pulling myself back into the room.
“I—uh, yeah. Of course.”
Mrs Betts smiles expectantly and I take several seconds to spring into customer service mode, taking her coat and hanging it on one of the pegs at the front of the salon.
I show her to the nail station and then offer to get her a drink, using it as an excuse to follow Kathryn into the back room, where she’s just slipped out of sight.
“What the hell are you playing at?” I whisper shout, coming to a stop behind her while she rummages through her handbag.
“What?” she says, turning around.
“Why did you cancel Mrs Smith and replace the slot with a nail appointment?”
“I have plans. Judy booked in with me and I figured Mrs Smith can reschedule. She’s one of your usual clients, El. You’ve already got her on board … now Judy, on the other hand is a new client. It’s an opportunity to gain a repeating appointment.”
I gape at my sister. “You had no right.”
“Uh, yes I do. This is my salon, so I’ll do whatever I need to do. Now if you’ll excuse me … I need to get on with something.”
Kathryn grabs her coat from the arm of the small sofa we have crammed in the backroom, slipping her arms into it before slinging her bag over her forearm.
She waltzes past me back into the main salon without a backwards glance.
I grab a glass of water and make my way back to Mrs Betts.
“Shall we get started?” I ask, forcing a smile.
“Is everything okay?” she counters.
“Yeah, all good. Sorry I took so long.” I push down the unease. “Anyway—what are we after?” I take her hands and rest them on the towel.
“How long has it been since I saw you?” Mrs Betts says halfway through the appointment. I’m usually all over the chit-chat, but for reasons very much known to me, I’m pre-occupied with my thoughts instead.
“Oh, I was probably eighteen or nineteen, I guess?”
She nods. “Yes, I think it was shortly after that time Michael went to Germany. Just before Tony and I sold the house.”
And there he is. Dropped into the conversation—and that memory of Germany, too. My two least favourite things biting me in the ass at work.
“Yeah, I think that’s right.” I grit my teeth, forcing myself to ask the next question purely out of politeness more than anything else. “How are the rest of the family? ”
I try to keep it vague, not wanting to single out Mike, and I figure this will give Mrs Betts the go-ahead to launch into a ramble, leaving me to listen and get on with my job.
It’s days like these I wish I never let Kathryn influence me. Thanks to her persuasion, I not only do hair, but I also do nails, spray tanning and waxing. Courses booked and paid for by me with the ultimatum of ‘if you’re not multi-skilled, you can’t work in my salon’.
“All good, thanks. Stacey’s married now … and Kelly’s got a boyfriend … and she’s doing well with her music—and Michael…” My heart sort of lurches unexpectedly in my chest. “He’s got a trial this week for the Team GB men’s hockey team.”
She swells with pride while I dig deep for enthusiasm.
“Please pass on my congratulations,” I say.
I mull it over—all their lives turning out great and perfect and successful—as Mrs Betts keeps talking.
I nod and smile and pretend like I’m doing just as okay as they all are, right up until she asks me if I’m seeing anyone.
“Sorry, what?” I say, averting my eyes away from her hands to meet hers, amber and warm, just like?—
“Are you seeing anyone? I saw an engagement ring on Kathryn’s hand, so just wondered if?—”
“Oh, yes. Yes, I am,” I say, snapping my mouth shut as soon as I realise exactly what I’ve done.
It’s a simple subject. I’ve answered this question hundreds of times before, but this situation has caught me in a lie.
“Oh, that’s exciting.”
“Well…” I say, putting my attention back on her nails.
“I’ve seen that look before,” she says. “But I won’t pry.”
I offer her a shy smile. “Anyway … do you have plans for the weekend?” I’m scraping the conversational barrel now. We both know it, but I’m at the point where I’m soon to be reaching for the cuticle oil … I’ve almost made it.
Or so I think .
Judy’s phone chirps in her bag and instead of ignoring it, she cranes her neck to glimpse inside before assembling a huge smile.
“Ellie, love. Can you just grab that? Would you mind?” She nods towards her open bag, her phone peeking out.
I glance at it, trying to decide if it’s appropriate before hesitating. “I’m not sure I?—”
“It’s fine, love. It’s right on top. Just grab it for me, will you?”
I feel conflicted, but since I can’t think of a reasonable excuse not to, I face no choice but to reach for her phone.
I bite the inside of my cheek when I spot the caller ID. Bold and offensive, just like the caller: Michael.
Well, if this isn’t already awkward enough, I set the handset down on the space to my left and without hesitating, Judy uses the pad of her index finger to swipe up, answering the call, before tapping the speakerphone button.
And as soon as his voice rings out, that sickly feeling of loathing washes over me.
“Mam—just a quick one,” he says. “I’m just going through my schedule and?—”
“You’re on speakerphone, love,” she interrupts, filling with pride as she lowers her voice to fill me in. “The Team GB hockey trial is being run from here. He’ll be close to home for a short time, so I’ll get to see him a bit more than usual.”
“Who’re you talking to, Mam?” Mike says.
And my heart, already sunk to the bottom of my stomach, descends lower.
“You remember, Ellie? From next door? I’m having my nails done at her salon.”
Kathryn would revel in correcting her, but I don’t. I sit in the awkward silence that stretches over the telephone line for a beat longer than anyone would expect. Perhaps he’s thinking of a snide remark, or he’s gearing himself up for a confrontation … or does he think I told his Mam ?
Mike’s voice trickles through again, quiet and uneasy. “Uh, yeah. I remember. I thought Stacey’s friend did your nails?”
“She moved away,” Judy says.
There’s a muffled scramble before he speaks again.
“Actually Mam, I’ve gotta go. Got something on that I need to …”
I feel the blood drain from my face. I’m not sure what I was expecting, but that wasn’t it.
“I’ll pass your number on, shall I? Maybe you can catch up when you’re back. Though—she is seeing someone…” Mrs Betts flashes me a smile.
Kill. Me. Now.
“Maybe, yeah. I’ve gotta go, Mam. Talk soon.”
The line goes dead, and I reach for the cuticle oil with a shaky hand, fumbling to open the lid.
“I wish he’d meet someone decent, Ellie,” she says sadly as I finish up.
“He puts himself out there and gets his heart broken. I don’t like to speak ill of anyone but the girl he was seeing last …
nasty piece of work. You know, he had to change his number.
She was harassing him and putting all this stuff online …
anyway, I’m thrilled,” she says, holding her hands out to admire her nails.
We make our way to the counter, and she grabs a business card after she pays, slipping it into the back of her purse.
“Oh, and I almost forgot…” she pulls out her phone and jots Mike’s number down on the back of a scrap of paper before thrusting it into my hands. “Here. I’m sure he’ll be pleased to hear from you.”
Judy departs, leaving me with Mike’s number. And because I’m still pissed at him, I scrunch it up and toss it into the wastepaper bin with enough force to make it wobble.