CHAPTER ONE
‘The only thing nicer than a custard slice for breakfast,’ Nora Bunting announced, picking the gooey treat up with two fingers and lifting it to her mouth. ‘Are two custard slices.’ She took a huge bite and closed her eyes in bliss.
‘You could never eattwo?’ Lori cried, aghast.
‘I could,’ Nora replied, ‘but I won’t. And do you know why?’
The youngest member of the hair salon shook her head mutely, bug-eyed with wonder at her boss’s prowess when it came to custard slice consumption.
‘Because there’s only one in the box!’ Nora chortled.
‘Don’t listen to her,’ Kendra, the senior stylist, advised. ‘Nora’s always pulling our legs. She’d never eat two for breakfast. Lunch, maybe, but not breakfast!’ She slapped her black-trousered thigh and nudged Nora with a playful elbow.
‘Careful,’ Nora admonished. ‘I nearly dropped my slice.’ She finished it in a couple of mouthfuls, then proceeded to try to lick the incredibly sticky icing from her fingers, before resorting to washing her hands in one of the three basins.
‘Right, I suppose we’d better get this show on the road,’ she said, taking a gulp of frothy coffee. ‘Who’ve we got this morning?’ She turned to Kendra, who opened the appointments book to today’s date.
‘A full head of foils for Stacey Heron, a restyle, a root touch up, two cut and blow dries, and Mrs Blake’s regular wash and set. I think she’ll need a trim as well, because her hair was getting a bit bushy last week.’
Nora asked, ‘Who’s first?’
‘The foils and one of the cuts.’
‘Can you remember what we need to do for the foils?’ Nora asked Lori.
‘Um… put a gown on the client?’
Nora loved training the next generation of hairstylists and she was never without a student, but this one was harder work than most. The seventeen-year-old was eager to learn, bless her, but the girl’s lack of common sense sometimes amazed her.
‘We put gowns onallour clients,’ Nora reminded her gently. She tried again. ‘What equipment do we need?’
A lightbulb came on. ‘Oh, foil strips!’
‘That’s right. What else?’
‘Bowls for the colour and brushes to apply it?’
‘Correct. And we also need the customer’s record card, so I know what was discussed when she came in for her consultation.Do you think you could get all that ready for me? And when you’ve finished, you’ll need to stock up the towel shelf and make sure all the shampoos and conditioners are topped up. But before you get started,pleasecould you make me another coffee?’ She yawned. ‘This flippin’ menopause is a pain in the bum. I keep waking up in the middle of the night for a wee and then I can’t get back to sleep.’
‘What did the doctor say?’ Kendra asked.
‘I’ve got to wait for the results of the blood test first, before he’ll give me HRT. At least I’m not suffering from hot flushes yet.’ Nora grasped the neckline of her top and pulled it away from her chest, fanning herself. ‘Although, now I come to think of it, Iamrather hot.’
‘It’s really warm out,’ Kendra said. ‘The forecast reckons it’ll be twenty-five degrees today.’
Nora loved the summer, but preferably when she was lying on a beach with a cocktail in her hand: she didn’t want to have to work in it. Even this early in the day, she could feel sweat gathering between her ample breasts and creating damp patches under her arms.
Lori brought her another coffee and Nora gulped it thirstily. She would send the girl out to the shop for a bottle of something cold in a bit. She loved her coffee, but if it was going to be as warm as Kendra claimed, she’d need a cold drink, and preferably one with caffeine in it to keep her awake.
She hoped the doctor would prescribe HRT, because the sooner she got started on it the better. Being tired all the time was getting her down.
The door opened and Stacey Heron, a regular and the salon’s first client of the day, came in and soon Nora and herteam were immersed in washing, cutting, curling and styling. As Picklewick’s only hairdresser, the salon was always busy, and despite being rushed off her feet, Nora loved it. Ever since her college days, she’d wanted to own her own place, and she’d built the business from scratch. Very proud of it she was too, and although she joked and laughed with clients and staff alike, she had high standards and ran a tight ship. Even as she concentrated on wrapping lengths of foil around strands of colour-daubed hair, she kept a close eye on what everyone else was doing, at the same time maintaining a steady stream of chatter with her client.
The current topic of conversation was plans for the weekend.
The woman in the chair was saying, ‘If the weather holds up, I’d quite like to have some friends around for a barbeque. We’ve got one of those inflatable pools, so the kids can play in that while the grownups enjoy a couple of beers. Or in my case, wine.’
‘I like a nice cold glass of Pimm’s,’ Nora said. ‘Or a pina colada with loads of ice. A barbeque sounds good – as long as I’m not expected to cook it!’
