Page 33 of Lessons in Love at the Seaside Salon

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

‘So Troy has to go to Kariong,’ Anna says as she hands over her son’s sports bag to his father, ‘and Renee has a party at The Entrance.’

‘Kariong to The Entrance?’ Gary is frowning and Anna knows why: he’s calculating how much driving he has to do.

Too bad , she thinks: it’s the sort of driving she’s been doing for years, making sure their children go where they need to, so they can participate in activities and have friends.

He thinks he has it so hard working in an office?

Well, he can find out just what it’s like driving around the Central Coast on a Saturday when all the day-trippers come up from Sydney and down from Newcastle and the traffic turns into more of a snarl than it does on weekdays.

‘Yep,’ she says, beaming at him as if going from Kariong to The Entrance is the best thing that will ever happen to him. He offered to take the kids more on weekends, and this is what it entails, so he’ll just have to get used to it.

‘Um, well …’ His frown deepens. ‘Do you have the addresses?’

She hands him a piece of paper and his mouth hangs open.

‘I, uh …’

Poor Gary – the day is turning out to be more complex than he likely envisioned, but that’s what happens when you have to remember a lot of things and make sure they happen almost simultaneously.

She sighs. ‘The kids know where to go.’ He probably only ever drives from home – whether it’s here or the place he’s staying now – to the office and maybe, once in a blue moon, to the shops, although she wouldn’t mind betting he’s hired someone to do his shopping and cleaning.

‘What are … what are you going to do?’ He puts the bag in his boot.

‘Whatever I like!’ It’s such a strange concept she’s still figuring out whether she should do practical things with the time or just relax. Does she even know how to relax? Possibly not.

‘All right, kids!’ she calls.

Renee skips down the front steps, followed by Troy and his messy hair. If he were going to school Anna would say something about it, but he’s about to play footy so there’s no point. Hair and boy and uniform will come back messed-up and dirty.

She hugs them goodbye, and Gary gets a peck on the cheek, then she almost skips herself after she’s waved them off.

What to do, what to do … She smiles vaguely as she looks around the living room. Nothing that needs doing here. The washing is in hand. The shopping too. She’s up to date with her mending. Probably she should have made plans with friends but all her friends are taking their kids to sport.

It’s weird, having weekend time to herself. It’s also weird being separated, even if she did bring it on herself. None of her friends are divorced or even thinking about it, so she’s the lone ranger there. Which means she’ll have to make this up as she goes.

The beach. She could go to the beach! With a book! And just sit and read! Maybe even have fish and chips for lunch. It’s too cold for a swim so she won’t take a costume, but that makes things simple. What she’s wearing is fine. Which means …

Her eyes light on the novel she’s reading, on the side table next to the couch. Putting it in her handbag, she picks up the keys and heads to the car.

Terrigal is her beach of choice, always, because even though it gets busy, it’s so appealing with the Skillion sweeping up to one side. Plus she likes the buzz of people enjoying themselves.

Once she arrives she tucks her beach mat under her arm and has the pick of spots. On a winter’s day only the surfers have laid any claim to the sand, their towels and thongs and house keys strewn here and there. No one would take anything – that’s just not how things are done.

Closer to the shoreline she sees a woman hunched over, staring at the water, and thinks the shape of her head is familiar. Oh yes, it’s the younger hairdresser from the Seaside Salon – Evie.

Now Anna has a conundrum: should she leave her alone and risk being seen as Evie leaves, and therefore Evie will know that Anna likely saw her and didn’t approach? Or does she give up on her plan to read and say hello, taking the risk that it may turn into socialising?

Then Evie’s shoulders shake and, looking more closely, Anna can see she’s upset. That does it: she’s not leaving a woman she knows distressed on the sand. She wouldn’t want to be left distressed on the sand.

‘Hi,’ she says as she stands over Evie.

The woman looks up, and it’s clear she’s been crying. Then she squints and Anna realises the sun is above her. She moves slightly.

‘I’m Anna. I bring my mum to the salon. Her name is Ingrid.’

‘Oh …’ Evie sniffles and drops her gaze. ‘Hi.’

‘Can I sit down?’ Anna doesn’t actually give Evie the choice: she’s committed to it this far, so she might as well go all the way. Beach mat rolled out, bag dropped, Anna sits and extends her legs next to this woman she barely knows. ‘I came here to read,’ she says cheerfully. ‘But, ah …’

There’s another sniffling sound and Evie turns to look at her with what Anna can only think is despair.

‘Sorry,’ Evie mumbles. ‘I’m not very good company.’

‘I didn’t think you would be!’

Now Evie looks upset.

‘That came out badly,’ Anna goes on. ‘I meant that I can see you’re upset.

But I didn’t want to walk away.’ She thinks of the nights she spent at home, getting upset about Gary not appearing, wishing someone might knock on her door, saying they wanted to keep her company.

Sure, it’s probably wrong to project her wishes onto Evie, but do any of us really want to be alone when we’re in distress?

Seriously? Are we even meant to be? There are billions of people on the planet and somehow we’re meant to take care of the heavy stuff alone?

No, Anna doesn’t believe that. She also doesn’t believe that the onus should be on the upset person to seek out support.

The people around the upset person should be paying attention. And she’s paying attention.

‘Thanks,’ Evie says, her voice muffled. She sniffles. ‘Really.’

‘So – what’s going on?’ No point easing into it, since they’re already being honest.

Evie’s laugh is hollow. ‘Nothing. Absolutely nothing.’ She briefly closes her eyes. ‘That’s the problem.’

‘Is it … work?’ Should Anna even be asking that, given she’s now a client along with Ingrid?

‘No.’ Evie half-smiles in that way people have when they’re really upset but trying to be reassuring at the same time.

‘Family?’

A shake of the head.

‘Love, then?’

Another half-smile, then Evie looks at the water again. ‘Yes,’ she concedes.

‘Did you get dumped?’ It seems the logical cause.

‘Not really.’

‘Did you dump someone and you regret it?’

Another shake of the head. ‘Nothing like that.’

Anna stops to think about all the pathways love can take and how many of them can end in distress.

Maybe someone died. Although she thinks Evie would have said that already.

Sure, it’s a bit like pulling teeth getting an answer out of her but Anna is the intruder here, and Evie possibly doesn’t want to tell her.

But a problem shared is indeed a problem halved.

‘Tell me,’ she says, because the guessing game could go on for a while otherwise.

Evie’s face travels through about five expressions in one second – a smile, a crumple, a silent howl, a concertina’d forehead, lips pressed together. ‘I love someone who doesn’t love me,’ she says.

‘Oh.’ Now Anna looks at the water, working out what to say next. She’s actually never been in this situation, because the boys she liked in high school tended to like her back, so she doesn’t have lived experience to offer. ‘Has he said that he doesn’t?’ she asks.

‘No, but I know he doesn’t.’

‘How could you know for sure if you haven’t talked about it?’

Evie drops her head onto her bent knees and her hands knead the sand. ‘I just know.’

Anna leans over and puts a hand between Evie’s shoulder blades. It’s the spot she uses when her children need to be reassured. That’s because it’s the spot Ingrid used with her. Still does sometimes. A steady hand, well placed, can make all the difference.

‘Do you think he cares about you at all?’ she asks.

Evie shrugs. ‘As a friend.’

‘Would he want his friend to be this upset?’

‘I guess not.’

Seagulls are squawking around them, no doubt hoping for food, which neither of them has. The tourists have trained them into eating hot chips – not ideal seagull food – so they’re a constant nuisance now.

‘Will you regret not telling him? One day, I mean. One day when you’re older, thinking about life. Will you regret it?’

Evie turns her head, her right ear resting on her knees, her forehead puckered. ‘I think so.’

‘He may not feel the same,’ Anna says, because she has no idea, ‘but if he really cares about you, I can’t imagine he’d be upset to find out how you feel. If it were me, I wouldn’t be.’

They hold each other’s gaze and Anna thinks it’s nice to be here, with the waves rolling into shore, the breeze cool but not cold, the sun just bright enough.

She pulls her hand back and sits up straight. ‘You need to do what’s best for you, of course,’ she says. ‘But that’s my two cents.’

Evie smiles gratefully. ‘Thanks,’ she says. ‘I feel like an idiot getting this upset.’

‘Loving someone will never make you an idiot,’ Anna says.

‘It can feel like it sometimes because we get so swept up in it. But how can it ever be bad to care about someone so much? It’s a compliment.

It’s a kindness. It’s really beautiful, actually.

’ She smiles with what she hopes is reassurance. ‘That’s what I think, anyway.’

Evie inhales deeply and sighs loudly. ‘Thanks,’ she says.

Anna nods, then decides she can’t stay here. Evie may not need to be alone in her distress but perhaps she does in her contemplation of it. So Anna stands and pulls up the mat.

‘I’m going to leave you to it. Go and read my book.’ She nods toward the surf club. ‘Up there. I’ll see you next week at the salon.’

‘Thanks,’ Evie says again.

Anna smiles as she turns to go, feeling slightly wistful about the fact that she can counsel Evie about her love life but be so disconnected from her own.

It’s not her time, this month, this season, this year, to be in love with Gary or anyone.

Maybe it will be again. For now she’ll just enjoy this beach and her book then rejoin her normal life later today.