Page 35 of Lessons in Love at the Seaside Salon

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

It’s busier than usual today and Evie is glad, because it means she’ll have to spend less time around Sam.

Not that she wants to spend less time around him – if she had her way, she’d spend the rest of her life around him – but it’s better if she does.

Especially if he’s never going to be interested in her.

There’s a part of her that still wonders, though: even if he is gay, maybe he’s not all the way gay. If there’s a girlfriend in his past – while he was at school, for example – that would be evidence that he’s interested in some females of the species. Wouldn’t it?

Oliver. She needs to talk to Oliver. Who will probably think it’s really strange that she wants to ask him if Sam might be interested in her but she’s desperate.

She’s never been desperate before. Not for a man.

Not for anything. Ambivalence has been the bigger determinant of how her life has turned out.

Which sounds lacklustre but it got her a son.

She and Stevo were ambivalent about each other yet they managed to make a baby, so ambivalence can’t be all bad.

In fact, she prefers it – would prefer it a million times over – to the way she feels now, not sleeping well, being distracted during the day as she thinks about Sam and what she should do.

Meeting Sam was what it took to break her out of her pattern.

Instead of the tepid temperature of ambivalence she felt fire.

Thinking about him, being around him, would make her cheeks flame.

It wasn’t something she could control or understand; it just was .

That’s how she knows he’s the man she’s been meant to meet all these years.

Not the one she was holding out for so much as the one she’s been waiting for.

So she can’t accept that they can’t be together.

Which means she has to talk to Oliver about it. She’ll call him tonight.

‘Darl, excuse me, just getting this comb,’ Sam says as he brushes past her. There go her cheeks again. ‘You all right?’ he says, grinning as he picks up the comb.

‘Um – yes,’ she says.

He looks at her quizzically. She knows why: normally she gives him long sentences, if not whole paragraphs, in response to any question.

But she can hardly tell him that she spent the weekend crying over him, the way she’s been crying over him for days now, trying to think of a solution which doesn’t involve her not loving him, because it’s been keeping her company, this love, for months now, and she doesn’t want to live without it.

Still, he moves on and away from her to his client and she tries to focus on hers, although she kept the scissors moving while Sam was talking to her and now notices Mrs Grey putting a hand to the nape of her neck.

‘Evie,’ she barks, ‘what are you doing?’

‘Hm? Sorry?’

‘Where has my hair gone?’

Evie looks down and sees she has snipped far more than Mrs Grey requested, so that her long bob has now become a shorter bob in one narrow section.

‘Oh god,’ she breathes.

‘I can feel air on the back of my neck .’

Mrs Grey is quite agitated now and Evie understands why, but she really wishes Mrs Grey would try to stay calm. For all of their sakes.

‘I’m sorry,’ Evie squeaks. ‘I’m, um … I’ll even it off.’

‘That will give me a short bob.’ Mrs Grey glares at her in the mirror. ‘And you know my feelings about short hair.’

Yes, Evie does, because Mrs Grey enjoys making them clear: women with short hair are asexual or, worse, they are ‘women in sensible shoes’, a group the church-going Mrs Grey absolutely does not approve of and could never countenance.

As Trudy appears by her side Evie feels she could weep with relief.

‘What do we have here?’ Trudy says, glancing from one woman to the other.

‘I made a mistake,’ Evie says. No point in avoiding it.

‘A huge mistake,’ Mrs Grey says, the glare intact.

‘Now, Phyllis …’ Trudy tilts her head from side to side, weighing up options. ‘How would you feel about a change?’ she goes on. ‘Some layers? It’ll be a little more work but I reckon it would suit you – give the hubby something new to admire, eh?’

Mrs Grey’s eyes widen at that. ‘Oh. Do you think?’

‘It’s good to keep them on their toes. Let them know you’re not predictable, if you know what I mean.’ Trudy turns toward Evie. ‘Thoughts?’

‘Um … yes, I can see it.’ Evie scrutinises Mrs Grey’s face in a way she hasn’t before, because Mrs Grey has never wanted a change, she’s always just wanted a trim.

But a new cut means looking at the shape of her face, the shapes in her face, and thinking about what can work best for her.

Indeed, as Evie looks closely, she can see that Trudy is right: a layered cut will do wonders for Mrs Grey.

‘Yes,’ Evie affirms. ‘I think that would look fantastic.’

‘Are you happy for Evie to do it, Phyllis?’

Mrs Grey’s eyes meet Evie’s and she nods slowly.

‘ Wunderbar ,’ Trudy says. She has a collection of affirmations in foreign languages that she trots out from time to time; Evie has become used to it.

Then Trudy leans closer to Evie and says softly, ‘I know why you’re distracted, pet, but you can’t do this every time he’s around.’

Evie gasps and looks away, feeling exposed. And stupid for having let the distraction have an impact on a client.

She nods, picks up her scissors and gets to work, and when Sam walks past later and stops to look at what she’s done, she takes a step away from him.

‘Love it, darl,’ he says. ‘That cut is smashing , Mrs Grey. Hubby’s going to be mad for it when he sees it.’

Then he grins that dynamite grin and carries on, while Evie’s heart keeps beating fast and her hand shakes a little as she writes Mrs Grey’s next appointment in the book.