Page 32 of Something Borrowed

“Is he exercising his fingers? All the better to count your money, Saoirse.”

Anyone else would be offended, but my mother is made of sterner stuff. The fact that her husband is thirty years younger than her doesn’t strike her as ridiculous because, to her, there’s no mystery as to why he’s with her. She stares at me for a second and then bursts into husky laughter.

“Cheeky,” she advises me, affection in her pale blue eyes. “So, what’s the gossip?”

The next hour passes pleasantly in the vicious slandering of her friends. When I finally get up to go, she stands up, too, extending her arms. “Hug, please, Raff.” I hug her, and she tugs on my hair. “This needs cutting.”

“I know. I’m meeting Leo later, so I’ll ask him to give me a trim.”

“And then you’ll go home. Is Stan still staying with you?”

“Strangely, considering the fact that he rents the flat with me, he is still there.”

She tuts. “I don’t understand that. You have your trust fund, and I know Rollo would help you if you wanted to buy your own place.”

“I don’t want one,” I say calmly. “I like living with Stan.”

“It’s a bit strange.”

“What? Being friends with someone for twenty years? It’s about as strange as marrying a man-child with the morals of a rather dissolute alley cat.” She stares at me, and I kiss her smooth cheek. “Or so I’ve heard. Ciao, bella.”

Humour restored, she pats my cheek. “Love you, darling.”

“You too.”

The bell tinklesas I enter the hairdressing salon, and the familiar sweet scent of shampoo and hairspray fills the air. I grin at the receptionist, Micky, who's sitting at the front desk painting his nails. His hair is dyed a shade of pink that I last saw on my mother’s lips. “Alright, Micky?”

He looks up and grins. “Rafferty Kendrick, as I live and breathe. How are you, babe?”

“Well, you know.”

“And so does most of the Pink Parrot, naughty boy.”

My brow furrows. “I don’t think I’ve done anything too outrageous lately.”

“How about the naked shots?”

“Ah. I remember now. It was a chilly evening, so don’t judge me.”

He chuckles. “You know very well that it was a summer’s night. Leo’s in the back doing highlights. Go through.”

I salute him and make my way to the back, where Leo’s station is. Leo is standing with his blond head bent over a lady and a large trolley filled with bowls and brushes positioned next to him.

He looks up and grins. “Hey, babe. Nice to see you.”

“I’m sure it is because it’s me.”

“So modest,” he informs his client. “We havesucha problem with his wallflower tendencies.”

She laughs, and I grin at one of my brides. Bailey has a head full of tin foil, looking rather like a space-age Medusa.

“Alright, Raff?” she asks.

“Fine, lovely. What’s this reprobate doing to you? Don’t worry about his nickname. Edward Scissorhands is affectionate and not a commentary on his hairdressing skills.”

Leo rolls his eyes. “Ignore him if you can,” he advises Bailey.

She just smiles at me. “I’ll be in tomorrow, Raff.”

---