Page 30 of Secrets of Starshine
Sam himself is also up and about, wearing a claret-coloured gentleman’s dressing gown that looks like something Hercule Poirot would slip into after a bath, sipping tea with George in the kitchen. They are both reading sections of the newspaper, and something about the scene makes me laugh inside.
“How was your night?” I ask. “What time did you get in?”
“I got in at about midnight, as you already know,” Sam replies, as George makes good morning noises and pours me a cuppa. “I’d bet my Costa loyalty card that you were awake and waiting for me.”
He is, of course, right, but I refuse to either confirm or deny.
“That’s pretty early – not much to do?”
“No, there was stuff to do. It was fun. But Dan was ill a few months ago and he’s still taking it easy – so no all-night raves, even if we could find one.”
George passes me my tea, and gestures to a platter of pastries in the middle of the table. They look evil, and I’m sure an especially luscious raspberry crown winks at me.
“Help yourself – fresh from the Betties this morning. Dan was in hospital with meningitis a while back,” George explains. “Touch and go for a bit, but he’s made a full recovery. Still gets a bit more tired than he used to though, hence the early nights. Or what these whippersnappers think of as an early night.”
Sam laughs, tells us that he loves the word “whippersnapper”, and disappears upstairs to get dressed. He tells me he’s agreed to help his friends in the café this morning, but promises to pop over to the village hall later.
“Oh, George, that must have been awful for you all,” I reply, knowing how I’d feel if, heaven forbid, anything like that happened to Sam.
“It was pretty rotten, my love – but here we are, all in one piece, so best not to dwell on the what-might-have-beens. I believe you have a busy day ahead?”
“Yes! I’m looking forward to it. Will I be seeing you later for a trim?”
“Oh no – I’ve been going to the same barber for thirty years; I can’t be unfaithful to him now. I’ve been thinking about your last visit here, and I think maybe you stayed in one of the cottages that Ed and Viola owned. They’re still here, live up on the hill, and I was thinking maybe you could pay them a visit? They don’t get out as much these days, and maybe Vi would enjoy the chance to get her hair done, as well as have a chat to you?”
I agree that that sounds like a plan, and we decide to touch base later in the day. After I’ve drunk my tea and valiantly resisted a pastry, I set off for the village hall, my scissors and brushes and hair dryer packed up. I don’t know why I brought my kit – it’s not like you often come across a hairdressing emergency; nobody dials 999 and screams that they need a stylist – but I’m glad I did now.
As I walk around the green, I see that the snowmen are still going strong. It’s a brutally cold day, but the sky is clear, gulls circling a cloudless blue patch of air above me. I see Sophie and Dan through the windows to the Cove Café, and give them a wave as I pass. The place already looks busy.
When I arrive at the village hall, I am greeted by Connie and three women I’ve never met before. There seems to be a kind of impromptu childcare corner set up, with a movie playing on a TV screen and toys and games laid out on a mat. A small selection of pre-schoolers are arranged upon it, enraptured by the video ofFrozen.
“I got up early,” Connie says, after I’ve been introduced to the mums, “and went to the wholesale place I get my supplies from. Got some shampoos and deep conditioning treatments. I’ve told everyone who’s coming to bring their own towel, and I have a few chairs of different heights set up by the sinks, as well as one of those shower attachments for the taps. I couldn’t think what else you might need…”
I glance around, and see that a table has been set up with a large mirror on it, which I am assuming will be my work station. Not what I’m used to, but it’ll do just fine.
“A bit of music?” I suggest. “Always helps things go with a swing.”
She makes a little salute, and disappears off to a small booth next to the stage area. As I look around, I see that this was once probably a Victorian school, repurposed as the community centre. I see posters for Zumba classes and yoga sessions; for baking classes with the Betties and notices with a list of dates for Cinema Night. Next up isFootloose(the original), which I am rather excited by until I see that it’s on 5 Jan – and I will be long gone by then. Back at home, hopefully back at work, and back to normal – or at least my new normal.
I have a fleeting moment of sadness at the thought of leaving this place and its weird-but-wonderful residents, of going back to my routines and my alarms and my schedules. Honestly, I decide, I’m impossible to please – vaguely freaked out by freedom and uncertainty, but depressed at the thought of going back to daily life. I wanted to break free, and now that I have, I seem to be trying to un-liberate myself.
Luckily all of that murky stuff is chased away by the music that comes flooding through the speakers that are placed around the hall –Walking on Sunshineby Katrina and the Waves. It’s pretty much impossible not to be cheered up by that.
Connie emerges from the booth, cocks her ear to check the sound levels, then does a half-skip, half-dance towards me.
“This is my Big Fat Smiley Playlist,” she explains. “I have it downloaded and every single song is guaranteed to make you feel happy. After that I’ve got Christmas songs. Right, how can I help?”
“Don’t you have to be in the café?”
“Nah, all three kids are there. They know the score – plus we’re closing at noon so I can get ready for tomorrow.”
“Ah. You grew your own workforce.”
She pulls a little face, and says: “Well, I don’t know how long for…Dan and Sophie really need to start focusing on their A-levels, and I’m not sure James will be here much longer, and…well, sod it, that’s something to worry about another time. Right now, I’m walking on sunshine!”
I laugh, and decide it’s time to get started – Cally Jones’s Pop Up Salon is officially open. I start by taking all three of the mums through to the sinks – in the kitchen area, one big and one small, very useful – while Connie keeps an eye on their kids. We have a chat while I get them all shampooed, put on their treatments, and wrap their hair in towels.
Everyone emerges back into the hall, following me like a little row of turbaned ducklings, and settles down into chairs. Connie’s set up big urns of tea and coffee, as well as plates of biscuits, and they are soon gossiping away. This is part of the magic, I always think – sit two women next to each other with soggy hair in towels, and it only takes seconds for someone to strike up a conversation.
