It Had to Be You (6 page)

‘Here we are. Yes, your great aunt has left you Driftwood.’

I don
’t want to seem ungrateful but what did Aunty Vera expect me to do with an old plank of wood?

‘
Driftwood,’ I say feeling my heart sink.

‘
We have the key if you would care to collect it. If you could bring your passport, we can hand it over.’

‘
Key?’ I echo.

He laughs.

‘To the property.
Driftwood
is a house just on the outskirts of Hampstead Heath. Lovely name don’t you think?’

‘
Great Aunty Vera has left me a house, are you sure?’ I ask.

‘
There’s no mistake. If you could bring your driving licence if you don’t have a passport.’

What a cheek, of course I have a passport. I
’m a woman of the world after all. A property in Hampstead Heath? Oh my God. I never even knew Great Aunty Vera had a house. She never mentioned it. Thank you, thank you so much Aunty Vera. It is bound to be worth at least a hundred thousand, if not more. I can barely control my excitement and have to fight back a scream.

‘
Yes yes of course. Is it a large house?’

‘
I don’t have those details I’m afraid.’

Oh well, it
’s a property. He didn’t say caravan did he?

I arrange to pick up the key tomorrow. I click off the phone and cheer. I feel vindicated. I call my hairdresser Wesley, and book myself an appointment for the morning. Oh yes, I am a woman of property now. Stick that up your arse Oliver Weber.

My exuberance is quickly dampened by Muffy and totally quenched by my mother.

‘
It’s probably a complete dump,’ says Muffy, chopping a green pepper.

I
’m sure they were happier when I was falling apart. I was just starting to get a new perspective on everything too. This could be a turning point for me but oh no, not according to Muffy and Mother.

‘
Yes, she is probably right darling,’ agrees Mother as she cleans up behind Muffy.

I wouldn
’t mind but it isn’t even her kitchen. Honestly, talk about dissing the first bit of good luck that comes my way.

‘
It may not be,’ I say while feeling a little twinge of doubt.

Supposing they are right and it is just a dump? No one seems to know about this house that Great Aunty Vera apparently owned. It will probably turn out to be a tiny tumbled down studio apartment in the back streets, well that
’s not so bad is it? It’s more than I have at the moment, and I can always sell it.

‘
She never said a word about a house. Mind you, she was very secretive. Even your gran doesn’t know about it and she was her sister. I can’t for the life of me fathom why she left it to you though,’ mumbles Mum while emptying the dishwasher. God, I so wish she would sit still for five minutes.

‘
Gran can barely remember
me,
’ I scoff. ‘So we can’t really take anything she says as gospel.’

‘
Well, that’s true,’ quips Dad from behind the paper. ‘And you did visit her from time to time when you were younger. She probably had no one else to leave it to. Old people do that kind of thing don’t they? At least she didn’t leave it to her cats.’

‘
You see,’ I say triumphantly. ‘I’m the youngest relative she had and she wanted someone to make the most of it.’

‘
Well I don’t know why she rented a flat in Knightsbridge if she owned a house.’

‘
Perhaps it was an investment and she rented it out,’ I venture.

‘
We’re only trying to prepare you, just in case,’ says Muffy. ‘You don’t want to get a shock. Not another one.’

Thanks for reminding me.

‘But you should still get your hair done,’ says Mum tactfully, taking the salad into the living room. ‘Just in case you meet a nice man.’

‘
Men are off limits,’ snaps Muffy. ‘Don’t even go there. Isn’t that right Binki?’

I nod and think of Oliver. I wonder if he will ask for my half of the rent now that I have moved out.

‘Just be prepared is all we’re saying, just in case it is a pile of rubbish,’ says Dad.

For goodness
’ sake, not my dad too.

‘
Can’t one of you be positive about this? It might be a really nice house that I can sell for a good price.’

‘
Can’t think why we didn’t know about it then,’ says Mum, gently dusting breadcrumbs from the table.

I give up.

‘Anyway, at least you’re getting your hair done,’ says Mum. ‘That’s good.’

I really do give up.

* * *

‘
Where have you been
chérie
?’ cries Wesley. ‘I thought you had died or something worse.’

Is there anything worse than dying I wonder? The wonderful fresh smell of shampoo and hairspray reaches my grateful nostrils. You have to admit there is nothing like a bit of pampering is there? I shall emerge looking like
Pretty Woman
. If only I had her spending power, now that would be cheering. Wesley gingerly touches my shoulder-length blonde hair and pulls a face.

‘
You look like you’ve been reincarnated as a horror film heroine,’ he says bluntly.

‘
That’s a bit unfair,’ I grumble.

‘
Tsk, what have you been using, Lincoln Beer shampoo, or simply beer? I don’t know if I can do anything with this. Anyway this is my battle, come along, come along. If Wesley Dumont cannot make you beautiful then no one can.’

With a swish, in
the manner of Derren Brown, he produces a robe and I glide into it. Oh, a bit of luxury. It feels so good. I’m gently led to a chair and within seconds I am surrounded by helpful trainees offering me
Hello!
magazines, coffee and biscuits. I’m stuck in front of a mirror and forced to confront myself. I look at my reflection in horror. I’ve developed lines and my eyes are all puffy and swollen. It’s all this crying and emotional stress, either that or it’s the bad lighting in here. I wonder how Oliver looks. He’s probably too busy to give me a second thought. No, that’s not true, he has been texting me every day. I really should answer him. I wonder if he’s got lines. He certainly won’t have puffy eyes. I can’t imagine Oliver crying all day somehow. He says I’m overreacting. My God, what a nerve, I mean it’s not like I found him masturbating on the loo is it? That would have been shocking enough, but I found him humping some bimbo with a look of ecstatic pleasure on his face. I shudder at the memory. Maybe I should put it behind me, but then every time he has a work do, or goes out with his mates I’m going to think he is with Brown Nipples again aren’t I? Anyway, I don’t know if I could have sex with him again knowing it has been, well, you know where? And who knows what she’s got, apart from huge nipples, and voluptuous hair. I wouldn’t mind some of her looks but I don’t particularly want her brand of chlamydia, thank you very much.

‘
Mince pie?’ asks Lucy. ‘We’ve got tons over from Christmas?’

I grab two and stuff one into my mouth. What if he
’s been with her before? I may already have her brand of chlamydia. Why was he humping her anyway? It’s not like I said no that often, apart from the suspenders and the saucy sailor outfit. Well, I looked ridiculous. I felt like something out of a cheap porno film and Oliver dressed as a pirate rather dried up any sexual juices I may have produced and I felt like we were in an X-rated version of
Pirates of the Caribbean
.

My hair looks lank and miserable, rather like me. I pop a Ferrero Rocher in my mouth.

‘We have loads over,’ Lucy repeats.

You won
’t by the time I’m finished I think. Why is it hairdressers have such stark lighting. You’d think they’d soften it to make you feel a little bit better about yourself. Wesley picks at my hair with a gruesome look on his face. Jesus, he’ll be telling me I’ve got nits next.

‘
Oh dear, we have let ourselves go haven’t we? Brittle, brittle.’

I bow my head in shame.

‘Lucy, wash this will you,’ he orders, making me sound like a poodle at a dog parlour. He pushes me towards the freckle-faced teenager with a tartan bow in her hair.

I drop my head back into the little curved basin and feel my neck crick.

‘How are you today?’ Lucy asks sweetly, lifting my head to put a towel under me.

‘
Mmm fine,’ I reply.

‘
Comfortable?’

‘
Oh yes,’ I say, feeling my neck go into spasm.

She blasts me with scalding hot water and I fight the urge to cry out. Holy shit, what happened to the pampering? This is torture.

‘Is the water too hot for you,’ she asks kindly.

Has she got asbestos hands? Can
’t she tell it is scalding me?

‘
No, that’s perfect,’ I lie in a high-pitched voice. It’s probably giving me tiny blisters but God forbid I should admit to anything.

‘
Did you have a nice Christmas? She asks.

Is she taking the piss or what?

‘Bloody awful actually,’ I say honestly, ‘but you really don’t want to hear about it.’

‘
Oh dear,’ she responds with a falseness that makes me cringe and then proceeds to squirt shampoo into my eye. It would have to be the bad eye wouldn’t it? She could at least have aimed for the other one.

‘
Oh well, at least you got a break from work.’

She continues massaging my head for all she
’s worth. Yes indeed, I got a lovely long break thanks to my wanker boss.

‘
Yes,’ I say with a sigh.

‘
Going anywhere nice this year for your holiday?’ she persists.

‘
Actually no, I’m not having a holiday this year …’

‘
Oh that’s nice,’ she says. ‘At least you’ll save some money.’

Not if I
’m not earning it I won’t. I move my head to allow some water to dribble out of my ear.

‘
Is the water okay for you?’ she repeats, rinsing off the shampoo.

I
’m adjusting.

‘
Yes lovely, thank you.’

Why can we never speak up at hairdressers? We are paying after all.

‘Saving up for something nice instead are you? I’m saving for my wedding, so we’re not going away either.’

I feel a lump in my throat.

‘That’s nice,’ I say in the same monotone as her. I feel water run between my breasts.

‘
What are you saving for? Oh don’t say your wedding as well,’ she laughs.

Okay I won
’t then. She wraps a towel around my head and I feel an earring pinch my earlobe and I wonder why this is called luxury. Still, at least I’ll look good to see the solicitor this afternoon. I’m led back to my chair and I dab carefully at my watery eye. I glance towards the door and fight back a gasp as Brown Nipples walks in. Oh no, I’m sitting with a turban on my head, without a scrap of make-up on, and to top it all I’ve got lines. Any dignity I had left disintegrates into little pieces. I quickly hold the
Hello!
magazine up to my face and struggle to read it out of my one good eye. I’ll need an eye patch soon.

‘
Amanda darling,’ cries Wesley. ‘Look at you, you’re looking amazing. You don’t have an appointment
chérie
? You certainly don’t need one.’

So that
’s her name. I think I preferred it when she was anonymous. How dare she come to my hairdressers? That’s just plain off isn’t it? The bitch, I hope she bursts into tears and says how it’s all falling out and bald patches are sprouting everywhere.

‘
I’ve come to buy some shampoo,’ she says in a sultry voice.

I hope it gives her a severe case of alopecia.

‘Binki, can I get you another coffee?’ asks Lucy.

A double whisky would be good but they don
’t offer you that in the hairdressers do they?

I shake my head. Please go away. Besides, I still have one cold cup of coffee to get through. I pretend to be engrossed in an article on Victoria Beckham, guaranteeing myself a reputation as a true bimbo for life.

‘Well you so deserve it,
chérie
,’ Wesley says loudly.

And for a moment I
’m not sure if he means my coffee, or her shampoo?

‘
You’re too sweet,’ she says huskily.

‘
How are things at Mansill Enterprises? Those men under you working hard are they?’ Wes laughs.

Oh, they
’re under her all right at least one of them has been, the rotten bastard. She laughs huskily. I so want to scratch her eyes out.

‘
Kelly, a bottle of Miss Rowland’s shampoo please.’

Oh my God, Rowland. Amanda Rowland. She
’s Oliver’s boss. No wonder she looked familiar. I met her at last year’s Christmas party. Oh God, was she shagging him then too? What the hell is he thinking of shagging the bloody boss? Now I know he is crazy.

‘
You’re a darling, Wes.’

Oh it
’s
Wes
is it? I somehow feel her coffee never goes cold and the water is probably always warm. I hate the bitch more than ever. She didn’t deserve my boyfriend, that’s for sure. I should tell her so. I turn the page to an article and focus on George Clooney and plead for her to hurry up and leave.
I hear the sloppy sound of kisses and then thankfully she has gone. I lower the
Hello!
magazine and beckon to Lucy for a fresh coffee. I’m not sure why I bothered though because as soon as it arrives Wesley pushes my head forward and starts snipping at the back. Not until blow drying do I make another attempt to reach for the coffee but I am yanked back from the cup with such force that I decide to give up and eat a chocolate finger instead.

‘
Did you have a lovely Christmas darling, lots of sex and mince pies?’ he laughs.

Oh not again.

‘Crap Christmas, no sex, too many mince pies and a broken relationship. ‘

‘
Oh God, I’m sorry love. Bloody Christmas, I always said it should be banned. Never mind, you’ve got good old reliable Wesley to make you shine again. You’ll have a new man in no time.’