Page 15 of Going Solo

“So, it’s two of Chloe’s Deluxe Pamper Packages, including facials, nails, and a cut and colour for you today, ladies. Orla, you’ll be with Mum. She’ll be with you in a minute. Fiona, you’ll be with Cheryl. Apologies in advance if you can smell booze on her breath. That’ll be, well, the booze on her breath.” I lowered my voice. “She went to three different hen dos last night. Occupational hazard, innit?”

Fiona looked alarmed.

“Don’t worry, it’ll be fine,” I said, reassuringly. “Her hands have stopped shaking now. Be grateful you weren’t her nine o’clock. Mrs Fitzpatrick went home looking like she’d been mugged by a gang of amateur wig makers.”

Fiona gripped her lustrous auburn locks like she was farewelling them at an airport. I realised I’d overdone the charming and failed at the professional.

“I’m only winding you up!” I said. “You two take a seat. Mum and Aunty Cheryl will be with you in a minute.” Fiona laughed nervously and let her shoulders drop. “And what about you, Cole?” I said, looking at his floppy mop of thick black hair. “Fancy a trim while you’re here?”

“I’m going down to 78s,” he said. This part of the conversation was entirely planned. 78s was the record store up the far end of the high street. No one ever went in there except old dudes and hardcore musos because, let’s be honest, Spotify existed. Cole ran a hand through his hair, and it swooshed back into place. His eyes locked on to mine again, and he smirked, which made me smirk. Surely everyone knew what was up? The air between us was so pregnant with expectation, I should probably have pissed on a stick.

“I get off in half an hour,” I said. “What if I come find you at 78s? We can get some lunch and maybe find a bench in Castle Park?”

He nodded. “Sounds good.” He seemed so calm. I was drenched in sweat.

Cole winked, said goodbye to the women in his life, and disappeared up the street.

Thirty minutes later I was rushing out the door when Aunty Cheryl summoned me to the back of the salon, pulling the red velvet curtains closed behind us.

“I’ve got somewhere to be, babes, what is it?”

She held a finger to her lips, hushing me—the perfectly painted watermelon-pink acrylic nail matching her lip gloss to perfection.

“Fine, but why are we whispering?”

Aunty Cheryl’s watermelon-pink nail disappeared into the pocket of her spray-on super skinny three-quarter-length jeans, and she plucked out two shiny gold packets.

“Safety first, babes, OK? Always.”

I screeched, put my fingers in my ears, closed my eyes, and jogged up and down.

“No, no, no, no!” I said. I could have died right then and there. Here lies Tobias Lyngstad, sixteen, killed by the world’s most embarrassing aunt. She snatched my hand from my ear, prised my fingers open, and shoved the condoms into my palm.

“This ain’t a joke, Tobes. This is your health.”

I opened my eyes. “Are you kidding me?” I growled through gritted teeth, jamming the packets in my pocket to hide them before anyone burst through the curtains. “Cole’s mum is three metres away!”

“And hopefully she’s been responsible too.”

“I’m not going to… we’re just… we’re not… we’ve haven’t even?—”

“It’s better to be safe than sorry, Tobes.”

The perfectly painted watermelon-pink acrylic was now tapping at my chest.

“I was a teenager once, Tobes. I rememberwhat teenage boys are like.”

“You’re so embarrassing!”

“Listen up, it’s your body, your rules. Don’t do anything you don’t want to do. This is in case you decide youdowant to do something, orright?”

“You’re literally killing me,” I said.

Aunty Cheryl grabbed my shoulders and pulled me in for a hug.

“You’re welcome, babes.”

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