Page 156 of The Home Grown
I purse my lips.
Kathryn takes another step towards me. “Don’t. You. Dare.”
“Jeremy,” I say. “This is everything to do with Jeremy, isn’t it?”
I expect her to say something—no, scream something. I expect her to spew out all the reasons why I’m never to breathe his name again, but she doesn’t.
Her eyes fix on mine, her breathing ragged, her eyes wide and?—
Before I realise what’s happening, she launches herself at me, talons for nails digging into my scalp as she grabs my hair, pulling at the roots.
The air leaves my lungs as I’m knocked backwards, falling to the floor in a scramble of arms and legs, Kathryn on top of me, screaming into my ear.
I can’t make out what she’s saying. I’m too busy fighting back, trying to unclasp her fingers from my hair—burning at the scalp.
Then Megan’s face comes into view, alongside Grace, the apprentice stylist, both hooking arms around Kathryn to restrain her.
“Don’t you dare say his name to me again. Don’t you dare.” She fights against Megan. “He never loved me—the same as Mike will never love you. They’re both the same. Fuckboys with no hearts. And now look at you?—”
“That’s enough,” Megan says.
“Don’t you?—”
“I thinkyou should leave. And I’d be grateful if you didn’t come back,” Megan tells Kathryn, shoving her awkwardly towards the open door of the salon—my client stepping aside to let her pass.
But I’m standing here. Humiliated. Crying silent tears.
“I’m so sorry,” I say to no one in particular. “I’m so sorry you had to see that.”
Then Megan’s back by my side, her arm wrapping around me as she squeezes my shoulder. I’m expecting her to boot me out, right behind my sister, but she doesn’t. She lowers her voice to a tone of softness and understanding.
“Why don’t you take a few minutes? And I’ll fix your hair once I’m done with my client.”
The air leaves my lungs in awhooshthat has my knees wobbling beneath me.
Oh, God. My hair. What the hell has she done to my hair?
I bolt over to the mirror, forcing myself to look at my reflection—to see the damage. There’s a clump of hair missing. A whole patch of it, pulled out from the roots, or so it looks. And all I can do is stand here and cry. Though it’s not over the loss of my hair—but the loss of my sister. Because there’s no way I’ll speak to her ever again.
Chapter Thirty-Two
ELLIE
I getto Mike’s apartment just before ten, buzzing the intercom and making my way up to the fifth floor via the lift.
I’ve got three bags. One for my stylist stuff, one for my clothes and one for all the bits I couldn’t fit anywhere else because I’ve never been to a hockey game before—not like this anyway—so I have no idea what to wear. The girls told me not to dress for the cold, which—given the fact that we have jackets and we’re definitely not allowed to take them off—means no layering.
Kelly
It’s the body heat. That’s what kills you. Everyone crammed in a small space.
Jen
It’s the beer as well as the bodyheat.
Vicky
For me, it’s the rage. I spend half the game shouting at idiots. Warms me right up.
