He turned around and stropped off, probably to check the labels on his meat.
Chapter 3
Simone
Having someone wash my hair always made me feel marginally uncomfortable. I got how some people found another person’s fingers digging into their skull a treat, but I found it an experience that was a necessity rather than a pleasure.
“The highlights have come up so well.”
I heard a lot of inane comments working in a restaurant, some from the waiting on staff, others from people eating there, but the teenager doing her best to pierce my scalp with her weapon-like nails had managed to come out with some crap so far. We hadn’t stopped at what I was doing this weekend (working), or where I was going on holiday (I wasn’t), or what my boyfriend was going to get me for Christmas (didn’t have one, wouldn’t have cared and Christmas was ages away). She had told me her answers for all of those and I’d tried to make the right noises at the right time so I appeared at least slightly normal.
My head was full of something else though, or someone else. Jack hadn’t been what I’d thought when we’d been at the tapas bar a few days ago. I’d placed him as being too laid back before, lacking presence. There had been evenings when he’d been heading up the kitchen; I’d been front of house and we’d had a staffing issue. He was different with the kitchen staff than I was, never using as many words and although all chefs shouted – you had to be heard over the noise – he rarely seemed to do it through anger. Or stress.
I watched as the stylist dried my hair, continually glancing down to my phone. I was paranoid about missing a call from work, a staff member calling in sick or a supplier or a member of the press wanting a comment. Vanessa had been a song on repeat in recent months, telling me to take a break away from it, but I was on a track that had no rest stops, not at least until the Tipsy Toad was up and running.
Jack hadn’t asked any questions after the other day. He didn’t ask who my sugar daddy was, or who had financed my restaurants. He’d been there to fight my battle, if I needed it, but he gave me space. He was a large, empty room, enabling me to sit there with my baggage and stare at it, because I had done fuck all about emptying it.
“I hope you’re going to go out tonight to show off your hair.” The stylist was quieter than the junior who had done the shampooing. “Although this isn’t really me. Your hair is amazing.”
She was making it look amazing, using straighteners to create curls – something that was completely illogical in my mind. It looked glossy and healthy, totally different to how I felt.
“I don’t do much with it.” Apart from tie it back and forget to wash it until it smelled of kitchens and grease. No one could accuse me of being obsessed with my appearance.
“That’s usually the best thing to do. Using product doesn’t keep it healthy. I bet you eat well though.”
“Usually.” Just not enough because I didn’t always have time.
“Five more minutes and we’ll be done.”
I figured she’d sensed that I wasn’t in the mood to talk. That was part of my problem: unless it was about work, I was never in the mood to talk.
I picked my phone up and perused my last half a dozen messages. They were all about work; people needing to swap shifts, a message from a recruitment consultant who was trying to find me a new chef, Jackson Callaghan asking to book a table for him, Max, Vanessa and Victoria on Saturday.
For a moment I felt lonely. Messages asking how I was or sharing gossip were non-existent, not that I held anyone else responsible for that. I didn’t socialise well. Possibly the reason why I’d ended up marrying the man I lost my virginity to the day after my eighteenth birthday, a man who was two-and-a-half times my age.
I scrolled through my contacts, trying to focus on something other than work. My phone froze on Seph Callaghan’s number, an image of him making a geeky face with his unnecessary glasses on making me smile. Seph was Vanessa’s brother-in-law and he reminded me of Tigger from Winnie the Pooh, continually bouncing around, full of energy and a little on the annoying side. Well, that is until you were sitting in a posh garden shed at four in the morning with coffee and bacon butties, trying to sober up and avoid the hangover after drinking the majority of a bottle of top-notch tequila.
Seph was a sensitive manwhore. He found a girl to take home whenever he turned his head, but that wasn’t what he craved. He needed to belong to someone and as much as he loved the wide, huge Callaghan family and all their extensions, he was lonely too.
Me: How’s it going? I’ve made tiramisu if you want to taste test.
There were a few seconds before the dots started to dance. Like four of his six siblings, Seph was a lawyer, specialising in commercial litigation. He was bright and hardworking and very much the baby of the family even though he wasn’t the youngest.
Seph: I’ll be there. How’s your hair cut?”
He’d remembered. I’d probably only mentioned it once two weeks ago, but he’d recalled it. He’d make someone a good partner when he found the right person.
Me: Nearly finished. I’m heading back to work because we have that meal for the actor tonight so it’ll look pretty much the same as always by about ten o’clock.
Seph: You’re the boss. Delegate. Have someone else do the running around so you can enjoy yourself. If you can remember how to do that. And you’d still be kind of working.
It didn’t matter if I delegated to someone else. My work ethic and the need to reinforce that I was good at something would kick in and I’d find things to do. Keeping busy, mainly so I didn’t need to make small talk or forge a connection beyond one that would enhance my business.
Me: Why don’t you come over for a bit? Ask Callum. It will be good to see him before he goes to Africa.
Seph: We may stop by. We’re out at a speed dating thing Amelie’s organised in her café tonight so we’ll see how the night goes. Seriously, you need remember you’re a human and not a robot.
He then started to send me a stream of GIFS, all of fembots, some shooting bullets from their tits. I locked my phone; no one needed to be privy to the creativity of Joseph Callaghan.
