Page 44 of Lessons in Love at the Seaside Salon

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

Whoever said time heals all wounds clearly had shallow wounds, Evie thinks, as she half-smiles at Sam when he passes while she’s mixing colour.

He keeps looking at her like some tragedy has occurred and all right, yes, she might have indulged in the idea that him not loving her is a tragedy but she hasn’t said it to anyone else in those terms. It’s also not a tragedy in the scheme of things.

The Holocaust was a tragedy. And tragedy isn’t even the right word for it, because it was millions of tragedies all bundled up in one word.

A word that, among others, reminds her she has wounds to heal but they’re wounds because she’s still here.

She has a chance to make them better, and she’s trying to do that.

What does not help is the pressure she feels to keep being Sam’s friend.

He almost tries too hard to stay in her good graces when she really just wants to sulk behind her chair, at her own pace, in her own time, and once she’s done she’ll likely want to be his friend again, but for now … there are still those wounds to heal.

‘Coffee, darl?’ he says as he passes her again.

This time she wants to stomp her foot. He knows she has a client – that’s why she’s mixing the colour! Why would she want a coffee? She never has a beverage when she’s with a client. Mainly because she doesn’t have enough hands to work and sip at the same time.

At least stomping a foot – an action – is an improvement on sulking, which some would call inaction.

‘No, thanks,’ she says through a fake smile, holding up the colour pot. ‘Busy.’

‘Sure. Sure, sure.’ He flashes his teeth at her. ‘Just let me know when you want one and I’ll make it.’

Why? She wants to yell at him. A coffee won’t compensate for breaking my heart.

Except she broke her own heart, didn’t she? Let herself have expectations he never indicated he could meet. Or wanted to meet. She dreamt herself up a whole life with him and he had no idea.

She shakes her head, hoping that will stop her obsessing over him, because she still is, only now it takes the form of constantly mulling over the same Why not me? thoughts that are completely redundant because it was never going to be her. Which is really the rub, isn’t it?

As she exits the back room holding the colour, she glances up and stops, because Oliver is in the doorway, grinning at her.

‘Hi!’ he says.

Oh great – what does he want? First he crashed her non-date at the movies, now he’s crashing her workplace. She could have kinder thoughts about him, obviously, but she blames him for putting Sam in her vicinity.

‘How are you?’ he says.

Does she imagine there’s pity in his tone?

Of course Sam would have told him the completely humiliating information that she was in love with him, and of course Oliver would know why Sam didn’t love her the same way.

She didn’t consider this before but now she can add it to her list of regrets and ruminations.

Perhaps she really should get a hobby, as Trudy suggested – that might distract her long enough for the list to shrivel up of its own accord.

‘I’m great,’ she says, although because her tone is flat it’s completely unconvincing.

‘Great,’ he says, still grinning. ‘I’m here for a haircut.’

‘I’m booked up.’

His grin falters. ‘Oh – no, I mean, Sam’s doing it.’

Now she’s the one who falters. God , how embarrassing. Why would she presume he’s here to see her when his brother works in the salon?

‘Of course,’ she says. ‘Sorry, default answer.’ She smiles quickly then starts to move away.

‘So you’re good?’ Oliver says. He’s trailing after her and she wishes he wouldn’t.

‘Yep,’ she says over her shoulder, then smiles at her client in the mirror. ‘Mish, I think you’re going to love this colour.’

She catches a glimpse in the mirror of Oliver looking crestfallen and feels bad. Although she shouldn’t. He knows she’s not good and he’s asked after her twice, which to Evie smells of provocation – almost as if he wants to get a rise out of her. And it worked, because now she feels tetchy.

After half an hour she has Mish’s colour on, where she’ll leave it for about forty-five minutes, and it’s almost time for her next client, who’s having a trim and a wash and set, which she can mostly get done in the forty-five, although without Josie to wash it may take a little longer.

Josie is fast and good. Washing is Evie’s least favourite thing to do so she’s slower than the others, which is counterintuitive – you’d think she’d speed through it – but her reluctance seems to slow her down.

In the chair next to hers Sam is pulling the cape off Oliver, then Oliver stands up. He’s quite a bit taller than Sam, Evie notices. Why hasn’t she before? Sam’s not short, either.

They don’t look like each other, apart from the dark hair. Sam’s face is chiselled; Oliver’s is slender, pointed. If she didn’t know they were brothers, she wouldn’t guess it.

‘How’s Billy?’ Oliver says before she has a chance to get away. She doesn’t want to loiter near Sam, even as he seems to want to loiter near her.

‘He’s good,’ she replies, moving things around on her tray. Combs need to be kept in order, after all. ‘Keeping busy with sport.’

‘It’d be great to see him.’

Evie’s head snaps up. What an odd thing to say. He barely knows Billy.

‘Would it?’ she replies.

Oliver blanches. ‘I mean – I’d like to see him,’ he says. ‘It’s been a while.’

‘Right,’ she says slowly.

There’s no reason for you to see him.

‘I mean …’ He sighs. ‘I’d like to see you both. Do something fun together.’

Evie becomes aware of Sam looking at her expectantly and wonders exactly what is going on. Does Oliver pity her? Poor, pathetic Evie with her crush on his gay brother?

Or is he trying to pursue her? If that’s even what men do any more.

And – she really doesn’t like this idea – is Sam pushing him to?

That would be really icky if true. Sam doesn’t want her so he offloads her to his brother.

It’s the plot of a bad movie that would never get made because it’s so pathetic.

No. No – she shouldn’t be so negative. She was telling herself that this morning as a way of getting out of her slump. Just because the sky feels like it’s falling doesn’t mean it is. That was one thing she told herself. Another was: Someone will love you.

She didn’t believe that one as much as she believed the other one. It’s hard to convince yourself you’re lovable when no one has, you know, loved you. Like that. Billy loves her, of course. Her mum loved her. But no one has chosen her. That’s the part that stings.

‘Maybe,’ she says to Oliver, because what else can she say in the middle of the salon with everyone listening. Even Trudy’s eyes are on stalks.

The salon door opens and with relief Evie sees it’s her next client.

‘I have to go,’ she says.

‘Can I call you?’ Oliver says.

She says, ‘Sure,’ in as blasé a fashion as possible, and walks away from him.

As she’s seating the client she’s barely aware of him leaving, and only slightly more aware of Sam hovering, and when the hovering starts to annoy her she thinks that’s a good sign: no longer can he do no wrong in her eyes.

So Oliver’s visit served one purpose at least, because it moved her a little further on from Sam. Moving all the way along will take time, however. That’s an expectation she is learning to manage.

‘Coffee, darl?’ Sam asks – again – as he passes her on the way to the back room.

This time she says, ‘Yes,’ just to shut him up, and feels a surge of something. She realises she may just be coming back to herself, one irritation at a time.