If I Never Met You(43)

As the process continued, Laurie could see she had less hair, and that streaks of it were now light brown. For the big finish, Honey poured out some transparent glop, worked it through Laurie’s ‘do with her hands and trained an enormous dryer on it, making ‘scrunching a ball of paper’ movements.

Gradually, the hair of Laurie’s youth emerged, but much, much better. She didn’t remember it ever having this shiny softness, and Honey had somehow produced the sort of ideal curl size you itched to poke your finger into. The caramel shot through it did indeed make it glimmer and catch the light in different ways to her pure black.

Unexpectedly, Laurie was envying herself. Emily was right, this sort of admiration for her own reflection was a very rare thing. She’d spent so long being low maintenance she’d forgotten the kick to be had in high.

‘How’s that?’ Honey said, standing back, with the smugly delighted intonation of someone who knows they’ve absolutely smashed it and can’t wait to collect the reviews.

‘I love it! Oh my God, I love it,’ Laurie said, turning her head and making it swish around her shoulders. ‘I love it so much.’

‘Right?’ Honey said, and started talking her through the products and processes for best maintenance, during which Laurie mumbled ‘hmmmm mmm’ as if she was taking it all deathly seriously when in fact she was giddy. Such a small thing, a nice hairdo, but it was nice to know she could still appreciate small joys. Laurie paid a three-figure sum, tipped hard and she and Honey giggled delightedly at their successful collaboration throughout.

‘He’s gonna ask you to get back with him!’ Honey called, as Laurie stepped out into the chill and felt her new curls blow about in the breeze.

‘Hah. Maybe,’ Laurie said, smiling, trying not to let the dagger of thinking about that right now break her skin.

‘No doubt!’ Honey said, waving. ‘Call me psychic! Psychic Honey!’

Laurie nearly said ‘Sounds very prog rock,’ before considering that despite the number of vintage band tees being sported in the salon, no one would have the faintest clue what she meant.

While Laurie guessed the response she’d get from Emily would be positive, she didn’t bank on what actually happened; Emily not recognising her for a moment. She passed, stopped, tracked back two steps and let out a small startled cry.

‘You look absolutely AMAZING,’ Emily said, clutching her chest. ‘Seriously, Laurie. You look like you’re a famous person trying to go unrecognised and failing. My heart’s going like a broken clock here! I fancy you!’

‘I thought you fancied me anyway?’ Laurie said. ‘It’s alright, isn’t it?’

Emily plopped into a seat and set her latte mug down.

‘It’s not alright, it’s utterly fucking fabulous. You are fabulous. I wish my hair could do that. It’s so good to see you like this. Fighting back.’

Laurie wasn’t sure she bought in as fully as Emily to a L’Oreal vision of womanhood where bouncy hair signalled being mentally robust. But she thought there’s a time and a place to be a naysayer, and now and here wasn’t it. She looked different so she felt better, that’d do.

‘Aw thanks, it’s only a ‘do I won’t be able to do myself. I like it though. Feels odd,’ Laurie said.

‘I didn’t even know your hair could do this! Can I touch?’

‘I’d forgotten too, to be honest. ’Course you can!’

Emily prodded a ringlet.

When they’d drained their coffees, Emily pulled Laurie out into the blue-dusk and up to the department stores of the Printworks for cosmetics.

‘I have make-up,’ Laurie said.

‘Evening out make-up.’

‘I wear my make-up on evenings out.’

‘Not the same thing. Stop filibustering, feminazi.’

Emily could always make Laurie laugh.

Laurie found herself perched nervously on a stool at Emily’s favourite concession, MAC, while R’n’B thundered at nightclub volume. Emily tapped a photo of a Naomi Campbell lookalike in Studio 54 quantities of glittery slap above the counter, and said: ‘All out, Tess, go all out.’

Tess the assistant had a tool belt full of brushes, as if she was a facial mechanic who might need to contour a cheekbone in an emergency. She set to work on Laurie’s eyes with serious intent.

‘Maybe keep it natural on the lips,’ Laurie said, nervously, as Tess snapped open the third shadow palette.

‘Really, a nude lip? Because you could really carry a red,’ she said.

Tess had a glint not unlike Honey’s, which said: I am about to make a right bundle on this one.

Emily nodded furiously and said: ‘Red. Let’s not fuck about here. We’re not here to play.’

Laurie quailed a little. The last time she wore showy make-up was at indie clubs in her twenties when she rolled glitter up her cheekbones and had a penchant for neon eye shadows. In her thirties, she was happy in her mid-range mascara and tinted balm rut.

When she was shown her face in an oval hand mirror, she let go a small ‘ahhh!’

This woman looked like her, but had roadsweeper lashes above large, defined sooty eyes with silver sparkles. There were iridescent, light reflecting angles to her complexion, and a bold crimson mouth. Laurie tried to fit this brash vamp with Real Laurie, cowering inside. She was now projecting a person she didn’t feel. She didn’t entirely mind it, though. It was another mask, like the one she wore at work.