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Who was Arabella Jones? Juliet mentally went through her database of newly-acquired school information to take her mind off the dragging sensation in her abdomen.
Arabella … daughter of Carole Jones, of the On The Everything-That-Could-Possibly-Enable-My-Daughter-To-Shine-Ergo-Enable-Me-To-Shine Committee.
Gloria called her a perfect example of a helicopter-mum.
Juliet decided right there and then that if, while navigating this spaghetti junction that was becoming a parent of a school-aged child, she ever found herself in a field with a helipad, queuing up to get her pilot’s licence, she’d think about that special way Gloria had of making you feel stupid and step out of the queue.
As she drove towards The Clock House on Whispers Wood green, she listened to Melody and Persephone talking about how they’d been soooo immature to dismiss ballet before – all art-forms required sacrifice and discipline. Arabella Jones said so, so it must be true!
Juliet let her mind wander. By tonight, she’d be fine. All she needed was a seat on the sofa next to Oscar, a good box-set and him reaching over and wrapping her up in his big comforting arms and squeezing reassuringly. She’d squeeze back and start the process of resetting to their plan.
Their plan not to make getting pregnant into a big deal so that they minimized the stress in conceiving.
In the interests of full disclosure, no way had they been trying to get pregnant right off. Yet when she’d thought she’d accidentally fallen pregnant last Christmas …
All the things they thought they ought to think about in order to make a decision and plan appropriately. All the obstacles. All the busy-ness they both had going on had faded into the background. The look on Oscar’s face when she’d discovered she wasn’t pregnant had mirrored the look she’d known had been on hers.
Disappointment could be a simple and quiet pause, bringing you to a complete and utter standstill and forcing you to acknowledge what you ultimately wanted. And, it turned out, it could also become a constant hum if you let it.
But she wasn’t going to.
Wasn’t. Wasn’t. Wasn’t.
Gripping the steering-wheel in the perfect ten-to-two position she blotted out unhelpful thoughts and immersed herself in the girls’ talk.
‘Of course,’ Melody told Persephone in her wisest tone, ‘to be the best requires a competitive drive and sacrifice from the whole family.’
‘Competitive drive? You have met my mum, right? I’m covered.’ Persephone remarked with a laugh.
Juliet bit her lip so the laugh didn’t escape but Melody’s trickled out delightfully before she sobered and her voice popped up from the back, ‘Juliet? You must have had to sacrifice tonnes to get your business up and running. But you believed in yourself, didn’t you? You did it. So did Aunt Kate.’
‘I guess we did.’
‘See?’ Melody told Persephone. ‘Look at our role models. We can totally do this.’
Juliet blinked away the tears. What was she doing thinking about what she didn’t have, when all she had to do was look in the back seat of her car to see how much she already had.
‘Did you hear Arabella talking about how she’ll have her own dressing room and a bouquet delivered on opening night?’ Persephone asked.
Probably one big dressing room for the cast and the bouquet is from her mum but it did sound lovely, Juliet thought. What little girl wouldn’t love to get a star on her door and a bouquet of flowers especially delivered. Maybe she’d mention to Oscar about Melody starting ballet lessons again.
Or would that be too helicopter-y?
Trying to picture Melody reading less to have more time for ballet, wasn’t easy. The girl consumed books like they were her only source of oxygen.
‘Juliet? Could you show us how to put our hair up in a perfect bun – you know, without the donut – that’s how Arabella wears hers?’ Melody asked.
‘Sure.’
‘Do you think we could do it?’ Melody asked, her tone much less sure now.
‘I think you can do anything you put your mind to,’ Juliet said, determined to take her own advice, stick to hers and Oscar’s plan and not worry about not being pregnant yet.
‘We are going to be fabulous daaarrrling,’ Persephone announced and the two girls broke into hysterical laughter as Juliet pulled into her reserved space outside The Clock House.
Inside the beautiful red brick Georgian building, Juliet ushered the two girls towards the room on the right.
Efficiently she unlocked the glazed double doors, ensured the ‘closed’ sign was still in place and switched on the bank of lights.
This was her space, her salon, her baby, she thought, feeling the stab of pride as she looked around.
There was still hours of daylight to filter through the large square window but she loved how the discreet spotlights that studded the high ceiling, together with the five hanging chandeliers sitting over the hair-dressing stations, added a rich sparkle, turning the light warm and luxurious.
Out of habit she ran her gaze over each of the floor-to-ceiling ornately-framed mirrors painted matte cream with a touch of gold-leaf dusted on here and there. Not a smear in sight and she had her junior stylist, who was a demon with the duster, to thank for that, she knew.
The matching painted custom-made tables in front of the mirrors, with their antique hand-turned legs were cleared of magazines, hairdryers and other styling equipment. In the centre of each table there was a smaller version of this week’s main flower arrangement in reception. The slate grey squat pots with white gravel and sage green succulent looked chic and relaxing and just happened to go with the dusky rose and gold teacup and saucer holding a candle with the salon’s signature scent: rose and honey.
The hairdressing chairs had all been moved out to indicate that the floorboards had been swept and mopped.
She loved what she was creating here – loved what all of them were creating.
A perfect oasis of creativity.
Her client base was increasing month on month, mostly from word of mouth, which she loved because it meant she was getting the balance between the standard services like cutting, colouring, blow-drying and prom work, wedding work and even hair shows, right. Her stylists were happy they got to perfect the standard while pushing the art-form. All in all it made for a happy team.
Already feeling a little better, she left the girls in mani-pedi chairs, looking up ballet tutorials on YouTube on her phone. She’d double-check the appointment diary at reception for tomorrow and then go and find Emma.
As she approached the desk nestled underneath the sweeping staircase, her cousin Kate looked up with a pleased smile on her face. ‘One hundred percent occupancy in the spa all week.’ She raised her fist into the air triumphantly and then paused, ‘Hey, what’s up – you look tired.’
‘Just trying to calculate how much ballet classes might cost,’ she said, as she brought up the salon’s appointment diary and booking system. ‘Apparently ballet requires the ultimate in sacrifice and discipline, daaarling!’
‘So this is better than when they decided to have their own reality TV show, then?’
Juliet laughed. ‘Do you know why Emma wanted to see us all, I’m assuming you got the text too?’
‘I did and I don’t. Although thinking about it, she’d probably typed “The End” on the screenplay and wants to celebrate.’
‘That’s what Gloria said. I thought you were off today?’
‘I was, but then your other half decided to show off by using that big drill of his all day. I couldn’t take the noise or the dust at home, so I thought I’d come in, do a little admin.’
Oscar was busy converting Myrtle Cottage and Mistletoe Cottage into one home for Kate and Daniel to move into together and Juliet knew he’d been working to get the main part of the build signed-off so that they could start enjoying some semblance of quiet after the long hours they were putting in here.
‘By the way,’ Kate declared, waggling her eyebrows, ‘you just missed your cue to talk about how much you love Oscar’s big drill. Are you sure you’re okay?’
‘I’m fine,’ Juliet promised. At least she would be. As soon as she found something to distract herself with. Closing the appointment app, pleased to note she was also fully booked the next day, she said, ‘Come on, let’s go find Emma,’ and moving out from behind the desk she crossed the parquet flooring to enter the room opposite, Cocktails & Chai.
Kate pouted. ‘No more talk of big drills and toolboxes?’
‘Drills and tools?’ Gloria muttered, looking up from the bar as they both walked in. ‘Of course, you know what they say—’ Gloria’s voice cut-off as she dived into her large bag. One good yank and out came a folder which Juliet presumed was the weekly stats and as Gloria passed them to Kate there was a spark in her eye that Juliet had seen before.
‘Now, now, you two – play nicely,’ Juliet tried to warn, thinking it was asking the impossible, as she looked from Gloria to Kate. The two of them would die before admitting to the fact they were similarly feisty, fiercely proud, and loyal to a fault.
Somehow Gloria wrestling her way into their group balanced the three of them out, Juliet thought. Without her, Kate, Emma and she were maybe a little too concerned with treading that fine line between friendship and business and even with Daniel adding a layer of practicality to their sometimes over-enthusiastic approach, it was Gloria who always managed to get them all to focus and raise their game.
‘So come on, then,’ Kate said, looking at Gloria, completely helpless to stop herself rising to the bait, ‘what do they say?’
‘That if you have to keep talking about something …’ Gloria said.
‘Uh-huh,’ Kate nodded, waited a half-beat and then added, ‘and how’s that man-ban working out for you?’
Completely unaffected by the jibe, Gloria grinned and slid a glass down the polished marble-top of the bar towards Juliet. ‘That’s for you.’
‘What is it?’ she asked, looking at it dubiously. For all she knew it was some sort of weird fertility potion.
Ooh, not completely a ridiculous idea, she thought. Maybe she should give Trudie McTravers’ daughter, The Herbalist from Horsham, a call. She’d nearly gone to her a couple of years back on the off chance she could make her an anti-love potion to help her fall out of love with Oscar. Good job she hadn’t gone ahead with that move but getting some tips on what she could eat or drink to help her get pregnant? Sounded more legit than asking about love potions, anti or otherwise.
‘Trust me,’ Gloria said. ‘It’ll help.’
‘Help with what?’ Kate immediately asked, picking it up and sniffing it.
Gloria produced one of her trademark eye-rolls. ‘It’s just water with dissoluble painkillers,’ she told Juliet. ‘I figured you hadn’t had time to take anything yet.’
‘Life-saver,’ she declared and taking it from Kate’s hands, drank the whole lot down in one. ‘Thank you.’
‘You got a headache, hun?’ Kate asked concerned. ‘I know I said we were fully booked but I’m certified to do Indian Head Massage now.’
‘It’s just period pain,’ Juliet dismissed.
‘Oh.’ Kate’s huge chocolate brown eyes suddenly clouded with understanding. ‘Oh.’
‘Don’t you start,’ Juliet mumbled. ‘She’s already had a go,’ she added, pointing to Gloria.
Kate turned on Gloria. ‘You had a go at her? Why the hell would you do that? Don’t you know what it’s like to want something so bad—’
‘Wow. Kate, stand-down,’ Juliet insisted. ‘Gloria didn’t have a go at me. She had a go at cheering me up.’
‘Huh?’ Kate’s expression immediately morphed into confusion.
‘Weird as it sounds,’ Gloria murmured.
‘Sorry.’ Kate’s expression turned contrite. ‘I shouldn’t have assumed—’
‘Why not,’ Gloria smiled. ‘You look cute as an ass.’
‘Great, you’re all here,’ Emma said, walking in at just the right time. ‘Thanks for coming in.’
Gloria shrugged. ‘It’s what you pay me to do.’
Juliet watched Gloria concentrate fiercely on pushing the strap of her bag back into place in the cubby hole behind the bar and couldn’t help but feel for her. The once nick-named Wicked Witch of Whispers Wood had hung up her broom these days and her efforts earlier had genuinely helped Juliet pull herself together. If it had been Kate at those school gates she’d have enveloped her in a tight hug and Juliet would’ve been sobbing on her shoulder within seconds and she really was very tired of crying.
Emma dived behind the bar and pulled out a tray with four cocktail glasses. ‘Honey-martinis all-round?’
‘We’re celebrating, then?’ Kate asked, moving to sit on one of the barstools.
‘I hope so,’ Emma said, finishing off the cocktails with cute miniature honey drizzle stirring sticks.
‘I should probably have something non-alcoholic,’ Juliet said, thinking about her new health regime, and then took a look at Emma’s face, and said, ‘Okay, okay. I guess one cocktail isn’t going to hurt.’
Emma grinned and passed them around. ‘So, I wanted the three of you here so that I could tell you—’ she broke off, shook her head, and pushed her long blonde hair nervously back behind her ears. ‘No. To ask you …’
Juliet, Kate and Gloria all raised their glasses, waiting.
‘Because ever since I arrived in Whispers Wood,’ Emma said, ‘you girls have made my stay here so wonderful and—’
Gloria, having given up waiting and taken a sip of her cocktail, spluttered, ‘What the hell does that mean? You make it sound like you’re going somewhere.’
‘No,’ Emma moaned. ‘Sorry. I knew I should have rehearsed.’ Taking a deep breath she tried again. ‘I swear—’
Kate laughed. ‘I think that’s more Gloria’s department.’
‘Hey,’ Gloria defended.
‘I swear,’ Emma began again, ‘ever since I started writing that screenplay it’s like I’ve forgotten‒’
‘How to get to the bloody point?’ Gloria muttered.
Kate let out a ‘Ha,’ and, holding up her hand to pause the conversation, disappeared out the back, returning moments later with a glass jar, which she popped on the end of the bar.
‘What’s that for?’ Gloria asked ignoring Emma’s announcement to walk over and inspect it. ‘Charity jar?’
‘#SquadGoals,’ Kate nodded, ‘I’m expecting it to be full by the end of the week.’
Juliet looked at the jar. ‘I thought Daniel’s idea was to come up with a way each business could contribute to charity. Using tip jars to donate doesn’t seem quite what he had in mind.’
‘It’s a swear jar,’ Kate said grinning. ‘For Gloria.’
‘What the f—’ Gloria stopped and shooting daggers at Kate added on, ‘—actual?’
‘The factual is that you can barely get through a sentence without swearing,’ Kate teased.
‘It should be for all of us,’ Juliet placated.
Kate snorted. ‘It’s about playing to our strengths.’
‘And my strength is swearing?’ Gloria glowered. ‘That’s what you feel I contribute here?’
‘Well you have to admit …’ Emma said, smiling to soften her words.
