Irrepressible You (6 page)

Once her tea was brewed, she arranged everything on a tray, added a few chocolate chip biscuits for comfort and wandered into her living room. Minutes later her favourite movie was playing on her ancient, boxy TV and she was curled up on her battered lounge with a faded purple crocheted afghan pulled around her shoulders. She’d forgotten to retrieve her glasses from her bedside, but it didn’t matter. She knew every scene, every piece of dialogue and every song in the film by heart.

As Tony Curtis and Marilyn Monroe played their comical game of cat and mouse in
Some Like It Hot
, she felt her body relaxing and eyes getting heavy. It wasn’t until halfway through the film that Marilyn’s breathy voice and the beating rain worked their magic, and Amy drifted off to sleep.

By lunchtime on Saturday, Amy’s feet were aching, her head was pounding and she was milliseconds away from closing up shop and going home. Roslynn had called in sick and almost every man in Perth had decided that today was the day he absolutely needed a shave and a haircut.

Thankfully, Amy’s best friend, Myf, had raced to the rescue when Amy called, or more to the point howled, down the phone. While Amy was in the barber shop, Myf was helping Kate and Marissa by doing all the small, time-consuming tasks: blow drying hair, applying colour, buffing nails and, above all, keeping everyone sane.

Now, at five minutes past five, the end was in sight. When the bell rang signalling a customer in the barber shop, Amy added a dollop of cream to the coffee she’d just poured and sat it next to a generous slice of cake. Placing both on a tray, she nudged the connecting door between salon and barber shop open with her hip.

‘You’re late, young man. I was expecting you five minutes ago,’ she chirped, fully expecting to be greeted by the smiling countenance of Terry Nelson, one of her favourite customers. He was a retired judge and visited every Saturday without fail to get his beard trimmed before his weekly dinner date with Maureen, his wife of forty-three years.

‘This is a first. It’s about time you were happy to see me.’

Amy almost dropped the tray at the sound of her ex-boyfriend’s too-smooth voice.
Please, God, not today of all days
. She closed her eyes and sent up a silent prayer, but no one was listening. When she opened them again Liam was still there, bullish and menacing as he sprawled in the chair nearest her. His legs were splayed arrogantly apart, his heavily muscled arms resting on the arms of the chair, and there was a smug smile on the broad features she’d once considered handsome.

‘Liam.’ Her gut clenched painfully. ‘I thought you were someone else.’

‘Yeah?’

‘Yeah. I’ve got a client coming then I’m closing for the day, so you’re gonna have to leave.’ She brandished the tray in front of her like a shield and prayed he wasn’t going to be difficult. Not today. She was tired, she had a stress headache and she was fighting a colossal case of the willies about her date this evening with Ben, or more to the point, what she’d do and say if he actually showed up.

Liam looked around and shrugged a beefy shoulder. ‘Your client’s not here yet. You’ve got time for me. Besides, with that extra bit of weight you’re carrying, you’re lookin’ good. How’ve you been, Amy?’

Just the mention of her name on his lips left her shuddering. ‘Fine until you turned up.’ She tried to keep her voice level. ‘Look, I’ve told you before that you can’t come here any more. Leave me alone, Liam. It was over years ago. It’s over now. Please leave.’

She might as well have been talking to thin air. Other than a faint wrinkle on his brow, Liam’s smug expression didn’t change a bit. ‘Nah. I’m a paying customer who wants a shave, so why don’t you put that tray down and give me one?’ It said a lot about the man that he didn’t once think she’d slip with the razor.

‘You know that’s not gonna happen. Just leave. Please. My customer’s here. You need to go.’ She nodded towards Terry Nelson’s white Jaguar, which had just pulled up at the kerb out front. Maybe God had been listening after all, she thought, ignoring the combined relief and apprehension currently causing her hands to shake. She hid them behind her back and kept her expression calm.

Liam’s expression turned stubborn. ‘What’s he here for? I’ll wait.’

‘A shave, and no, you can’t wait. I told you, I’m closing up shop after. Just go,’ Amy said, the faint plea in her tone making her furious with herself.

‘What’s in it for me?’ Liam demanded.

Amy’s words were cut off when Terry opened the shop door, ducking his head as he came through and calling out his usual greeting in cheerful, booming tones. ‘Hello young lady, do you have time for me?’

‘Liam,’ Amy said softly.

‘Am I interrupting?’ Terry’s sharp gaze took in the scene and his bushy salt and pepper brows beetled.

‘No, Terry. I’ve got your cake and coffee here,’ Amy said with forced cheer, feeling her knees wobble with relief when Liam stood up.

‘She’s all yours, mate. I just dropped in for a chat. She’s a piece of work, isn’t she?’ His proprietorial expression made Amy’s skin feel one size too small.

‘The very best,’ Terry replied warmly.

‘Bye, Liam.’ Amy suppressed a flinch when he brushed past her, his eyes clearly communicating that he knew full well she wouldn’t make a scene in front of a client.

Nodding to Terry, he fished his keys out of his pocket and jangled them as he sauntered out the door, leaving the scent of cheap aftershave hanging in the air like a bad memory.

Aware of Terry’s quietly watchful presence, Amy stomped the adrenaline coursing through her system into submission and refreshed her smile. ‘So where are you whisking your lovely wife off to this evening?’

Amy only allowed her professional face to slip twenty minutes later as she waved Terry off. Giving in to the tension wracking her body, she gripped the back of the barber’s chair and squeezed her eyes tightly shut as the sick feeling left over from being in Liam’s presence crawled through her system on a thousand scurrying legs.

‘Amy?’ Myf’s soft call came from the salon next door.

‘Coming, m’love.’ Amy opened her eyes, taking stock of her appearance in the mirror. She grimaced. During the past few hours her lipstick had faded and the curls in her hair had begun to fall as flat as she felt. She’d have to fix those and soon. Ben was due in under thirty minutes–if he was the punctual type.

She took one last look around the barber shop to make sure everything was ready for Monday morning before making her way next door. The rest of her staff had gone for the day, leaving Myf curled up in one of the beauty salon’s pink leather chairs reading a
Marie Claire
.

As always, Myf projected a lovely aura of serene confidence and acceptance that enveloped Amy the minute she walked into the room, making everything seem just that little bit more manageable.

In direct contrast to Amy’s polished appearance, Myf radiated earth mother chic in recycled clothing splendour. Her wild fro of tight marmalade curls framed her narrow features and, as usual, she wasn’t wearing any make-up. She didn’t need to. Myf was perfect as she was, with her abundance of freckles, dark cinnamon brows and eyelashes, and incredible almost-black eyes.

‘Hey.’

‘Hey, sweetie. You want a coffee? Or are you still doing that vegan detox thing?’ Amy tottered on tired feet to the back of the salon to make a cappuccino. She was tempted to tell Myf about Liam’s visit but held off. She had never told anyone about Liam’s ongoing harassment. If she was honest, her silence wasn’t only because of her fears Jo would find out; she was also deeply ashamed to admit she had effectively allowed someone to stalk and bully her for nine years. Myf would never judge her for it, but just the thought of speaking the words out loud made Amy’s chest hurt.

‘Coffee would be great,’ Myf replied, oblivious to Amy’s internal disquiet. ‘All the detox did was make me crave chocolate.’

‘I’ve got some of that here too. You want that instead?’ Amy replied over the noise of frothing milk.

‘Temptress.’ Myf grinned. ‘No, I think coffee is better after all the craziness this afternoon. I need the boost. Is it always this full-on nowadays?’ She gestured to the shop. ‘This is insane. When do you get time to centre yourself?’

‘Worse and never.’ Amy topped two cappuccinos with chocolate sprinkles, adding extra to Myf’s.

‘Really? You don’t look like you’re enjoying it as much as you used to. This is the third time Mel’s quit on you. Have you thought of not taking her back?’ Myf asked quietly, taking her coffee and drawing her finger through the froth and sprinkles before popping it into her mouth.

Amy just shrugged and took a seat next to her friend, giving her an apologetic half-smile. ‘It’s not that easy, petal. She’s a good friend. You know why she does it.’ She reached down and pulled her heels off, massaging her toes.

‘And you tell me
I’m
too nice.’ The words came as a kind rebuke.

‘You are. You’re here, aren’t you? What did you sell your last painting for? Ten thousand?’ Amy couldn’t help but notice that her friend’s bare arms and legs were generously covered with tiny specks of purple and green paint that blended in with her freckles. It made her smile. Myf was an artist, a highly successful one, whose explosive, violently dynamic canvases were a total enigma to everyone who knew her.

Myf waved a hand. ‘Not important. What’s important is the way you keep forgiving people when they do crappy things. You’re going to have to draw the line at some time.’

Amy sighed. ‘I know, but you know what it’s like. My friends are my family. Mel’s family. I’m only doing what she’d do for me, right?’

Myf didn’t look as sure. ‘It doesn’t work like that for some people, love. And you know better than anyone that sometimes you’ve got to let family go . . .’

Amy felt herself tearing up. She’d let go of so much in her life, she didn’t want to think of giving up another person she cared about. ‘Can we change the topic, sweetie?’

A flash of frustration crossed Myf’s features but she hid it beautifully. ‘Okay . . . so what are you wearing tonight? I take it you want me to stick around and check this guy out?’

‘Of course. You’re my bastard detector. I’ve got my blue party dress out the back.’ Amy spun her chair around and leaned towards a mirror. How had Ben seen her scar on Monday? The man must have telescopic vision. ‘He said wear anything, so I was tempted to wear jeans and a T-shirt.’ They both knew it was a lie. Amy’s appearance was her armour, and she never went anywhere without making sure she was fully suited up.

Myf chuckled. It was a warm sound, one that never failed to make people smile.

‘What?’ Amy demanded.

‘You.’

‘Me what? Look, m’love, if you’re going to laugh, the least you can do is tell me the joke.’ She swivelled her chair back around and prodded Myf with her big toe.

‘There’s no joke.’ Myf tucked her knees up under her chin. ‘You look lovely as is, but if you’re going to change you’d better start. It’s getting on.’

Amy glanced at the clock on the wall. ‘It is too. Far out! Time to frock up.’ She took a quick sip of her coffee then scampered behind the screen at the rear of the room to change.

‘So where’s this mystery man taking you?’ Myf called out not long after Amy quickly got naked, put on clean underwear, slid on her stockings and stepped into her dress.

‘No idea. Hopefully somewhere not too expensive. My credit card can’t handle it. Give me a hand with my zip, petal?’

‘Coming. Why are you worried? He’s the one paying.’ Myf came round the screen and zipped Amy the rest of the way up before stepping back and nodding her approval. ‘I love this dress.’

‘It doesn’t make me look fat?’ Amy looked anxiously down to her stomach. Liam’s earlier snipe about her weight slithered insidiously into her thoughts. She’d always had a little tummy but had never thought it looked bad.

‘Fat? No!’ Myf bent down to brush the hem of Amy’s skirt straight for her. ‘It makes you look like a young Doris Day. Want help with your hair?’

‘No, but you can keep me company.’ Amy lightly rested a hand on Myf’s shoulder as she slipped on her shoes.

‘That I can do. So what’s this about your credit card?’ Myf asked, not willing to let the topic go. She padded after Amy to the front of the salon and resumed her seat while Amy heated up a curling wand.

Amy shrugged. ‘It’s nothing. Usually when I go on a date I pay. I’m used to it.’

‘Seriously?’

‘Yeah. I don’t like being . . . you know . . .’

‘No, I really don’t.’

Amy waved a hand. ‘Obligated. Food equals sex and I don’t want to feel like I have to have sex with a guy because he’s paid for dinner. It’s easier if I pay.’

‘Tell me you don’t pay for their food too?’ Myf asked, her eyes dark with concern.

Amy frowned at her reflection in the mirror, winding pale lengths of hair around her curling iron. ‘Yeah. Why wouldn’t I?’ She reached for the hairspray. ‘I mean, it just feels better that way. I don’t have to worry about anything then.’

‘Would you feel guilty or beholden if I took you out to dinner?’ Myf asked gently.

‘No, that’s different.’ Amy searched for some bobby pins in her work trolley.

‘How?’

‘I don’t know, it’s just different. You don’t expect anything. You’re my friend.’

‘I bet you let Scott pay for your dinner,’ Myf persisted. She and Scott were good friends and had held a number of exhibitions of their respective work together. Both women knew full well Scott would be mortally offended if any woman he’d asked out tried to pay for his meal.

‘He’s different,’ Amy insisted. ‘Can you see my bobby pins?’

‘Different? Like not a man?’ Myf asked, spluttering on her coffee in a burst of incredulous laughter. ‘Have you
looked
at Scott any time recently? They’re just here.’

‘Thanks. Scott’s not the same.’

‘I’ll make sure I tell him that next time I see him,’ Myf said. ‘I’ll make sure I’ve got a camera with me to catch his expression while I’m at it.’

Amy opened her mouth to reply then thought better of it. Instead she popped a few pins in her mouth and began securing her hair back from her face.