She left her table, fought her way through the piles of Christmas shopping bags hanging on the edges of chairs and piled beside tables. That was what normal people were doing this week, yet Caro had no notion to celebrate. This year, it would be just a day like every other now, where she’d sit by her mum’s side and hope for a miracle.
On the way out the door, she stepped aside to let a tall guy and two older women come in. He was past her before she got a chance to get a look at his face, but from the back she could see that he was probably in his twenties or thirties, so she guessed one of them was probably his mum. Pretty cool way to spend a Friday afternoon, out with mother, doing a bit of lunch and shopping. She’d give everything she had to be doing the same thing.
The sadness never got any easier, but she shrugged it off and kept walking, using the map on her iPhone to guide her. Straight along, right, left, a few hundred metres, past a holiday-wear shop – Sun, Sea, Ski – and what looked like a trendy guys’ boutique, CAMDEN, and there it was, on the left-hand side: Pluckers.
There was a moment of hesitation, before she shrugged off the fear, pushed open the door and was met by a wall of music and chat. There were three nail bars, with about six seats at each one, all of them full, and behind them, ten leather chairs, facing into a circular mirrored console, hairdressers working away at every station.
Caro had been in one of these places exactly zero times in her life. Much to Todd’s considerable frustration, she never visited his salon, preferring to just have him pop round to her flat and trim the bottom of her hair every few months, before she stuck it up in a ponytail and forgot about it until the next time.
‘I could do so much more with this,’ he’d moan.
‘And it would be wasted on me,’ she’d reply, every time.
Nails fell into the same category. They’d occasionally get a quick coat of clear varnish on school days, and something that matched her outfit for special events, but that was as far as her beauty regime went.
This was another world to her, an alien landscape, one that – she scanned the room – showed no sign of Lila. What to do. Go or stay? Go or stay? Go or…
‘Hi, can I help you?’ A stunning woman behind the counter had looked up from the computer and was smiling at her expectantly. Rabbit. Headlights. Suddenly, she felt slightly intimidated by the trendy surroundings, a ridiculous reaction, really, given that every day of her life she stood in front of thirty eleven-year-olds. That was a far tougher crowd, yet she handled it with cool ease. Right, what was the plan? Walk out now or wait and hope Lila turned up? She knew from Facebook that this was her regular Friday haunt, so it was her best option. She could do this. She could.
‘I’d like an appointment please.’
‘First time here?’ the receptionist asked.
Caro nodded. See, her out-of-depth-ness was written all over her face.
‘No worries. I’m Suze, and this is my salon, so let me know if you don’t enjoy your first experience and I’ll fire whoever is responsible.’
A few of the nail technicians at the nearest nail bar overheard and laughed. Suddenly, Caro felt a bit more comfortable. There was a really good vibe in here. It might look flash, but the atmosphere was chilled out and relaxed, thanks – she suspected – to the woman behind the counter.
‘Okay, so would you like beauty, hair or both?’
Caro hesitated. ‘I’m not sure. Nails? Yes, nails.’
‘No problem. There will be a space in about half an hour, would that be okay?’
Hopefully that would keep her here long enough for Lila to appear. ‘Perfect.’
Just at that moment a hair stylist, a spiky-haired guy who was dressed like the lead singer in a punk band, popped his head around Suze’s shoulder. ‘Suze, I’m on a roll of magnificence today – who’s next?’
‘No one. Your two-thirty just cancelled.’
Hair! A hair appointment would stretch her time here even longer.
‘I’ll take it!’ Caro blurted, then immediately backpedalled. ‘I mean, if that’s okay?’
Suze’s grin became a cackle. ‘Are you sure? His last customer left looking like Cindy Lauper from 1984.’
The stylist feigned outrage. ‘1986! Man, I’m working with amateurs here.’
‘I’m sure,’ Caro said, feeling a wave of gratitude that, for at least the next hour or so, her mind would be on somethingother than the purpose of today and anxiety over whether or not she’d succeed in getting answers.
‘Excellent. I’ll get a nail technician to come over to Rod’s station and do your nails while he’s massacring your head. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.’
‘Ignore her. She’s bitter and twisted,’ Rod said, eliciting another cackle from Suze, as he came around to the front of the desk. ‘So what can I do for you today?’
Caro shrugged. ‘Maybe just a trim? I don’t know. Coming in was… spontaneous.’
He was right next to her now, touching her hair, moving it around, thinking, serious for the first time. ‘How about you let me give it a bit of a cut, put in a few layers, nothing drastic? And I’d love to see how you’d look with a bit of brightness around your face. We’ve got some brush-in colour that would just lift it and it washes out. What do you think?’
