Page 130 of The Home Grown
Battle paint.
Armour.
The last colour I let free is ‘Fifteen minutes of flame’, then I step back, gradually retreating to the counter where I change the password to the terminal instead.
I slip out, locking the door behind me and pulling the shutters back down, then I slide behind the steering wheel of my car.
A half-hour later, I’m back in the comfort of my home, staring into the mirror of my dressing table, fixing my makeup and finishing my hair, wondering if I’ve made a huge mistake, but several minutes later, I’m calling Jess, wondering if she can convince me otherwise.
I prop my phone up on the dressing table as it rings out.
“I need your advice,” I say as she answers. “Though it’s something I’ve already sort of done, so I basically need you to tell me I did the right thing.”
“You did the right thing,” she says on cue.
I fill her in on the story of ‘House of Kathryn’ and Kathryn herself, avoiding every attempt I’ve made to contact her.
“Basically, I got to the point where I wanted to get my stuff back,” I say. “So I went to the salon, and I let myself in. I grabbed my things, literally throwing them into the bags … but I couldn’t call it quits, Jess. I did something.”
She raises an eyebrow. “Is this going to sicken me or turn me into a cheerleader?”
I bite my lip. “I changed her password for the bookings computer,” I blurt out. “And I took the lids off several gel polishes.”
Jess bursts out laughing. “Oh, my God, Ellie. I love this.”
“But it’s petty, right?”
“Yes, but not petty enough, if you ask me. I’d have redirected the phone lines to a premium rate number or something.”
“No, that’s not good for the clients,” I say.
“True. So, what now?”
“Well, now, I wait. Because if she didn’t want to talk to me before, she probably will want to talk to me now.”
I stand up and make my way to the wardrobe, opening the door and reaching for my gown.
“Wait,” Jess says sharply. “Come back to the phone. Now.”
“What?” I say. “I’m sort of on a time crunch.”
“Sit back down,” she says. “Show me your hand.”
I clench my jaw but slip back into the seat.
“Start talking,” she says.
And I have no choice but to tell her everything.
BETTSY
“If it makesyou feel any better, Langer’s missus hasn’t turned up either,” Danny says, leaning into me and lowering his voice.
“She’ll be here,” I say, but even I don’t believe it.
The more I check my phone, the more I’m worrying she’s stood me up.
Maybe she’s come to her senses. Looked in the mirror and saw her worth. Maybe?—
