Read Online The Manifesto on How to be Interesting by Holly Bourne - Free Book Online Page B

inner conflict whirring round her ever-busy brain. On one hand, she was pissed off her mum only seemed to love and accept her when she was being a shallow consumerist mini-me. Why didn’t they hug and cry when Bree finished writing her first novel? Okay, so she’d never told Mum she’d written a book, but still. Or how about when she won her first game of chess on Difficulty Level Three against the computer (which everyone knows is practically IMPOSSIBLE)? But on the other hand, she was just enjoying feeling loved. By her blood. By her mum. Even though it wasn’t exactly how she wanted it, it still felt wonderful.
    â€œI’m having a good day,” she mumbled into her mum’s shoulder.
    Her mum pulled back and looked at her with watery eyes. “Me too. Now let’s pay for these clothes.”
    Bags dangling off their arms like giant bracelets, the pair of them walked towards A Cut Above – home to the town’s most sought-after hairdresser.
    â€œNow beware,” her mum said, as they dodged a woman pushing a double-decker pram filled with two wailing toddlers. “Damian is a bit…harsh in the way he speaks.” She looked sideways at Bree’s pink-tinged hair and a worried crease appeared on her forehead. “He may have a few…things he wants to say to you about your, erm, current style. But he’s only looking out for what’s best for you and you really can trust him. He squeezed you in as a favour to me, so he cares.”
    Bree shrugged. “Whatever. It’s just hair.”
    The crease on her mum’s forehead deepened.
    â€œDear God, don’t let him hear you say that.”

chapter twelve
    The windows of A Cut Above were blacked out, but after pushing the intercom and giving their names, the sooty glass door opened to reveal a stark white hairdressing space-station adorned with fresh orchids. The air was heavy with expensive-smelling hairspray; wall-to-floor mirrors created a glass maze effect, and black-clad hairdressers, each with their own ridiculous haircut, danced on the balls of their feet over the foil-wrapped heads of rich customers.
    â€œPaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaula!” A very camp voice pierced through the fuggy air. A bald man – ironic for a hairdresser, Bree thought – strutted over with his arms flung open. “What are you doing here, darling? Your roots won’t peep through for another two weeks.”
    â€œDamian! I’m not here for myself, silly. I’ve brought my daughter. We’re having a makeover day. I rang you yesterday, remember?” Paula moved aside to showcase Bree, who stood hesitantly on the spot.
    â€œOh yes, of course.” Damian looked her up and down and went a little pale. “ This is your daughter?”
    Bree nodded. Her mum went a bit red.
    â€œYes. Well, she’s not had her hair cut in a while…”
    â€œIt’s a mess!” he interrupted.
    Bree blushed. Her hair was purposely a mess, but her whole I-deliberately-don’t-care-about-how-I-look attitude seemed stupid in here.
    â€œWell, yes, it has been a bit neglected.” Her mum bit her lip nervously, like her daughter having pink-tinged split ends was as awful as bringing in a ten-year-old who wasn’t potty trained yet.
    Damian pushed Bree down into a chair and forcefully wrapped a gown round her shoulders. He scooped her hair out at the neck so it splayed down the black silk, making the ends look even more frazzled. He lifted it and let it drop, sighing, and watched Bree’s face in the mirror.
    â€œOkay. It’s a mess. But it’s a mess I can work with. What do you want, darling? Anything would be an improvement.”
    Bree looked up at him. “I want to look beautiful,” she said, her voice authoritative. “I want to turn heads. To stand out from the crowd.” She paused. “For the right reasons.”
    Damian chewed his lip in silent contemplation. Then