Page 19 of Lessons in Love at the Seaside Salon

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

The other day Babs, one of Trudy’s regulars, told Evie, ‘You have a spring in your step.’

Evie couldn’t deny it. Because she can feel it, these days.

Almost as if she wants to pirouette through the day, like Cinderella with her little birds flying around or whatever happens in the Disney movie.

Or is it Snow White? One of them, with the birds.

That’s her. Although it’s probably more accurate to say she’s living as if she’s in that Carpenters song about birds suddenly appearing when someone is near – ‘Close to You’, that’s it. And the you in this case is Sam.

When Babs had said what she said she’d looked meaningfully from Evie to Sam and back again. Luckily Sam had his back turned otherwise Evie would have been embarrassed. Inside, she felt like giggling at the idea of someone noticing the change in her.

Stevo had said something about it too.

‘You got a fella?’ he asked this morning when he picked up Billy for sport. Then he was going to take Billy home for the night because Evie is heading out on the town with Fran.

‘No!’ Evie said. ‘Why?’

Stevo had narrowed his eyes. ‘You haven’t been this happy in …

ever.’ He cocked his head, like he was sizing her up, and she felt a little guilty because he was basically saying she had never been this happy with him .

Which was true. They weren’t happy when they were together.

She tried to get happy, and so did he, probably, but they weren’t a match.

It’s a mystery to her why two such people can come together and make a kid as great as Billy.

When Billy was a baby Evie went to see a psychic who had a little crystal shop in the arcade across from Terrigal Beach.

She was trying to figure out what to do about Stevo, which was really a way of trying to figure out what to do with herself.

They knew they didn’t belong together but she didn’t want to be a single mum. Or so she thought.

‘You have a son,’ the psychic told her, which freaked out Evie because she hadn’t told the psychic anything. Then the psychic took two puffs of her cigarette and blew the smoke in Evie’s face, which made Evie wonder what she’d gotten herself into.

‘He is a strong boy,’ the psychic went on. ‘Very strong. Strong enough to make his way into this world.’ One puff, another blow. ‘He brought you and his father together.’ The psychic’s eyes met hers. ‘But now that job is done.’

Evie had felt cold at that instant, not from fear but recognition that the psychic was right. It had been the first and last time she went to a psychic, though, because she didn’t want any more hard truths.

Now she wishes the psychic were still there so she could ask her about Sam.

The crystal shop closed a couple of years ago and Evie has no idea how to track down a psychic, so instead she just wonders about Sam all on her own.

She’s not going to ask Trudy about it. But if she did she’d ask if Trudy thinks Sam likes her as much as she likes him. It’s all she wants to know.

This crush is ridiculous – no one her age, and especially no mother should carry on like this – but she can’t seem to shake it off. That’s why she agreed to go out with Fran tonight when her old friend called to suggest it a few days ago.

‘That band’s on,’ she’d said.

‘Which band?’

‘You know.’

Evie didn’t know.

‘You know ! The one we liked. When we were in Year 12.’

Evie tried to think.

‘Gawd, Evie, motherhood has sucked my brain out through my toes. I can’t remember anything .’

‘Same, Fran. I can’t think of any band.’

‘The Leatherjackets!’ Fran said triumphantly. ‘Thank god. I still have some neurons left.’

The Leatherjackets were a band from Woy Woy who named themselves after a fish but enjoyed the double entendre, especially as they played rockabilly.

Evie and Fran used to sneak into their gigs when they were still under age, but it was worth it: The Leatherjackets were great.

Some people thought they’d be the next big thing, but they never went further than the Coast. Then they broke up.

Not for good, obviously, since they’re playing at a pub in Gosford.

‘Nice top,’ Fran says as Evie hops in her car.

‘Thanks.’ Evie looks down at the shoulder-padded T-shirt with a sequinned heart on it that she bought at a boutique in Gosford after Fran issued her invitation.

She has no idea what anyone wears to gigs these days but the top could be handy for any other social occasion that comes her way.

Not that she has expectations of being invited to anything by anyone. Not really.

They pass the drive trading stories about their children’s teachers and soon enough they’re inside the pub, where Evie realises that the sequinned heart immediately marks her out as a dag. Everyone else is wearing band T-shirts – except Fran, who’s wearing a black top with blue jeans.

Evie feels old and out of the loop. And here she is meant to be on top of trends and fashion because her clients expect her to know the latest. Okay, not all of them, because some of them just want a rinse and set. But a lot of them would think she knows the latest in everything.

‘Drink?’ Fran says, nodding toward the bar.

‘About ten,’ Evie says, making a face. ‘So I can forget that I stick out like a sore thumb.’

Fran looks at her quizzically.

‘The top,’ Evie explains.

‘Doll, precisely no one is going to care about that top. They’re all too busy wondering if they’re cool themselves. Besides, I like it. It’s pretty.’ She grins and goes to the bar.

Evie glances around and sees mostly men about her age, some trim, some not; some who look as if they’ve been dragged through a hedge backward and some with hair combed and T-shirt ironed.

Is this her generation? When did they all start looking so much older?

Would Sam think she’s ‘older’? She hasn’t previously considered his age, or hers.

He’s Oliver’s younger brother, and Oliver is her age.

Maybe she’s too old for Sam. Maybe he likes younger women.

She swallows, not wanting to contemplate all the variations of maybes she could consider over the course of the night.

‘Nice top,’ says a man’s voice beside her, and she turns to see Simon, a boy she knew in high school. Although he’s a man now, just as she’s a woman.

‘Simon!’ she cries, genuinely pleased to see him. He was always decent and easy to talk to. A league player in winter, cricket in summer, surfer all year round, like most of the boys. Nuggety with muscle due to all the sport, and it looks as though he still does it all.

‘G’day, Evie.’ He kisses her on the cheek. ‘How ya been?’

‘Oh, you know.’ She shrugs.

‘Nah, I don’t,’ he says cheekily. ‘So tell me.’

Where does she start? Given how small the Coast is, he might have heard she has a son. That she works at the Seaside Salon. People talk about other people. It’s how life runs. But maybe he hasn’t heard anything. So she’ll start with what’s most important to her.

‘I’m a mum now.’

‘Yeah?’ He cocks his head to the side like a curious puppy.

‘To Billy. He’s seven.’

‘Right. Right! Wow. A kid.’ He runs his hand through his sun-bleached hair, which is nicely cut, she notices, and she wonders where he has it done.

‘Do you have any?’

He grins and shakes his head. ‘Nah. Haven’t had the time.’

‘Busy surfing?’

He keeps grinning. ‘Something like that.’

Evie glances over to the bar and sees Fran picking up their drinks.

‘I’m here with Fran,’ she says to Simon. ‘Do you remember her? Star hockey player.’

‘Sure – Fran,’ he says, but he’s not grinning any more. Instead he’s frowning in Fran’s direction. ‘Look, before she gets here,’ he says, ‘would you like to –’

‘Simon Hardy, as I live and breathe!’ Fran calls as she nears. ‘How are you?’

‘Great, Fran, thanks, yeah. Look, Evie, I …’ He stops and looks to be considering something.

‘Are you trying to ask her out, Si?’ Fran says.

Evie wants to melt into a puddle. How can Fran be so bold? Mind you, she’s always been like it, so Evie should be well past being mortified.

Simon laughs. ‘Maybe.’

He looks into Evie’s eyes and she realises she’s probably meant to say something, but all she can think is how much she wishes it were Sam doing the asking.

Then her answer would be an immediate yes .

For Si Hardy, though … He never acted interested in her at school.

So maybe he’s desperate now? Why else would he want to ask her out so quickly when they haven’t seen each other for years?

Desperation isn’t appealing to her, and she should know because she’s been feeling a little desperate herself.

‘Oh,’ she says at last.

‘I’ll call you,’ Simon says, and lifts his tinnie. ‘Cheers. Enjoy the show.’

Then he’s gone, probably to rejoin his mates, although Evie doesn’t look because she’s too busy glaring at Fran.

‘Why did you say that?’ she demands. ‘Thanks for the drink, by the way.’

‘The bloke was drooling.’ Fran sips her Coke. She always drinks Coke. ‘He’s still cute,’ she adds. ‘So why don’t you?’

‘Because …’ Evie sighs.

‘Because why – you have so many other dates lined up?’ Fran doesn’t say it unkindly – she has often lamented that she can’t understand why Evie hasn’t been snapped up – but it stings regardless.

‘Because there’s someone else,’ Evie blurts.

‘ What? Why haven’t you told me this before?’

‘There isn’t anything much to tell. Yet.’

‘So you’ve been on some dates?’

‘No.’

Fran frowns. ‘So …’

‘We work together.’

‘Right. So there’s been flirting?’

‘Yes.’

‘He likes you.’

‘He’s really sweet to me.’

Fran takes another sip of Coke. ‘Is he generally sweet to people?’

Evie takes a breath. ‘Yes, but –’

‘Evie, don’t confuse attention for affection.’

Fran says it seriously but Evie wants to tell her that she knows that – it’s not as if she hasn’t rolled it around in her brain over and over and over and over …

Instead, she needs to make her case.

‘I don’t. I can tell he likes me by the way he looks at me,’ she says, thinking of how Sam’s eyes light up when he sees her.

How he walked in the other day and said, ‘I love your dress,’ his hand reaching out to brush the fabric, his fingertip finding her thigh in a way that Evie did not think was an accident.

She couldn’t look at him in case he guessed what she was thinking.

Except she wanted him to guess what she was thinking – and isn’t that the conundrum for anyone who has a crush?

They want the object of their crush to return their feelings, but that would mean making the feelings known and that prospect is mortifying, because what if the feelings aren’t, in fact, returned?

All of it made Evie feel like she was back in high school, except she never had a crush of this intensity on anyone in high school. There was no one worthy. Not even Si Hardy.

‘I need to see this in action to make sure,’ Fran says.

This irritates Evie. ‘You don’t believe me?’

‘I want to check the guy out! You’re my friend. I want to make sure he’s not just sleazing around, checking out every woman who comes into the salon.’

‘He doesn’t.’

Fran stays quiet.

‘Promise,’ Evie adds.

‘All right, I believe you. But he’s a co-worker. Is it a good idea to get involved? The salon is so small.’

‘There’s no involvement. Yet. We’re just …’ Evie can’t help smiling as she thinks about the conversation she and Sam had in the back room the other day, how he asked after Billy, asked questions about her life. How interested he was in her.

‘Let him ask you out, then.’ Fran raises her eyebrows. ‘I’m serious, Evie. He has to make the first move.’

Although Evie hopes he will, she has thought about taking the initiative herself.

‘Why? We’ve had women’s lib. We can ask them out if we want.’

‘Because men will say yes to everyone .’ Fran says and points her finger around the room. ‘You could crack on to every guy here and he’ll say yes to you, married, single, halfway single, whatever.’

‘That’s not true!’ How can it be? The women’s magazines all say men are hard to get.

‘It is. You should hear the stories Steve has about his married mates and the women they go home with when they’re all out on the town. They don’t approach any of them. The women come to them and they don’t say no.’

‘But –’

‘If he asks you out it’s because he really wants to spend time with you,’ Fran says. ‘He could be with any woman who asks him, right? But you want to know that he really wants to see you . So wait for that. And if it doesn’t come …’ She shrugs. ‘Then he’s not for you.’

‘But he is for me!’ Evie feels stricken at the idea that she and Sam may not progress if she’s unable to do anything about it. Can’t she take charge of her own life? Fran doesn’t know everything.

‘Then it will all be fine.’

There’s a noise from the stage and a scraggly looking man is testing the microphone.

‘Looks like we’re almost on here,’ Fran say, taking another sip of Coke. Then she kisses Evie’s cheek. ‘You know I love you, doll. I just want you to be with someone who makes the effort because you’re worth that .’

As the support band takes the stage Evie contemplates what Fran has said and can’t help feeling despondent. She wants Sam. She’s impatient for him, in fact. If she has to wait for him … how long will that take? Hasn’t she waited long enough?

There’s no way she’s going to broach the subject with Fran again, though, so she concentrates on the music, and catches Simon’s eye a couple of times, smiling, but not in a way that would encourage him. He’s not Sam. He never will be.