Page 12 of Faking It (and falling in love)
“Send me the details of the dinner, I’ll be there,” said Alex, standing up and flinging on her jacket in one movement, then advancing towards the bar exit.
“Thanks. See you then,” said Philippa, suddenly alone at the table, a half drunk glass of wine in front of her. Had she just imagined that something interesting had been happening? Were her baby gay spidey senses misfiring? For a moment there, she’d had the impression that Alex might actually really like her.
Philippa breathed out. She remembered Charlie’s warning, the trail of women and broken hearts Alex had left behind her. In fact, Philippa reasoned, it had probably been one of those woman texting her right then. She drained her glass. Yes, that was probably it. She had a silent word with herself and encouraged herself not to behave like a thirteen-year-old with a crush. She wasn’t a thirteen-year-old with a crush.
It was worse than that.
She was a forty-six-year-old with a crush.
Chapter Nine
It was Saturday. A day with neither work nor Dottie. Philippa made herself a double espresso and sat at the kitchen table. There was something wonderful about sitting in the house alone without expectation from anyone else. It was something she’d only really found herself doing since she and Paul had separated, and he’d begin to spend time with Dottie without her.
Philippa luxuriated in the sun shining through the window from the garden. The cherry tree had burst into pink blossom, and she was filled with a sense of the new beginning she’d created for herself. Maybe she too could blossom now.
After her coffee she went to the bathroom to shower and caught sight of herself in the mirror. She looked at her brown bob, streaked with grey. She’d had the same haircut since the nineties. It had remained a classic, always stylish even if not actually in vogue. She paused. New beginnings came in all sizes.
After her shower, Philippa flicked through the magazines on her kitchen table, includingDiva, and started making a shortlist of haircuts. It was time for a change. She took out her phone and snapped her favourites, before grabbing her jacket and strollinginto Kings Heath. There was no time like the present, and she had an idea of where she could go.
The sun was warmer than it had been, a hint of summer around the corner, and all the new possibilities it might bring. She crossed All Saints Village Square, where the trees were adorned with pink blossom, blowing in the wind with the church as their backdrop. She smiled at the children running after the pigeons that congregated in the maze pattern on the ground.
For years, Philippa had gone to a hair salon in the city centre. She had a six-weekly appointment with a lovely lady who did her hair just the way she liked it, always exactly the same. The idea of going somewhere else felt quite dangerous, and alongside it there was a hint of something like infidelity. She shook her head. She was being ridiculous. People broke up with their hairdressers all the time, right?
The High Street was bustling with people carrying shopping bags, teenagers lingering over cardboard boxes of fried chicken and children being dragged into shoe shops against their will. She found her way to York Road, taking her off the main road and into a recently pedestrianised street. Populated with independent shops, restaurants and cafes, Philippa knew she was in the right place. She’d walked past No Entry Barbers so many times, and she’d often spotted women inside getting their hair cut. There was a man and a woman inside, and what appeared to be a relaxed atmosphere. Yes, this was the place.
She opened the door and sat herself down in the chairs along the back wall. She’d seen others, mostly men, doing the same.
“Alright, bab?” said the man, who was finishing a fade on a teenage boy. Philippa knew that wasn’t what she wanted, but she was excited, if a little anxious, about the change she was about to make.
“Hiya,” said Philippa. “Ok if I wait here?”
“Sure, make yourself at home. You can hang your jacket over there if you like.” He gestured towards a coat rack in the corner.
It smelled different to her usual hair salon. There wasn’t a strong aroma of perfume and hairspray. Instead, there was a subtler scent of hair wax, shampoo, sandalwood and leather. Philippa picked up her phone and swiped through the shorter styles she’d picked out, reminding herself of the one she liked the most.
“Right,” said the man, whose designer stubble and perfectly quaffed hair was impressively arranged. Philippa arranged herself in his chair as he examined her hair through the mirror in front of her. “I’m Ted. Nice to meet you. What are we doing, then?”
“Well,” said Philippa, “I want a pretty major change, please. Here, look at these pictures. Do you think I could pull off something like this?”
Ted reached down to take the phone from her. He swiped through the pictures, thoughtfully. She dreaded the thought that he might look at them and tell her that she was being ridiculous, that she was too old for such a change, that she wouldn’t suit the style.
“Ok,” he said, bringing Philippa out of her thoughts. “You’re going to look amazing,” he continued, with a grin. “I love this for you. I think this one works.” He held up her phone, frozen on an image of one of the styles she’d loved: quite short around the back and sides with more length on top, especially at the front. “It would give you the choice of wearing your hair forwards, all floppy and swoopy, like, or you could comb it back with some wax to get a little quiff.”
Philippa grinned. A quiff. Secretly, she’d always wanted one. She thought back to when she’d been twelve. The year she grew out her fringe. She would pin it up like a quiff and spend ageslooking at herself in the mirror like that. “Yes,” she said, “that sounds perfect. You think it will suit me?”
“Oh yes,” he said, smiling. “You have great hair. Gorgeous condition and lovely and thick. It’ll suit you perfectly.”
“Then let’s do it,” said Philippa, feeling excited. Fleetingly she wondered what Alex would say, but then she reminded herself that she barely knew the woman, and shouldn’t be dwelling on what anyone else’s opinions were.
Ted got out his scissors and paused. “No turning back now. You in?”
“Yes,” said Philippa.
And so he began. Even though her bob wasn’t a long one, it was amazing just how much hair he cut off immediately. She’d thought it would be a frightening experience, but as he continued to cut and reshape her hair, she realised how ready she was to shed her past life, her past image.
Within forty-five minutes, Ted’s work was done. While he bent over her, carefully blow drying his creation, Philippa couldn’t keep the smile from her face. It was hard to describe the feeling she had, looking at the familiar face gazing back at her in the mirror. It was still her and at the same time it was a huge change. But the strongest sense of all was that she looked like herself. She hadn’t even realised she didn’t look like herself before. This felt like an image that had been inside her for so long, and only now was she finally realising it.
Philippa paid Ted double, much to his delight, and made a beeline for the Vine. This called for a celebration. She texted Chrissie, who she knew lived nearby with her girlfriend Nisha, on the off chance she might be around. Not that it mattered; Philippa had learned long ago that you could perfectly well celebrate alone.
