“That upstairs flat,” says Jo, standing next to me and peering through the glass. “I knew something was going on. It was supposed to be empty, but I kept hearing footsteps. Beth told me it was a ghost. If it was, it was a bloody inconsiderate ghost that left all the taps running. What a mess…”
She runs her hands through her hair, and sighs loudly. She is not easily rattled, this woman, but I suppose your world literally falling in on you would shake anyone. I give her a quick hug, and say: “It’ll be okay. Have you spoken to the landlord?”
“Yep. He’s on his way to switch the water off. I know it’ll be fine, we’re insured, and nobody was hurt – but I tell you what, Cally, that was scary. Not going to lie, I almost shit myself!”
She announces this so seriously that it makes me laugh, which makes her laugh, and we stand there for a few moments, watching the salon turn into a water park, surrounded by debris, but still somehow finding the ability to giggle at it all.
“Right,” she says, slapping her own thighs, “enough! I think it’s safe to say that the salon is closed for the day. Probably for the week at the very least. Merry Christmas, one and all!”
We all decamp to Jo’s nearby house, taking the salvaged equipment with us. Once we’re there, Olivia finishes off the client’s hair, and we all breathe a sigh of relief when the highlights come out normal and not green. We sit in the kitchen while Jo starts calling round the customers we had booked in for the day, and I go through what we’ve managed to save. There’s enough for the basics, I decide.
“Jo,” I say, as she finishes a call, “I think we can do a few of these mobile, don’t you? The straightforward ones anyway.”
She looks over the appointments, using her encyclopaedic knowledge of her clients to assess the situation. She rapidly rules out anyone who was booked in for colours, and instead tries to siphon them off to the other salons. In the end, we’re left with three cut and blows, which we can definitely manage. Two of them, when we explain what has happened, just cancel. The one that is left is my lady, Annie, and I’m quick to offer my services.
Annie has been coming to me for years, and she is one of my favourite clients. A single mum with three kids, she only ever comes in for a quick trim and a blow, and she always says it’s the only time she ever gets to sit still for more than five minutes. She’s recently started to dip her toe back into the dating pool, and I know that tonight is a big night for her – finally going out for dinner with the man she’s been talking to online for months now.
“I’ll go round to do Annie,” I say firmly. “It’ll be fine. You need the time to sort stuff out anyway, Jo. What about the girls?”
“I saw Beth opening a bottle of Prosecco ten minutes ago,” she replies, grinning. “Probably best to assume they’re out of action for the day.”
Sure enough, I hear laughter coming from the far end of the room, and see the two of them tapping away on their phones. One of them has put on some kind of dance music, and they’re both nodding their heads along in time with the beat.
“They’re probably sharing their near-death experiences on Insta,” I say, gathering up what I need for the job.
“Yeah. Can’t say that I blame them. Wouldn’t mind a drink myself right now. Bloody hell. What a start to the week, eh?”
I nod, and make the right noises, but also feel a tiny bit guilty – this has been awful, but it has also been very effective at distracting me from my own low mood. What is wrong with me? I am a terrible person.
Jo gives the girls the day off, and I head over to Annie’s. She doesn’t live far away, in a small semi that is very similar to my own. The front garden has a trampoline in it that looks sad after a spell of bad weather, and the grass is littered with discarded balls of all shapes and sizes.
She ushers me inside, apologising for the mess, and I see that her home is in a state that I can only describe as chaotic. The leftover breakfast bowls are still on the table, the TV is blaring cartoons, and everywhere I look I see signs of her kids. It looks like someone chucked a hand grenade into a toy factory – there are games on every surface, boxes of Lego, half-built Meccano sets, stray trainers and mismatched sets of mittens scattered at random. I feel a rush of nostalgia, remembering the days not so very long ago when Sam was little – when I’d walk him to school and kiss him at the gate. If I tried that now, he’d call the police.
We chat as we make our way upstairs, avoiding yet more abandoned items made of brightly coloured plastic, and I wash her hair. By the time that’s done and I’m combing it through, she’s filled me in on her date, and her plans to find a part-time job now the youngest of her three boys has started at school.
“I’m still up the wall,” she says, gesturing around her, “but I do have a bit of time now. It’s kind of weird, actually. I thought I’d love it, but I don’t. I’ve been volunteering at the school anyway, doing reading with the Reception kids – that’s lame, isn’t it? Finding excuses to see them like that?”
“Not at all,” I reply as I work. “I totally get it. They’re your whole world, and you’ve built everything around them. It’s natural that it feels a bit empty now they’re out of the house for hours on end.”
“Yours is grown up, isn’t he?”
“Until he needs money, or a lift home from the pub, yeah. Then he’s little again. But I’m at a strange stage myself, Annie, because my mum’s just moved up to Scotland, and Sam is busy with his own life, and I’m also wondering what to do next…”
I don’t usually talk about myself to clients. Apart from anything else, I lead a pretty dull life – but also because it’s their time, when they come to the salon. Maybe it’s because I’m in her house instead, but for some reason, when she asks about the move, I tell her everything. About Kenneth, about Aberdeen, about the fact that I’ve spent so long caring for my mother that I’m not sure what to do now she’s gone.
“Aaah, love,” she replies, patting my hand in consolation, “you’ll be all right. It’s just a lot, isn’t it? You’ll find your groove. It’s exciting, really – you could do anything! You could travel, or retrain, or just lie around in bed and watch telly all day whenever you fancy…”
“Maybe I will,” I say, nodding as I trim her fringe. “Though I’ve never really been a lying around in bed kind of person.”
“Sounds like you’ve never had the chance before. Who knows, if you work very hard at it, perhaps you’ll be a top-level lounger! At the very least, now the salon’s closed for a bit, you can get sorted for Christmas, can’t you? I’m most of the way there, though hiding everything from them is getting harder by the day. You know what it’s like…”
“Kind of,” I say. “I vaguely recall the high-pressure stakes of keeping up the Santa story while a nosy kid rummages through the wardrobe looking for proof that he doesn’t exist. These days, though, Sam just sends me links to what he wants from Amazon or Etsy. It’s easier, but nowhere near as magical. I used to love it when he was little – I think I was more excited than him on Christmas Eve!”
“Well, maybe,” she responds, “this year you can do something nice for yourself. Maybe this year you can do something magical again. Sounds like you need it. Anyway, I’m glad for your mum – I’ve been cynical about online dating, but who knows?”
“Yeah, who knows? Maybe you’ll be moving to Scotland soon as well!”
“I doubt it. He lives in Warrington. But fingers crossed a bit of your mum’s luck rubs off on me…”
