Nothing but Trouble

Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

THE BUTTERFLIES IN my stomach worked overtime as I walked from the bus stop to the hair salon on Friday morning. They probably had Barry in there, yelling at them to flap harder.

Twice I’d nearly turned around and gone back home. Only the fact that Jaz would drag me right back again kept me walking along to my doom. Why postpone the inevitable?

Turning Heads was the kind of place I’d never have dared to set foot into on a normal day. Its glass, chrome, and artfully arranged flowers were far more fashionable than I could ever hope to be. When I nervously peeped around the door, I cringed and waited for someone to scream “imposter” then march me right out again.

That didn’t happen, though. The blonde receptionist looked up at me, eyes peering out from under her purple-streaked asymmetric bob. A flash of surprise was soon masked by her professionalism as she asked, “Can I help?”

“I’m Ella Goodman. I have an appointment?”

I half expected her to say they’d never heard of me, but I had no such luck.

“You’re right on time. Carly’s just finishing up with her previous client. Would you like a drink?”

I presumed she didn’t mean a stiff whisky although that was what I needed. “A cup of coffee would be lovely.”

I flipped through the stack of magazines as I waited, but they were all celebrity gossip, and I hardly recognised any of them. Apart from my search for a hairstyle I liked this morning, I tended to shy away from such things. I had no desire to know which Hollywood star got pictured falling out of a club drunk last week, or what the latest must-have eating disorder was.

Thankfully, it wasn’t long before Carly bounced over. She was one of those endlessly perky people who seem like they’ve been drip-fed caffeine.

“So, what are we having today?” She picked up some of my split ends between her fingers and tutted.

“I was—” It came out as a croak and I cleared my throat. “I was wondering... Could you do my hair like Jessica Alba?”

“Jessica Alba…” She thought for a few seconds then smiled. “Of course. I reckon that’ll really suit you. You’ll look like a different person.”

That was the idea, according to Edith, but despite her encouragement, the idea of change terrified me. Jessica’s hairstyle seemed like a safe option. My hair colour wasn’t that different—I just needed some long layers and a few highlights. All I’d have to do was make sure I got photos at the end.

Snip, snip, snip went the scissors, and I closed my eyes as chunks of my hair fell to the floor. Only a few inches. It’ll make it easier to manage. Once Carly finished cutting, she painted gunk all over my hair and stuck a shower cap thing on my head.

“We need to wait half an hour or so. Can I offer you another drink?”

Okay, maybe it wasn’t all bad. This part was kind of like being in a coffee shop. Sipping a latte and munching on a biscuit was far better than being moaned at by Barry all afternoon. I felt a bit guilty that Jaz was stuck at Payright, listening to morons, and decided I’d treat her to dinner after we’d gone shopping. It was the least I could do to thank her for the moral support she’d given me.

I was halfway through an article about the best kind of jeans to buy and feeling a little more positive when Carly skipped back. “Moment of truth. I just need to rinse everything out.”

I followed her over to the sink and tipped my head back as the warm water trickled over my scalp.

“Does it look okay?” I’d never had my hair highlighted before, and after Sue’s daughter had a bleach disaster that made half her hair fall out, the fear of going bald was very real.

“It looks amazing. You’ll love it!”

I almost didn’t dare look in the mirror when she led me back to my seat, but in the end, I cracked a lid open.

And stifled a scream.

My jaw dropped, but no words came out. Carly mistook my horror for joy and grinned.

“It looks great, doesn’t it?”

“I’m blonde!” And I was. Platinum blonde. Nothing subtle about it—this was straight up Barbie doll.

“Well of course you are, honey. That’s what you asked for.”

“I said Jessica Alba.” I’d done a lot of searching, and her hair was definitely light brown.

“I know, and that’s what I’ve given you. She looked great in Dukes of Hazzard.”

The stylist at the next station piped up. “That was Jessica Simpson.”

“It was?”

“Jessica Alba was the one in Spy Kids.”

“Oh, yeah.” Her cheeks went pink. “Oops.”

Half an hour later, I walked out with a thousand apologies, a free haircut, and a voucher to have the colour fixed in a few weeks when my hair had recovered from the bleaching.

I also had tears in my eyes and people kept staring, including Jaz when she caught sight of me. Her eyes went as big as dinner plates. “I thought you said you weren’t going to do anything drastic.”

“I wasn’t. There was a mix up.” She was in stitches as I explained the whole Simpson/Alba mess.

“I should give that hairdresser a medal,” she said.

“People keep staring at me.”

“That’s because you look hot!”

“No, I look like a freak. My hair’s practically white.”

She shook her head. “Oh, Ella, you’ve got no idea.”

It would seem not, because all I wanted to do was put a bag over my head. Did anywhere in Reading sell wigs?

I had no time to search, because when we got to the mall, I found Jaz had enlisted the help of her friend Candy, who worked as a personal shopper in one of the big department stores.

Candy was perfectly put together in a way I’d never be. Everything matched, from her eyeshadow to her impossibly tall heels. I felt like a gawky child as I trailed behind her and Jaz, watching them select items they thought would suit me.

“I can’t wear that,” I said, pointing at a particularly risqué dress.

“Why not?” Jaz asked.

“It’s far too short.”

“You’ve got great legs,” said Candy. “At least try it on.”

I sighed. Two against one wasn’t fair, especially when one of them knew all about my total lack of backbone. The sooner this was over, the better.

An hour later, Jaz and I struggled out of the store, weighed down by bags. I hadn’t wanted to buy most of the stuff, but I didn’t stand a chance with her involved, and my cunning plan to sneak back to the shop tomorrow for a r****d got scuppered when we reached the till and the girl there winked at me.

“Candy’s letting you use her staff discount, but it means you can’t return anything. That okay?”

I hesitated, and Jaz elbowed me in the side. “Yes, that’s wonderful.”

Home was too far to walk with all my purchases, so we piled everything into the back of a taxi for the journey back to Edith’s. I still struggled to think of it as anything but her house. To me, it always would be.

Once we’d stacked the evidence of the evening’s madness up in the hallway, I plopped down on the sofa.

“Takeaway?” I suggested.

Jaz looked at me, incredulity spreading across her face. “We’ve just spent two hours shopping, you’ve had your hair and your make-up done, and you want to stay at home and eat a pizza?”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“It’s Friday night and Amir’s babysitting, that’s what.”

Okay, maybe I’d been a little optimistic. “I suppose one quick drink wouldn’t hurt.”

She grinned at me. “That’s more like it.”

While we waited for a taxi to arrive, Jaz took a few snaps for my challenge album, as I’d taken to calling it.

“It’ll be like a diary,” she said. “Something that shows how much you change over the next year.”

That word again. Change. Every time I heard it, I wanted to crawl back under the duvet and sleep until the year was over, but if I did that I wouldn’t have a bed any more. No, the only option was to get everything over with and cause myself the minimum amount of pain possible. I’d accomplished one task, and so far that hadn’t gone according to plan. What joy would task two bring?

Jaz supervised while I changed into one of my new outfits, and I wasn’t surprised to find out she’d secreted a sparkly top in her cavernous handbag. She tugged it on while I stood in front of the mirror and agonised over my face.

Before we left the store, Candy had got the girl on the make-up counter to “show me a few tricks.” That translated into me looking like a clown.

At least, that was my opinion. Jaz said I looked amazing. Apparently, the black gunk around my eyes made them pop. I didn’t want them to pop, sparkle, shine, or anything else. I was quite happy with them just the way they were.

“You’re not taking it off,” Jaz said as I reached for the make-up remover. “No way.”

“But...”

She grabbed my wrist and pulled me towards the front door. “No buts.”

This promised to be a long evening.

The music pounded from hidden speakers while we queued up for drinks in the Purple Turtle wine bar. Warm bodies pressed against me as I got jostled from side to side, trying to keep within shouting distance of Jaz. My throat was dry, and I despaired of ever getting a glass of anything when a man behind me tapped me on the shoulder and shouted, “What can I get you ladies?”

Jaz’s eyes lit up. “Two white wines, please,” she yelled back. Even then, I could hardly hear her above the din. Honestly, it was so loud my head hurt.

Being a few inches taller and, I had to admit, easy on the eye, the stranger soon caught the bargirl’s attention. It wasn’t long before I had a glass in my hand, and Jaz and I followed the man away from the bar as he cleared a path through the crowd.

“He seems nice, and look at that butt,” Jaz shouted in my ear. “He definitely works out. And he’s definitely interested in you.”

I looked up to see if he’d overheard, but he didn’t seem to have. Thank goodness. I put a finger to my lips and she shrugged.

Still, I couldn’t resist dropping my gaze downwards. What do you know? She was right.

Our saviour led us over to a table in the corner and waited while a girl in an apron cleared the dirty glasses away. There were only two stools, so he motioned for each of us to take one while he stood. Hmm… Not only cute, but a gentleman as well.

Conversation wasn’t easy in the din, but we managed to get the basics out of the way. The owner of the ass was Mike, a student in the final year of his master’s degree at Reading university.

Words might have been difficult, but he communicated a lot with his eyes. They barely left me for the rest of the evening. When he left to get us more drinks, Jaz held up her hand for a high-five. “He really likes you. And he’s hot! Girl, your luck is changing.”

I hardly dared to believe it, but by the time the bartender called out last orders, I had his number and he had mine, and we’d agreed to meet again the next evening. Somewhere quieter where we could actually have a conversation.

“Told you we’d have a good evening,” Jaz slurred next to me in the backseat of the cab.

My feet hurt, I felt a little tipsy, and my eyes kept closing, but still I wore a tiny smile. “Yeah, it was okay.”

“It’s the hair, that’s what it is. Men dig the hair.”

Maybe the old saying was true? Maybe blondes really did have more fun?

And how much more fun lay in store for me tomorrow?

First thing on Saturday morning, my phone buzzed with a text.

Mike: Lovely to meet you last night. Do you like Chinese?

I loved Chinese! Kung po chicken was my absolute favourite. Things were off to a good start. By lunchtime, we’d decided to meet at Silk Route, a lovely restaurant on the edge of town. I’d been there once with Terry, and while the prices made my eyes water, the food was delicious. What’s more, Mike said it was his treat, which made a pleasant change from me always picking up the bill.

As I shimmied into another of my new dresses, I was secretly pleased that Jaz and Candy pushed me into getting them. What would I have worn otherwise? The only other dress I owned was a hideous taffeta affair I’d worn to my school prom, and I doubted I’d even fit into that any more.

The make-up? Well, that was a different story. All the tubes and pots were still languishing in their posh paper carrier bag. One step at a time, eh?

I met Mike just outside the restaurant, and a frisson of excitement ran through me as he bent down and touched his lips to my cheek.

“Lovely to see you again,” he shouted.

Why was he shouting? Ah, it must be his idea of a little joke after all the noise in the bar last night.

I got into the spirit of things. “It’s good to see you, too,” I yelled back, matching his volume.

He gave me an odd look, and that was my first clue as to why he was single.

It turned out the shouting wasn’t his idea of a joke. He really did talk like that all the time. Over the starter, he told me and every other patron in the restaurant about the erotic musical he was writing, starring a family of raccoons and a pig named Hamlet. Clue number two.

During the main course, he picked every single beansprout out of his chow mein and lined them up on the side of his plate—clue three—while explaining the plot of Shakespeare’s Othello with the aid of a bottle of soy sauce and a chopstick holder. The girl at the next table, obviously on a date herself, kept giving me Grade A looks of sympathy.

I couldn’t get a word in. Not one. He just kept talking and talking and talking, and with a glass of wine inside him, he got even louder. The man was in desperate need of a volume knob. No, scratch that. He needed an off button.

While I chewed poached lychees and pineapple fritters as fast as humanly possible, we all learned about JavaScript and the many, many, many complications of designing a website. Thank goodness the waiter was quick with the bill.

True to his word, Mike paid, and the waiter was on hand right away with my coat. As he held it up for me to put my arms in, he begged me with his eyes never to bring Mike back. He needn’t have worried. There was no danger of that.

“So, your place or mine?” Mike asked as we waited outside for a cab.

Pardon? “Well, uh, I’ll go to my place and you can go to yours.”

His face clouded over. “Didn’t you have a good time at dinner?”

“Yes, it was lovely, but...”

“Then what’s your problem?”

My problem? My problem? “I don’t make a habit of going home with men on a first date.” Especially when they’d not only bored me to death but almost deafened me too. Heck, if I took him home, the neighbours would most likely call the police, despite the fact the nearest house was forty yards away.

“Second date.”

He was counting yesterday’s meeting at the wine bar? “Last night wasn’t a date. I was out with my friend.”

“But I bought you drinks.”

“And that was very kind of you, but we barely talked.”

He nodded knowingly. “Oh, you’re one of those.”

“One of what?”

“A b***h who likes to lead men on. You get yourself tarted up in your short dresses and hooker hair, then go out to see what you can get.”

I wanted to sink into the ground. That was how he saw me? At that moment I hated my new look, and Jaz and Edith for forcing it on me. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to lead you on.”

“You need to think about what you’ve done.”

The cab pulled up and Mike jumped in it without so much as a goodbye, leaving me on my own as I sank to the kerb with tears streaming down my face.