He started walking backwards, and Caro automatically followed him. Talking and walking now, talking and walking. ‘That sounds fine. Whatever you think…’
‘Ace, let’s get cracking.’
At the back of the salon, she was handed over to a junior to wash her hair, then taken forward to one of the seats in the circle.
A woman in a black T-shirt that announced she was in the NAIL TEAM strolled over, pulling a small trolley behind her, packed with nail paraphernalia.
‘Hi, I’m Daisy. What colour would you like?’ she asked, with a sweeping hand towards the vast array of varnishes on the top of the trolley.
Caro pondered for a moment. What would Lila choose? From her Facebook pics, she knew it would be a dramatic red or a bright cerise. Caro checked them out and plumped for apale pink. Nothing too dramatic or over the top. Surely there was no way they were related.
Rod reappeared behind her, sat on a wheeled stool, and pushed himself around her, from side to side, studying his canvas. ‘Okay, you sure I can go for it?’ he asked.
‘I’m sure.’ This would normally be terrifying, but compared to everything else that was going on today, this didn’t even register as a blip of fear.
Rod stopped talking and got to work, lifting hair, cutting, combing, sometimes just flicking the hair up and cutting it while it was in the air, scissors tapping at an almighty speed. Todd would kill her for letting anyone else near her locks, but right now Caro was so grateful for the safe haven that she didn’t care.
Without moving her head, or doing anything with her hands that could smudge Daisy’s work, she glanced around the other customers in the circle. Still no Lila. However, she was surprised at the wide spectrum of clients. There were a couple of young women she suspected were models, long, elegant limbs, and cheekbones like spring rolls. There were two elderly ladies in rollers. A teenage boy with the biggest quiff she’d ever seen. And four women in a group conversation, their ages suggesting they were two mums and their adult daughters.
A pang. She’d never done this with mum. Never would now. Mum had gone to the hairdressers religiously the day before Dad came back from a trip, so sometimes it was once a fortnight, sometimes a month, sometimes a couple of months. She was a bit more adventurous than Caro. Their hair was the same colour, but twice a year mum would have blonde highlights to brighten up her natural waves. She was pretty, without trying, striking but in a completely manageable way.
Caro clenched her jaw to try to keep herself together. Now wasn’t the time. There had been enough regret and recrimination since her mum got sick, and nothing new would come from revisiting it all now. She’d rather just, for a while at least, forget.
But, no. That thought came with the wrong choice of words.
A flashback. Mum. Caro. That first time. About four years ago. Caro had already been living on her own for many years, since she left university and started work, but she still popped over to see Mum a couple of times a week. That Sunday, she’d found the house empty, the cooker on, a chicken burnt in the oven. She’d waited an hour. More. Called her mum’s mobile. No answer. She wasn’t one to panic, but she still breathed a huge sigh of relief when her mum walked in the door.
Caro gave her a hug. ‘Mum! I was getting worried!’
‘Why darling? I’m absolutely fine.’
‘Tell that to the chicken in the oven.’
‘The…?’ Yvonne stopped, a look of concentration coming over her, as if she was searching for something in her mind but just couldn’t quite grasp it.
The chicken. That’s how it had started. The first thing she’d forgotten. Old age, she’d joked. The menopause. Too much on her mind. Caro had gone along with it, unconcerned at first. After a while, that changed.
Her mum would make plans and not show up. Drive to the shops, then come home on the bus, completely forgetting where the car was parked or that she’d even taken it in the first place. Every time, she’d laugh it off, blame being dippy, or being too busy, or stressed.
Caro researched Yvonne’s behaviour on the Internet and came up with many possible reasons, but there was onesuggestion that stood out – forgetfulness could be a symptom of depression. It wouldn’t have been a surprise. Her mum had always had highs and lows, so perhaps this was something in the same vein. That must be it. She tried to persuade Mum to see a doctor, but she wouldn’t agree, so she’d left it for a while, visited as often as possible, hoping that it would get better.
It didn’t. And now…
‘Okay, so what do we think?’ Rod asked her, snapping her back to the present.
Caro checked out her reflection – her damp hair still looked a similar length to when he’d started, but it seemed fuller, with choppy layers, some of which fell to just under the curve of her chin. There was definitely a touch of relief that she didn’t look like Cindy Lauper, circa 1984 or 1986. She loved it. She looked the same, but different. Better. Healthier. ‘It’s a triumph, thanks,’ she told Rod, laughing as he gave her a low bow in return.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Suze come towards her with a young girl, maybe about sixteen or seventeen, dressed in the salon colours of black trousers, her black T-shirt emblazoned with the words FACE TEAM.
‘Since you’re a new customer, and we like to throw as much emotional blackmail as possible at you so that you’ll leave a great review online and then come back, we’re wondering if Kylie here can give you a facial and make-up? On the house. She’s still training, so she needs as much practice as she can get. And don’t worry, if it’s a complete balls up, there’s always wet wipes.’
The young girl looked so hopeful that Caro didn’t have the heart to argue.
Before she could respond, the door pinged and Caro almost jumped, then craned her neck to see the new arrival. Nope, not Lila.
She sighed and then realised Suze and Kylie were waiting for an answer. ‘Sure, that would be good, actually.’
Rod took advantage of the moment to attend to his next appointment.
