Page 44 of If I Never Met You

‘Does it cater for hair like mine?’

‘Yes, I’m going to send you to my hairdresser, she’s done laids of courses in Afro hair and would love to get her hands on you.’

‘You’re sure?’ Laurie said, feeling apprehensive about being gotten. ‘White people salons don’t often know what they’re doing. And even if she’s keen, I don’t really want to be her guinea pig.’

‘Honestly, it’s her passion. She’s shown me loads of photos of lots of her clients with hair like you. Trust.’

Laurie didn’t trust, if she was honest, but she also wouldn’t have known where to startglamazoningwithout Emily’s help – she still used a hairdresser in Hebden who came to her mum’s house, whenever she was back.

Laurie forced herself to relax into listening Emily’s excited burblings about what she should wear with cheerful indifference. If only there was a way of the Issa concession at Selfridges similarly transforming her ripped-up insides.

Plants deposited, front room looking pleasingly jungly, Laurie waved Emily off outside. After she started the engine, she gestured to Laurie she wanted to say something, lowering the window.

‘Loz, if youdodo this showmance. One thing. Consequences. The law of unintended consequences.’

Laurie frowned. ‘Uh?’

‘This screams “consequences”, all over it. You won’t know what they are now but I promise you, they’ll arise. Be prepared for that.’

‘Oh. Yes. You’re probably right. But I can’t think what they’d be?’

‘No. They’ll happen though.’

‘How do I prepare for the unknown?’

‘You can’t. That’s my point.’

This seemed excessive caution to Laurie, and she was the queen of caution.

On paper, the crime was perfect.

16

Outwardly, Laurie went to work, she was in reasonable spirits, she was as efficient as ever. In her private life, she looked busy enough to be respectable. Not falling apart.

Laurie was coping, only in ways that made other people feel comfortable. It was a performance, going through the motions. She was as empty and as fragile as an Easter egg. The truth lay in moments like the Thursday evening where she found the box of photo albums under the bed in the spare room. She leafed through a packet of Snappy Snaps from 2005 and ended up crouching, sobbing, feeling as if she’d been stabbed.

She’d never grieved for anyone close to her, but she guessed this must be similar: times when the tide went out and she felt almost normal, and times when it came rushing in and she felt like she was drowning.

It dawned on Laurie – other than the pictures he had on his phone, Dan had taken nothing of sentimental value with him. Only a few short months ago, she’d have thought that spelled intention to return. Ha. Nope. The hard copy visual record of their near-two decades together, casually discarded.

She knew if she challenged Dan he’d weakly insist he had every intention of sorting through and asking for duplicates, but it wasn’t the time/didn’t want to upset her/couldn’t complicate the painful business of his going, by divvying up their mementoes. HAH. As if starting a family with another woman wasn’t the motherlode, no pun, of painful complications. What if wanting to take photos might’ve given Laurie some comfort that he still cared, and that might’ve mattered, and he should’ve taken them for that reason alone.

Don’t look don’t look don’t look, she instructed herself, as she took the lid off. She’d glance and look away, she told herself. She opened the envelope packet on top. An Ark of the Covenant for her emotions. Laurie was probably going to do the skin-melting screaming CGI skeleton thing, as unleashing the evil spirits of the past overcame her.

The first pack was pretty much the most poignant she could’ve encountered. Thanks, random chance, you bitch.

Their impromptu staycation at The Midland.

They’d been getting their kitchen done, and it had taken forever thanks to inadvertently hiring the greatest cowboys in the North West to fit it. Their story ended in the small claims court, because don’t fuck with two lawyers at once. Laurie had almost lost her mind after nineteen days with a room that resembled an ISIS stronghold, with bags of crisps for dinner and being fed a daily diet of lies.

While she curled foetal, Dan had gone off, made a call and surprised her by saying, ‘Pack a bag for two nights away,’ before bundling her into a taxi.

They’d pulled up minutes later outside the imposingentrance of Manchester’s fanciest, Grade II listed grand hotel. Laurie had always hankered after a night there.

Dan had explained the circumstances when booking, so they were upgraded to a suite, the floor space as large as a penthouse flat.

‘Can we afford this?’ Laurie said, bedazzled, as Dan handed her a glass from the complimentary bottle of cava.

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