Authors: Portia MacIntosh
‘Well honey is orange in colour,’ the other girl interjects.
‘Oh, come on, everyone knows what honey blonde looks like. It was the colour I came in with, which Amber knew.’
Amber shrugs her shoulders.
‘Look, I’m Pearl, the manager here,’ the other girl replies. ‘And it looks to me like Amber has done what you asked for.’
‘I asked for Cara Delevingne, not Coco the Clown,’ I insist. ‘You can’t expect me to go out in public like this.’
‘Well we’re fully booked for the rest of the day,’ she insists, although the place is currently empty.
‘So, what?’ I ask.
‘We don’t give refunds,’ Pearl informs me.
‘Screw the refund. Do you think I care about that? I care about walking around with disgusting coloured hair.’
‘That’s offensive to gingers,’ Amber tells me off.
I roll my eyes. So I’m some sort of ginger-basher because I’m not happy with my orange hair – that’s the distinction here: orange. Ginger hair is beautiful, some of the sexiest women in the world are redheads, but my hair isn’t ginger, it’s a very unnatural shade of orange.
‘If you come back tomorrow, maybe we can run a toner through it or something,’ Pearl offers reluctantly.
‘Thanks, but no thanks,’ I reply, storming outside where the others are waiting for me.
I’m no expert, but I’m not sure a toner is going to do much to dampen the orange fire that is my hair. And even if it would, there’s no way I’m letting Dyevine’s two precious stones, Amber and Pearl, anywhere near my hair ever again.
We drove most of the way home in silence. When my mum first clapped eyes on my hair she tactfully told me it was a ‘nice change’ but I gave her such a filthy look she hasn’t spoken to me since. This is all her fault, really. I told her I didn’t want my hair doing – several times – and she guilted me into it by making out like I’m a selfish snob. She made me feel like my relationship with my sister depended on it.
Sitting alone on the bed I share with Leo, I sigh. There’s no use blaming my mum, I should have stood my ground and gone with my instincts. I should be strong enough not to give in to guilt trips, and to know that you should never trust a hairdresser with bad hair.
I grab my iPad and open up the file I need to work on. It’s hard to get on with work when I’m feeling sorry for myself. The truth is that I’m devastated, but I haven’t cried about my appearance since I was younger and I don’t plan to start now. The last time I burst into tears was before I moved to the States. I was in the town centre when a complete stranger – who I imagine was the ‘top dog’ of a gang of lads – called me a fat bitch in front of all his mates. I went home and I burst into tears, in private, like I always used to do when people called me names. When it was Belle and Nancy that were teasing me when I was younger this wasn’t so easy, finding a private place to cry. When Belle and Nancy saw my hair I think they both actually felt sorry for me, which was better than them making fun of me, but having people feeling sorry for me doesn’t feel very nice.
I abandon my work by brushing my hand across the screen and open up Google, but as I search for ways to quickly fix my hair it seems that, unless I manage to find (and trust) another local hairdresser, my only option is to buy a darker colour and go over it myself. I love my hair, and it will break my heart to dye it brown again. Maybe it’s just the way I’m feeling, but if I go back to brown I may as well get fat and uncool again – perhaps I can move back in with my parents and go back to the miserable life I had before. I put my lack of confidence in the past down to not feeling good about myself. It sounds silly, but the hair just feels like the first step towards being that person again.
‘Whoa,’ Mike says as he peeps through the door. ‘Everyone’s talking about your ‘do downstairs. I had to see for myself.’
‘Hello Mike,’ I say unenthusiastically.
‘Hello ginger pubes,’ he replies, sitting down on the bed next to me. ‘What are you up to?’
‘I’m just wondering if Belle would be mad at me for punching her fiancé’s brother in the face. What do you reckon?’
Mike laughs.
‘What a fiery temper you have,’ he teases as he heads for the door. ‘I’ll give you some space.’
Mike has no sooner closed my door behind him when I hear a knock. It will be him again so I storm over to open it, to tell him to piss off.
‘If you call me ginger pubes one more time I’ll shove this iPad up your arse,’ I snap as I rip open the bedroom door, except it isn’t Mike standing there, it’s Leo and his mum. The three of us stand in silence for a second before I find the right words to explain myself.
‘Sorry, I thought it was Mike. He’s been teasing me. You don’t have to knock your own door,’ I tell him.
‘I know, I thought you might be upset though. Are you up for visitors?’
I nod my head and let them in. I suspect the real reason he knocked is because his mum is with him, and he probably expected me to be half-naked.
‘Oh, love, your hair,’ Leo’s mum fusses around me, despite my little violent outburst in front of her just then.
I give her a half-smile, but why are they here? Am I some sort of freak show? I’ll probably have everyone up here before the night is done.
‘My mum is a hairdresser,’ Leo tells me. ‘A really good one. She says she’ll fix your hair.’
‘Really?’
‘We’ll wait until tomorrow,’ she says. ‘I’ll go out and get the things we need in the morning and we’ll have you back to normal in no time.’
I grab Maria and I hug her, only releasing her to hug Leo too. I know that I don’t know Maria very well, but I trust Leo, and if he tells me she’s up to the job then I’m all for that. Anyway, if it doesn’t work out, I can always head to the shops and pick up a brown dye as a last resort.
‘Thank you so much,’ I say to them both, my arms still around Leo’s neck.
‘Well, I’ll head back down,’ Maria says, although it seems like she’s making an excuse to leave. ‘Be up bright and early tomorrow,’ she tells me, closing the door behind her.
I place my hands on Leo’s face.
‘I suppose I have you to thank for this,’ I say, and he nods. I get up on my tiptoes and kiss him on the cheek. ‘What would I do without you?’
Leo’s cheeks flush a little.
‘It’s nothing,’ he insists. ‘So do you think you can make it until morning?’
‘I’m sure I can put up with it for one night,’ I smile. ‘I can’t promise I won’t kill anyone though.’
***
‘So, do you have any plans to release another Simply Red album?’ Mike asks me across the dinner table. Until now, everyone had remained tactfully silent about my outrageous orange locks, but I should have known Mike would have plenty of material to work with. I notice Leo look over at him, shooting him an angry look through narrowed eyes, but he’s getting a few laughs from select others and that’s enough to encourage him.
‘Very funny,’ I reply as I pick at my dinner. For once we’re having something healthy, chicken and vegetables, and typically I have no appetite tonight.
‘What’s the Hamburglar like in real life?’ he asks, an obvious nod to my Ronald McDonald hair.
‘That one’s a little dated,’ I say. ‘But OK.’
‘Sorry, Lindsay Lohan,’ he replies, and while I can’t help but giggle at his unrelenting ginger jokes, his mum gets angry.
‘Michael, enough,’ she snaps. ‘We’re trying to enjoy dinner. Leave her alone.’
Mike looks down at his plate like a scolded child. With Mike no longer playing jester to the group, people start making conversation with those closest to them.
‘You actually make that colour look good,’ Leo says to me quietly.
‘Really?’ I squeak in amazement. I’m not sure anyone could make
this
colour look good.
‘Yeah. You could be bald, you’d still be beautiful,’ he replies.
I smile at him. That’s exactly what I needed to hear right now.
‘Well, we’ll have you back to normal soon enough,’ Maria interrupts us. She’s sitting across the table from us and I didn’t realise she was listening. There’s a strange bluntness to her reply, like she’s putting an end to whatever moment I’m having with her son.
‘I can’t wait,’ I tell her sincerely. It’s strange, but it’s knocking my confidence, having bad hair.
‘I can’t wait to meet my cake,’ Belle interrupts me, addressing the whole table.
‘What’s the deal with this cake?’ Mike asks through a mouthful of food. ‘All I keep hearing about is this bloody cake.’
‘Michael,’ his mum warns him. He flashes me a cheeky grin before shovelling in another mouthful. I feel sort of sorry for Mike, he’s the “Mia” of his family. He’s the older sibling, unmarried and his parents seem to disapprove of his lifestyle choices and cheeky sense of humour – that certainly sounds like me to me.
‘There’s this bakery in Paris,’ Belle explains, ‘called Le Papillon, and they made this TV show about it because people travel for miles to get cakes from there. Dan knows that I love it, so he insisted we’d get our wedding cake there, didn’t you, Dan?’
Dan smiles and nods. He’s doesn’t strike me as being an especially intelligent person but he loves my sister and he knows how to make her happy.
The other guys might not get it, but this cake means the world to Belle. It’s sweet that Dan has gone out of his way to get it for her – no one has ever done anything like that for me, unless you count the croissant a certain world famous actor picked me up on the way back to his trailer. We were filming on location in New York and the director was a nightmare, everything had to be perfect and the Pink Inc. team had to be on hand to make changes to the script. This guy was playing the lead in the movie, and I spent most of my time on set in his trailer. One day he brought me this croissant, and although I had no intention of eating it, I appreciated the gesture because he couldn’t even remember his assistant’s name. He was one of the most selfish people I have ever met, so the fact he did anything at all for me felt like a big deal. Still, it doesn’t compare to flying in an expensive cake from Paris. This is the life I have chosen though, and I don’t keep anyone around long enough to buy me cake so the occasional pastry from the on-set buffet table after a quick fumble in a trailer is the best I can hope for – and they say romance is dead.
‘I’ll be sure to take lots of photos of it for you,’ my mum assures my sister.
‘I don’t see why we’re not having a proper photographer, we can afford it,’ my dad reminds them, even if it is coming from my half of the wedding fund.
‘Ted, we’ve told you a thousand times, Belle wants fun and informal snaps – selfies and what not.’
Did my mum just say “selfies”? Today it’s selfies, tomorrow it will be YOLO and twerking, just watch.
‘So, is it ginger cake?’ Mike asks, hardly able to contain his laughter as he does so.
‘Very good,’ I sigh.
‘Thanks,’ he replies. ‘We started talking about cake, I saw my chance, I ran with it.’
I push my chair out from under the table and excuse myself.
‘I don’t have much of an appetite, I think I’ll go get some work done.’
‘Can you get me a drink first?’ Mike calls after me.
‘Orange juice?’ I hazard a guess.
Mike’s smile drops.
‘It’s no fun if you guess them.’
I shake my head as I leave the room. I only have to endure these jokes for a few more hours and then everything will be back to normal. I’ll be counting down the minutes.
***
‘Can you make me one of those please?’ my uncle asks as I fire up the coffee machine.
‘Sure, what would you like?’
‘A cappuccino, please.’
‘Coming right up,’ I tell him. I’m making a drink for Maria and myself anyway. She’s about to fix my hair, so a latte is the least I can do.
Uncle Steve reads the paper at the table while I make the drinks. Being the only person who can work the machine, the last thing I need is a queue of people lining up for one.
‘There you go.’ I place the drink down in front of him and he thanks me.
‘Mmm, that’s good,’ he says after taking his first sip. ‘Nice hat, by the way.’
‘Thanks,’ I laugh. He’s referring to the bright yellow SpongeBob SquarePants cap I borrowed from his son. ‘I though the yellow would offset my orange hair nicely.’
‘I don’t see what’s wrong with your hair, it looks lovely,’ he insists.
‘Lovely and orange,’ I remind him.
I search around the cupboards for biscuits, eventually finding a packet of chocolate digestives. I’ll take these for Maria too, although I won’t be having one myself. I swear, I’m gaining weight while I’m here. That’s why I got up early and went for a run – and why I borrowed Josh’s hat, so no one could see my hideous hair colour.
‘I’ll never understand why women are so vain,’ he says. ‘Hannah spends forever in the bathroom. Then she comes out looking like a clown.’
I have noticed that my cousin is a little slap-happy, but we all go through that phase as a teen. She’ll figure out what’s right for her eventually.
‘That’s women for you,’ I tell him, grabbing the latte glasses and heading for the door.
‘Does Hannah seem OK to you?’ he asks, and there’s something about his voice, he sounds genuinely concerned. I hang back for a second.
‘Yeah, I think so. She’s a cool kid,’ I tell him, but then I remember that conversation we had, when she mentioned a secret she didn’t think she could talk to her mum about.
I take a seat next to my uncle. I should probably tell him, shouldn’t I? He might be a bit of a sleaze sometimes, but he’s not a bad person.
I open my mouth to speak, but we’re interrupted.
‘Why is it that whenever I can’t find my husband, I eventually find him with you?’
‘In the kitchen.’ I gasp in faux horror. ‘I was just making some drinks.’
‘And you made Steve one.’
‘I did,’ I reply confidently. ‘I’ll make you one if you like.’
My auntie frowns at me.
‘We were just talking,’ my uncle tells her.
‘Yeah, I was just–’
‘You two always have excuses,’ she interrupts.
I have no idea why my auntie thinks the things she does. Yes, sometimes I misbehave, and sometimes I land myself in some strange situations, but this is just ridiculous. And I was only trying to be helpful by talking to them about Hannah. Well, fuck them. They can sort out their own problems.