“How do I not know about this?”
“Forget that story. Help! I need an adult,” I add.
Jasper tilts his head. “Geoff. You’re forty-five.”
“And yet,” I say, gesturing vaguely in Lucy’s direction, “here we are.”
He studies the screen again, then sighs. “Okay. I’m in Portsmouth. Miranda’s with me. There is nothing I can do from here unless you want me to draw you a diagram.”
“Please don’t.”
“But,” he says, warming to the solution, “I know someone who can.”
“Who?”
“Call Christa,” Jasper says. “She’s calm. She’s practical. And she will not scream.”
“That’s a very specific list.”
“Remember when she organised that spa afternoon for her, Ivy and Lu?” Jasper says. “If anyone knows anything about haircuts, it’s her. Or,” he adds, “you could just take Lucy to a hairdresser.”
I exhale slowly.
A hairdresser would probably be the easiest option. Professionals. Mirrors. Someone else in charge. Someone who could look at the fringe and sayah yes, I’ve seen worse.
What a hairdresser won’t do is help me work out how to smooth things over when Theo and Ivy turn up expecting the child they dropped off and instead collect one with a fringe she didn’t have this morning.
That part needs strategy.
I nod, even though he can’t see it properly through the screen. “Thanks.”
Jasper grins. “Any time. I live to be useful in emergencies I didn’t cause.”
“I’ll tell her you laughed,” I say.
“Please don’t,” he replies cheerfully. “And give Lu a hug from me when she’s forgiven me.”
“I’ll pass it on,” I say, already knowing I won’t get near her for at least ten minutes.
“Call Christa,” Jasper adds. “Seriously.”
“I’m considering it.”
“You’re considering it far too long,” he says. “Bye.”
I stare at my phone, Christa’s name hovering in my contacts like it knows exactly what it’s about to be dragged into.
Do I call her?
Yes. Obviously yes.
It’s not as if I’ve seen her since Miranda's birthday party. Since whisky and bad decisions and a mutual agreement to pretend none of it meant anything beyond that night. We’ve existed in the same orbit since, crossed paths in theory rather than practice, politely not mentioning the fact we once ended up in the same bed when everyone else had gone to sleep.
And now I’m about to ring her because my niece has cut her own fringe.
Life has a sense of humour.
I glance over at the sofa. Lucy is lying on her back now, one leg hooked over the armrest, staring at the ceiling like a tiny, disgruntled philosopher.
