“Just don’t say it was from me. It’s not a… I just want to…” I sighed. “Just make sure she has a good time.”
She winked. “I will. You can count on it.”
Yes, I could.
The guys were wolf whistling again before she was clear of the yard. I’d have given them another roasting if she hadn’t spun on her own sweaty heels and given them the finger herself.
I got back to that air-con.
“I’m nervous,” I admitted, eyes still closed tight. “Maybe I shouldn’t have…”
“You really should have,” Tonya insisted.
I finally dared to look. The sight in the mirror took me aback.
“You like?” the hairdresser asked, her smile wide.
I ran my fingers through my shorter hair, and it felt so soft. So stylish. I hadn’t had a long bob since I’d had Mia, having neither had the time nor the inclination to maintain it. Or the money, for that matter, not in the beginning.
I hadn’t had the time, inclination or money to keep up with the deep-cherry hair dye, either, but it was another thing I’d opted to revisit with a little encouragement from Tonya. I shook my head, and the longer lengths shimmied, just about grazed my shoulders.
I grabbed a deep breath and couldn’t stop smiling. “I love it. I really love it.” I turned to Tonya. “I feel like me again! Oh my God, I really feel like me!”
“You look like you, as well,” she said. She still had foils in her hair from her highlights, but came over anyway, wrapped her arms around my neck. “It’s just like old times. Ahhh, can you remember? You and me, singing along to the top-forty pop chart in your bedroom. You had this hair then.”
I laughed. “With Nanna singing along on the landing in her opera voice. How could I ever forget? Happy days.”
They were indeed happy days, when Pops was still alive, too. He and Nanna used to be at ours all the time. The thought hit me in the belly. I’d been so close to Pops. Darren, too. He’d been close to both of them.
But now wasn’t the time to be thinking about any of that.
The hairdresser held up a second mirror and I was pleasantly surprised to find how much of a difference my new cut made to the back of me. I looked cared for. No more straggly limp pony, no more freshly-raked mess of split ends. The style changed my face, too. Made me appear younger. Fresher. Sexier.
I felt my eyes welling and it was so ridiculous I had to laugh.
“Daft old goat,” Tonya said, but she was teary-eyed as well. I laughed harder at the realisation and she pulled a face. “This is from the ammonia!” she protested. “Don’t for a second think it isn’t, missy!”
I stared at myself with a strange mix of elation and sorrow. Sorrow for the me I’d abandoned all that time ago. Sorrow for the self-esteem I’d buried with Brian and only just started to rediscover. Sorrow for the years going through the motions. For the years when I didn’t matter to myself.
Sorrow for the years I’d written myself off as a woman.
“I can’t believe how emotional a silly little haircut is making me.” I met Tonya’s eyes. “Never again,” I said. My voice was low and steely. “Not ever. I’m never giving myself up again.”
She nodded. “Not ever. You’re back now. Forever.”
Yes.
Yes, I was.
I had a spring in my step as we hit the shops, and suddenly the racks of clothes held promise – a little excitement, too. I picked up items I’d never have considered before, cute little tops that showed a bit of cleavage, some dresses in brighter colours, fitted at the bust and flared enough to skim my hips. I tried everything, and put it all back, committing to maybe I’ll come back for it every time Tonya tutted at me.
I held my breath as she stopped outside Jaunt – a trendy but uber tasteful boutique that I’d admired from outside but never ventured in.
“Come on!” she said. “We’re on a roll.”
I looked at the price tags in the window. “This is a bit… extravagant…”
She took my arm. “No harm trying, Jo. No harm at all.”
As soon as I was inside I wished I’d held my ground. The place was teeming with beautiful clothes that made my heart stutter. Tonya picked up a scarlet tunic top with a handkerchief hem and the fabric billowed and rippled like a dream.
“Try it,” she said and shoved it in my direction. I held it up to my torso in front of the mirror.
“I can’t…”
She found some fitted black jeans from the rack and forced them into my arms. “And these.”
I didn’t hand them back, because in truth I didn’t want to. My soul had already taken ownership of them, my fingers gripping tight. I added a cold-shoulder turquoise number to the mix, a slightly boho blouse that screamed at me from the mannequin, a cherry blossom bodycon dress that I’d have to wear with shaping underwear, and a couple of decent camis with lace trimmings.