Page 9 of One Snowy Day
Jessie shrugged, trying to clear the lump in her throat so that she could speak again. ‘It’s just… today. I know I should be delighted about my birthday and retirement, but all I can think about is that it’s my last day here. I’m heartbroken to be saying goodbye to people, but then, at the same time, I’m worried about the party tonight. What if no one comes because of the snow and Idon’tget to say goodbye? That would be even worse. And every time I look at the salon…’
All three of them turned to stare out of the window at Copper Curls across the road. On a clear day, she could see in the windows from here, but given the snow that was still coming down thick and fast, she could just make out the outline of the building and the sign above the shutters. The salon on the Weirbridge Main Street had been her dream when she was growing up here, and then her reality for most of her adult life. Back in the eighties, when Stan had agreed to settle here in her home village, it had coincided with a vacancy for a trained hairdresser in that salon. Jessie had jumped at the chance to have a ten-minute walk to work every day. A few years later, she’d taken out a loan and bought it from the previous owner who’d married a Balinese yoga instructor and gone off to explore her chakras. When Grant and Georgie had come along, she’d worked right up until their births both times, and been back on the scissors a month later.
Looking back, she must have been crazy, but they’d made it work somehow. Sometimes on a Saturday, when money was still tight or she didn’t have a babysitter, the children would come to work with her and play all day in the staffroom, reading comics, chatting to customers, or watching TV on the tiny portable that only worked if you gave it a thud on the side. Now they were grown adults and both of them had joined the business at one time or another. Only Georgie had stuck with it, though. When Grant was a teenager, he had gone off to a trendy, upmarket salon in Glasgow’s city centre, and his undeniable talents and starry ambitions had eventually taken him down south. Now he lived in London, where he had his own swanky salon in Kensington, with a roster of celebrity clients and occasional guest spots on morning TV shows.
She cleared her throat, then repeated what she’d just said, this time mustering enough strength to finish the sentence and express how she felt.
‘Every time I look at the salon, I think how much I’m going to miss it. How much I’ll miss my life here. How much I’ll miss popping down to London to see Grant. How much I’ll miss… Ah, there’s our Georgie there now.’
Jessie saw Georgie trudging up the road in a padded coat and wellies, before stopping outside Copper Curls.
Val must have noticed Jessie’s wobbly chin had returned, because she squeezed her hand. ‘But you can always come back whenever you want. My spare room has had more people in itthan a Premier Inn and it’s empty right now that Sandra is back on her feet.’
Sandra was Val’s latest lodger. A woman who’d been involved with an abusive piece of scum called Larry McLenn, a former politician who’d lost everything when it was discovered that he’d taken bribes and blown them on a cocaine habit. He’d later spent time in jail for causing an accident by driving while drunk and on drugs. His ex-wife, Alice, was a friend of Val’s, and the two women had stepped in when they’d discovered that Sandra was suffering at his hands. They’d helped her escape him, found her a job, and Sandra had been in Val’s spare room for over a year while she saved up the deposit for her own place. That’s the kind of woman Val Murray was. And Jessie was going to miss every bit of her.
‘I know, and I love you for offering but it won’t be the same as having a home here. What am I thinking, starting all over again at my age? And, aye, I know I’m sounding pathetic. I’ve been acting all positive in front of Stan and the family, but how do I know this isn’t a huge bloody mistake?’
‘Sometimes you just need to take a leap of faith, and it all works out, Jessie.’ That came from Cathy, and they both knew that she had solid evidence that it was never too late to start over. Only a couple of years ago, she’d sold up her family home and moved to the retirement flat and it had been a wonderful surprise to them all when she’d bumped into her first love, Richie, and he’d swept her off her feet. Not literally. Apparently, he slipped a disc back in his younger years, so he avoided any form of lifting. Bad back aside, they were like a couple of teenagers again, and Jessie had never seen her happier.
‘You could be right, Cathy. The thing is, Stan and I have been together for all our lives, and we had our own way of doing things. Our own roles. I had the kids, and work, and that made life busy and interesting. And he always liked the fact that I wasindependent and didn’t rely on him to entertain me.’ On the edge of the tight ball of anxiety that had been lodged in her chest for days and weeks, there was a tiny thread of relief that she was saying this out loud. Admitting her fears. Not that it would change anything. The bags were packed, the plans were made, and the tickets were bought – but at least, right in this minute, she wasn’t having to pretend to be ecstatic.
‘My Don was the same,’ Val agreed. ‘Strong silent type. He always said that I made sure there was never a dull moment, and he made sure I took time to stop for breath. He wasn’t exactly the Dalai Lama, but he could be a wise man sometimes.’
The wistful expression that flitted across Val’s face caused a twinge in Jessie’s heart. Losing Don three years back had been almost unbearable for her pal, but Val Murray was bloody bulletproof, and somehow, she’d found the strength to keep getting up in the mornings. Val’s stoicism made Jessie flush with guilt. There was her pal, who would give anything and go anywhere if she had her Don back for a single day, and here Jessie was moaning about spending her retirement in Tenerife with the man she’d been married to for decades. She really had to suck it up, count her blessings and just get on with it.
The three of them were distracted by the ding of the bell above the front door, as a new arrival entered the café, brushing the snow from sleeves of her jacket. Even with the woman’s hood up, Jessie knew exactly who it was.
There was only one person in this village whose very existence haunted Jessie McLean. Only one person that Jessie would be happy never to clap eyes on again. And right now she was staring at her.
‘Hello, Dorinda. Long time no see.’
Maybe there was something to be said for moving thousands of miles away from here after all.
6
GEORGIE
Georgie pushed up the heavy steel shutter that covered the window of Copper Curls, and then did the same with the shutter in front of the door. Her hands were so cold, she struggled to get the key in the lock, and then, inside, took three attempts to switch off the alarm, because her frozen fingers wouldn’t obey her. It was her own fault for leaving the house without gloves, but she’d been in such a fluster when the phone rang right before she left. Her heart had almost stopped with the anticipation of whether it was going to be the call from the TV company delivering a life-altering dilemma, but it was only Flynn, saying he’d left his wallet on the bedside table and he’d pop back over for it after work.
Kayleigh’s comment about them sneaking around floated back into her mind, along with the acknowledgment that it was slightly ridiculous that her eighteen-year-old daughter was taking a more mature, pragmatic view of this situation than the fully-fledged adults in the equation. A decision on how her future relationship with her ex would look was going to have to be made,but not today. Today, there were way too many other things on her mind.
If felt strange coming into the salon on a Monday, because that was usually the weekday that they closed, except when she was asked to make an exception for special clients or special occasions. Today, both of those things were true. This was her mum’s birthday and her first day of retirement, so a pamper here was going to be a lovely treat for her (with her pals, of course) and a fitting way for her mum to say goodbye to the salon – by getting spoiled and beautified, after decades of doing that for everyone else.
Although, for her own wellbeing in this moment, Georgie tried not to think about her mum actually leaving Scotland tomorrow morning. She had no idea how she was going to deal with the party tonight either. How could you celebrate two of the people you loved most in the world buggering off to another country? And who threw a party on a Monday night? Georgie and Grant had both suggested that they plan a big, lavish soirée on the previous Saturday, but Jessie had refused, saying she wanted somewhere she could ‘open the top button of her skirt after too many sausage rolls’. Besides, most of the people coming were retired, so the night of the week didn’t matter to them.
Georgie walked the length of the salon to dump her bag in the staffroom at the back, pressed the booster button on the heating thermostat that lived in there, then wandered back through to the main salon. Despite her inner turmoil and churning stomach, she couldn’t help but think how gorgeous Copper Curls looked. Her mum had invested so much in this place, and she was meticulous about keeping it both modern and pristine. Just last year, she’d blown a chunk of her profits on a complete renovation. There were new copper tiles on the floor, the walls had been panelled and finished in a luxurious cream, and the shelves in front ofeach seat had been replaced with bespoke marble counters, and copper-edged mirrors above them carried on the metallic theme. White leather chairs and a dramatic but modern globe chandelier completed the look. At the back of the room, outside the staffroom door, the old backwash basins had been replaced with gleaming new sinks on top of an oatmeal marble pedestal. The end result was chic, stylish and would do them for another decade – which was Jessie’s intention. Her mum and dad still owned the building, but the running of this place was all hers now, and it had been such an incredibly generous gift.
‘I just wanted to make sure I leave you something that won’t need another penny spent on it for a few years to come,’ her mum had assured her, and Georgie had been thrilled with the thought that this was where she’d spend the rest of her career. Delighted. Over the moon. Now, replaying that conversation in her mind took the stomach churn to spin-cycle levels. The potential career-changing opportunity that had come her way last week had been a bolt from the blue, but even so, how could she even consider leaving here after her mum had done that for her? How ungrateful could she be? She was so busy with the self-flagellation that it took her a moment to notice her phone was ringing again. She pulled it out of her pocket. Unknown number.
This time, she refused to get her knickers in a twist because it was probably Flynn calling from his work to say that he’d also left his pants, his socks, or his razor, or someone trying to sell her double glazing.
‘Hello?’ She didn’t even try to hide her weariness.
‘Hi, can I speak to Georgie Dern please?’ She couldn’t pinpoint the accent. Probably one of those AI scams she was always seeing warnings about on TikTok.
‘Speaking.’
‘Good morning. At least I think it’s morning over there. This isBonnie Katowski, and I’m one of the assistant producers onThe Clansman. Ollie Chiles has passed on your details and a request that we bring you on board.’
