“You want one, though, right?” she says, tapping my shoulder gently. For all intents and purposes, she’s being rude, and yet, I feel myself grinning.
“I was thinking of something kind of dramatic. European perhaps?”
“Like a chic little French cut. Elfin?”
“Oh,” I say, grabbing my hair by the ends and tugging them down in horror, “not that dramatic.”
“What about bangs?”
“A fringe?” I say, as she holds the ends up over my face and parts them.
“Curtain bangs,” she says, and when I “huh?” in confusion, she says, “a sort of middle parting, longer fringe, with a long shaggy bob.”
I put both my hands up to my face and shake my head. “I don’t know. I can’t decide.”
She leans in, pulling one of my hands from my face. “Lovely, would you like me to just make you look more gorgeous?”
“Yes, please,” I say, “but what about the color?”
“The color?” She looks at the ends of my hair and then inspects my scalp with her comb. “Shall I sort of brighten you up with some foils around the face?”
“Nothing too dramatic,” I say quickly.
“Don’t worry, love, I’m not going to give you tiger stripes. I have actually been to the Big Smoke a few times. I did the hair onPopworldback in the day.”
I sense that Jackie is finding me a bit annoying.
“Sorry,” I say. “I actually haven’t been to the hairdresser in four years, so I’m a bit unsure about all of it.”
“Oh my God, what?” she says, clutching her chest and taking a seat on the stool next to me. “Four years?”
“Yes,” I reply. “It’s not you, it’s me. It’s a cost thing. And, if I’m honest, I find it a bit boring sitting here for an hour.”
“This is going to take at least two hours, first of all,” she says, “and second of all, it doesn’t need to be boring. Did you know I can give you wine?”
My eyes widen as I quickly check my watch. “Well, I’m not going to say no to that.”
She works like Edward Scissorhands, my long hair collecting in an over-dyed mass of black on the linoleum floor. Foils are applied. Hair is roughly washed and massaged with conditioner, then she blow-dries it to an incredible high gloss, finishing, finally, with her scissors to ensure the “perfect lines.”
“Look at you,” she says, as she snips away the final hairs around my fringe.
I bat my eyelids in the mirror and beam. I look transformed.
I have a shaggy brown bob and a long fringe parted in the middle, just as she suggested. It looks chic, a little bitEuropean. I feel quite glamorous. I look down at my outfit, which, I agree, almost certainly needs work next. Jackie seems to sense my concern.
“Why don’t you take this,” she says, pulling a navy trench off the hanger by the door. “It’s timeless and stylish and you won’t see any of this.” She wiggles her finger at my dungarees and wrinkles her nose.
“Oh really? Whose is it?”
“I have no idea. But obviously if someone comes up to you on the promenade and demands it back, we don’t know each other. I’mjoking!” she says, touching my arm. “My girl, you’re far too serious. Some tourist left it here a year ago. They’re not coming back.”
“Thanks,” I say, grinning. The trench is gorgeous.
“Eyebrows next, for the love of God,” she mutters loud enough for me to hear.
When I emerge from the hairdresser, Jackie stands glassy-eyed waving me off. “Get on to the clothes next, right? And good luck with your boyfriend, darling. He’s going tolovethe new you.”
I may have once again overexaggerated my relationship with Joe.
