Elspeth likes to hear my stories of growing up in a hippie commune in Norfolk, or my experiences of moon-bathing. She’s even fascinated by the strands of pink I have running through my dirty-blonde hair. I’d contemplated changing them after the interview, especially when the daughter, Kathryn, made some sarky comment about how could I expect to be taken seriously with ‘coloured bits that look like dental floss’ in my hair.
While I wouldn’t say I actually enjoy the job, I’ve fallen into a routine. Kathryn tries to psych me out sometimes but I ignore her. I’ve met worse than her. Aggie, the cook, is a little cold towards me. She’s perfectly polite and makes small-talk over lunch or if I’m in the kitchen preparing one of Elspeth’s many cups of tea, but I feel she’s holding something back. I’m sure I’m one in a long line of companions who have come and gone over the years. Perhaps she thinks I won’t last long so there’s little point in getting too attached to me. Or maybe she thinks I’m a weirdo with my pink-streaked hair, the ring in my nose and my tie-dye harem trousers. I don’t look like I fit in with this posh house and all its finery, I know that. Frankly, I’m surprised they gave me the job. Maybe there weren’t many applicants.
It’s Saturday, my day off, and I decide to head to Gloucester Road for a change. It’s a sunny day, fresh, hopeful. Hot-air balloons float in the distance, children are running about on the green fields adjacent to the suspension bridge, and couples walk arm in arm, their dogs beside them. There are people sitting outside cafés, families, lovers and friends. There’s still a nip in the air but next week it will be April. I’m wearing my favourite floral bomber jacket with loose-fitting silk trousers and cherry-coloured DM boots. I’ve got an appointment at a hair salon. I found a card in my room – it must have been left by my predecessor. The card was funky with bright colours and snazzy fonts. I knew I’d never be able to afford the place Elspeth goes to, so I thought I’d give A Cut Above a try.
The place is just as I’d imagined, all bright lights and loud music and hip stylists with radical haircuts. Radical is good. I’m waiting in Reception as instructed and flicking through Cosmopolitan when a girl with bright copper hair approaches me. It’s so long it has to be extensions, I think, as I follow her through to a chair right at the end of the room next to the sinks.
‘How can I help you today?’ says the girl, as she assists me into a gown and I take a seat. She has very white teeth and thick, well-groomed eyebrows. She doesn’t offer her name but she looks about my age. I wonder how much experience she has. Her skin is a flawless beige and I’m sure she’s wearing fake eyelashes. They look as though they’re weighing her eyes down, which, on closer inspection, look puffy as though she’s not slept. Her heavy foundation isn’t concealing the dark circles I detect either. She doesn’t appear particularly friendly, not like the hairdressers I’ve had in the past, who natter away about their boyfriends and holidays and Love Island. She looks like the type who wouldn’t be out of place as one of the popular mean girls in a US high-school drama.
I take a strand of pink between my fingers. ‘I’m getting bored of the colour. Can I change it to blue?’
She smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. ‘Sure, but I’m going to have to bleach it first.’ She scoops up a handful of my hair. ‘It’s not great for the condition. Can I suggest you go back to your natural colour, then come in a few months to put in the blue?’
I wanted the blue to piss off stuck-up Kathryn. But maybe it’s not a bad idea. Especially as I’m new to the job. Perhaps I’ll impress the old lady, make her think I’m serious about the role. So I agree.
She runs her hands through my hair. ‘Your last hairdresser overdid it a little on the pink,’ she says, frowning.
I laugh. There’s something straight to the point about this girl that’s refreshing. ‘Yep. It was one of my friends. She didn’t really know what she was doing.’
A smile tugs at the edges of her lips. ‘I can see that. Do you want any cut?’
Cut? I haven’t had my hair cut in seven years. ‘No, thanks. I like it this length.’
She looks doubtful and meets my eyes in the large rectangular mirror in front of me. ‘I could take the ends off? Make it healthier?’
Not on your life. After the last hairdresser promised to ‘take the ends off’ I finished up with it on my shoulders. I’m not making that mistake again.
I decline politely and she shrugs. ‘Okay, I’ll just go and mix the colour.’ She wanders away without offering me a drink. Another girl, who looks about fifteen with a very severe bleached buzz cut, wafts over to me in a cloud of Impulse and dumps a couple of glossy magazines in my lap without a word. Charming.
Five minutes later the stylist is back, wheeling a tray containing bowls of bleach and colour and a pile of foils. She starts sectioning my hair, then catches my eye in the mirror. ‘I’m so sorry. I didn’t offer you a drink.’
I smile. ‘That’s okay.’
‘Do you want one?’
I contemplate saying no as I don’t want her to go to any trouble, plus she looks a bit stressed, but I’m actually really thirsty so I admit I’d love a cup of tea.
She calls to the fifteen-year-old, who scurries off to make it.
‘So why did you want the blue?’ she asks, as she brushes bleach onto my pink strands. The girl is back with my tea.
‘I’ve just started a new job,’ I say, reaching for my cup.
She laughs. It’s throaty and I’m relieved she’s thawed a little. ‘And your employer wants you to have blue hair?’
I sip my tea and place it on the table in front of me, all without moving my body. ‘No, the old woman I work for is okay. She’s cool about it. It’s her daughter who’s all judgy. She hates the pink.’ I tell her about the dental-floss jibe. ‘So I thought I’d make it blue instead! Even more vibrant. Anything to piss her off. But now it will have to wait. Still,’ I chuckle to show I’m joking, ‘I’ll have to find other ways to piss her off!’
I’m expecting her to laugh. At least to raise a smile. But she just nods and asks me where I’m from, as though she’s following a script and isn’t allowed to deviate from it. I tell her a bit about Norfolk and my restlessness, leaving uni and how I’m still trying to find the right career for me.