Read Online Late Night Shopping: by Carmen Reid - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Carmen Reid
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Annie had hoped. What else was she capable of when armed with a pair of shears?
But back to the poor trembling, gibbering, weeping woman in the far corner of the room, who had not even been able to open her eyes since she'd first seen the scissors and the clump of hair hit the ground.
'Kelly-Anne,' Annie began, kneeling down again beside the woman's chair, 'you are going to be fine. Honestly, please, please, please trust me here. I've worked with hundreds of women who haven't wanted to change a thing about their appearance and when it had to happen, it was OK. They coped.' Annie put her arm round Kelly-Anne's shoulder and squeezed comfortingly.
'I've had clients who've gone bald with chemotherapy and one of my ladies has gone from double-D to double mastectomy. Now that is a big change, babes. Your beautiful hair will grow back, Kelly-Anne. No doubt about it.'
Paula came into the suite with an elegant glass of champagne balanced on a small silver tray.
As soon as Kelly-Anne saw it, she waved it away, but Annie took the glass, handed it to her and insisted kindly: 'Go on . . . I think you deserve it and absolutely no one is looking.'
By the time hairdresser Marco arrived, Kelly-Anne had drunk the whole glass down, wiped her eyes, blown her nose and although she wasn't exactly cheerful, she had at least stopped weeping and shuddering.
Marco, having heard some of the details of the disaster from Paula, came armed with a second glass of champagne. Then with all the charm of a 27-year-old straight guy who loves all women, he flattered, wheedled and cajoled Kelly-Anne to come down to the salon.
'I can't do anything up here,' he insisted, taking her hair tenderly in his hands and stroking it, 'I need to wash it, deep condition it, handle it, really get the feel for it before I reshape it for you.'
As Kelly-Anne reached for her second glass of complimentary champagne, Marco told her, 'I'm going to need some of that too. Apparently I'm the first person who's been allowed to reshape this in twenty years or something.' Then with disarming sincerity, he added: 'does that mean you last cut your hair when you were seven ?!'
As Kelly-Anne finally smiled, Annie could hear the trill of her mobile sounding out from her office.
'I'll be right back,' she told them before heading over to answer it.
'Annie!'
Straight away she recognized the voice of her mother, Fern, sounding slightly stressed.
'Sorry to call you at work, love,' Fern apologized.
'No, no no,' Annie insisted, 'you're fine. You couldn't make my day any worse, believe me.'
'Oh yes Annie,' came Fern's reply, 'I think I probably can.'
'What is it?' said Annie suddenly worried. 'You're OK, aren't you?'
'I'm fine, absolutely fine . . . but it's Aunty Hilda.'
'She hasn't died, has she?'
'No, dear. And you're not allowed to say "what a shame",' came the snippy response.
Aunty Hilda was an eighty-something widow aunt of Fern's and therefore Annie's great-aunt. Hilda was opinionated, pompous, generally difficult and increasingly deaf, but as they were her only family, they had to care about her. Also, the poor old dear had just had a hip operation and seemed to be taking a long time to recuperate, so she had been living with Fern for several weeks now.
Fern was worried because Aunty Hilda didn't seem to be recovering as quickly as she'd expected.
'I'm going on a little holiday,' Annie's mother told her. 'It's been booked for months and now I don't know if Hilda's going to be well enough to move back into her own home in time.'
'Black run skiing in the Alps again?' Annie joked. 'Or no, let me guess, Saga bus booze cruise over the Channel to France?'
'Saga booze cruise!' Fern exclaimed. 'It's a fascinating tour of the Bordeaux wine region.'
'Mmm . . . good choice, bound to be many, many single septuagenarians on that holiday. GSOH and OCB.'
'Good sense of humour and – OCB?' Fern was
But back to the poor trembling, gibbering, weeping woman in the far corner of the room, who had not even been able to open her eyes since she'd first seen the scissors and the clump of hair hit the ground.
'Kelly-Anne,' Annie began, kneeling down again beside the woman's chair, 'you are going to be fine. Honestly, please, please, please trust me here. I've worked with hundreds of women who haven't wanted to change a thing about their appearance and when it had to happen, it was OK. They coped.' Annie put her arm round Kelly-Anne's shoulder and squeezed comfortingly.
'I've had clients who've gone bald with chemotherapy and one of my ladies has gone from double-D to double mastectomy. Now that is a big change, babes. Your beautiful hair will grow back, Kelly-Anne. No doubt about it.'
Paula came into the suite with an elegant glass of champagne balanced on a small silver tray.
As soon as Kelly-Anne saw it, she waved it away, but Annie took the glass, handed it to her and insisted kindly: 'Go on . . . I think you deserve it and absolutely no one is looking.'
By the time hairdresser Marco arrived, Kelly-Anne had drunk the whole glass down, wiped her eyes, blown her nose and although she wasn't exactly cheerful, she had at least stopped weeping and shuddering.
Marco, having heard some of the details of the disaster from Paula, came armed with a second glass of champagne. Then with all the charm of a 27-year-old straight guy who loves all women, he flattered, wheedled and cajoled Kelly-Anne to come down to the salon.
'I can't do anything up here,' he insisted, taking her hair tenderly in his hands and stroking it, 'I need to wash it, deep condition it, handle it, really get the feel for it before I reshape it for you.'
As Kelly-Anne reached for her second glass of complimentary champagne, Marco told her, 'I'm going to need some of that too. Apparently I'm the first person who's been allowed to reshape this in twenty years or something.' Then with disarming sincerity, he added: 'does that mean you last cut your hair when you were seven ?!'
As Kelly-Anne finally smiled, Annie could hear the trill of her mobile sounding out from her office.
'I'll be right back,' she told them before heading over to answer it.
'Annie!'
Straight away she recognized the voice of her mother, Fern, sounding slightly stressed.
'Sorry to call you at work, love,' Fern apologized.
'No, no no,' Annie insisted, 'you're fine. You couldn't make my day any worse, believe me.'
'Oh yes Annie,' came Fern's reply, 'I think I probably can.'
'What is it?' said Annie suddenly worried. 'You're OK, aren't you?'
'I'm fine, absolutely fine . . . but it's Aunty Hilda.'
'She hasn't died, has she?'
'No, dear. And you're not allowed to say "what a shame",' came the snippy response.
Aunty Hilda was an eighty-something widow aunt of Fern's and therefore Annie's great-aunt. Hilda was opinionated, pompous, generally difficult and increasingly deaf, but as they were her only family, they had to care about her. Also, the poor old dear had just had a hip operation and seemed to be taking a long time to recuperate, so she had been living with Fern for several weeks now.
Fern was worried because Aunty Hilda didn't seem to be recovering as quickly as she'd expected.
'I'm going on a little holiday,' Annie's mother told her. 'It's been booked for months and now I don't know if Hilda's going to be well enough to move back into her own home in time.'
'Black run skiing in the Alps again?' Annie joked. 'Or no, let me guess, Saga bus booze cruise over the Channel to France?'
'Saga booze cruise!' Fern exclaimed. 'It's a fascinating tour of the Bordeaux wine region.'
'Mmm . . . good choice, bound to be many, many single septuagenarians on that holiday. GSOH and OCB.'
'Good sense of humour and – OCB?' Fern was
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