Inside the marquee, Jamal was led to his workstation, and Catherine, Mark and Bradley followed. Bradley wheeled Jamal’s work case behind him; it was filled with products that sponsors of the event had sent to Jamal prior to the competition. Catherine and Mark wore black capes to hide their costumes until the final reveal.
There were eight workstations in total, all set up with enough space for the hair stylists to work. Each stylist was allowed two models and one assistant – in Jamal’s case, his assistant was Bradley.
The centre of the marquee was devoted to six sinks set in two back-to-back rows. Catherine knew that the piping for the water and the power cables ran under the decking that created the floor of the marquee. There were also large tower fans in the corners of the marquee, should the temperature inside rise to uncomfortable levels.
While Jamal set up, Bradley wrapped towels around Catherine and Mark’s shoulders then settled them onto the chairs in front of the mirror at Jamal’s workstation. Jamal cursed as he dropped a bottle of heat protector spray and it broke, sending product all over the floor. He bent over to pick it up and bumped his head on the shelf of the workstation, which made him stagger backwards.
‘Jamal!’ Bradley grabbed him by the shoulders. ‘Are you okay?’
Jamal nodded. ‘I’m fine. Just… butterfingers.’ He held up his trembling hands.
‘Come on, now, love.’ Bradley took his husband’s hands and squeezed them. ‘You’ve done this before. No need to be nervous.’
‘I don’t know why I am.’ Jamal sighed. ‘Silly really.’
While Bradley comforted his husband, Mark turned to Catherine.
‘I hope he’s okay.’
‘Me too.’
‘Also… butterfingers makes me a bit… nervous.’
Catherine smiled. ‘I know. Not the type of fingers you want holding a scissors near your hair, right?’
‘It’s not my hair I’m worried about now.’ Mark raised his hands to the sides of his head. ‘It’s more that I’m rather partial to my ears.’
Catherine giggled, enjoying the warmth of their banter. ‘They’re nice ears! I’m sure he’ll be fine, so try not to worry.’
There was a commotion over the far side of the marquee and Catherine and Mark turned around to see what was going on. She could hear someone panting and other people squabbling over what to do.
‘What’s wrong?’ she raised her voice to deputy head teacher level – it was guaranteed to be heard over any commotion.
A woman turned from the huddle and replied, ‘It’s the stylist over here. She can’t breathe.’
Catherine got out of her chair and hurried over. She pushed through the people, her black cape billowing around her, to find Lucy on her knees, her face white, her blue lips matching her hair colour as she gasped.
‘Lucy! It’s okay, just take your time.’ Catherine turned back to the onlookers. ‘Right you lot, clear away. She needs some space. And someone get some water.’ The crowd of stylists and models parted reluctantly, with someone muttering about her thinking she was some sort of superhero in her black cape, then Catherine knelt next to Lucy and took her hands. ‘Okay, Lucy, you’re having a panic attack. You’re going to be fine but I want you to listen to me.’
Lucy nodded.
‘Breathe with me,’ Catherine’s tone was strict; she meant business and knew it would get Lucy to listen. ‘Slowly, breathe in… that’s it… deeply and gently… okay…’ She squeezed Lucy’s hands. ‘And now exhale… gently does it… good! That’s it, good. And again…’
She held Lucy’s gaze and soon, the colour had returned to Lucy’s cheeks and the blue tinge retreated from her lips. Her fingers were cold so Catherine rubbed them vigorously between her hands until they thawed out.
‘You’re going to be fine, Lucy. Just fine.’
‘Thank you,’ Lucy replied, then she took a sip from the bottle of water that someone handed her.
‘I take it you’re nervous.’ Catherine smiled.
‘Very. There’s so much riding on this.’ Lucy shook her head. ‘I need to win so badly.’
‘Lucy…’ Catherine took her hand again. ‘You might well win, but you might not. There are some excellent stylists here and the competition is, I’m sorry to say, fierce. But remember… even if you don’t win, you still have a chance of a job at Hairway to Heaven.’
‘I know and it’s so kind of Jamal and Bradley to even consider giving me a chance after what I did.’
‘I always tell the pupils at school that everyone deserves a second chance. People make mistakes when they’re pushed into a corner. You made a mistake but you have a second chance. Plus… I wasn’t going to say anything until after the competition but this might help to soothe your worries. My friend Maggie is the local librarian and she’s looking for someone to work two days a week as a library assistant.’ Catherine watched Lucy’s face carefully and was pleased to see hope cross her features.
‘Do you… mean me?’ Lucy asked.
‘I do. There’s no pressure, but I know you said you needed work and as it’s only two days a week, you could do that and your beauty treatments. Anyway, it’s something for you to consider.’
‘I don’t know a thing about working in a library.’ Lucy shook her head.
‘You’d have full training and be entitled to all the benefits like holiday pay and so on.’
‘Wow!’ Lucy’s eyes glistened. ‘Thank you so much.’
‘I’ll send you Maggie’s details later and you can have a chat with her and find out if it’s something you fancy doing.’
Catherine stood up and helped Lucy to her feet.
‘If you were one of my pupils now, I’d also tell you that this is your opportunity to show what you can do here. Everyone gets nervous before a test, exam, competition, performance and that’s perfectly natural. But you should give it your best effort and then you can be proud of yourself.’
‘I agree. You should listen to our very own superhero.’ Jamal had joined them. He opened his arms. ‘Now have a Jamal hug, then show these judges what you’re capable of, Lucy.’
They hugged and when Lucy emerged from Jamal’s embrace, she was smiling.
‘I’m going to!’ she said, then she turned to Catherine. ‘Thank you so much.’
‘No problem.’
Catherine and Jamal went back to his workstation and Catherine sat next to Mark again.
‘I was going to come over and help, but then you shouted at people to give you some space, so I thought I’d better stay in my seat.’ He gave a nervous laugh. ‘You were quite stern.’
‘It’s my teacher voice. I reserve it for special occasions when I need people to really listen to me.’
‘I hope you never have cause to use it on me.’
‘I’m sure I won’t.’
Then they fell silent as the five judges entered the marquee, the rules were read out and the competition began.
Catherine closed her eyes as Jamal applied dye onto her hair with a small brush then wrapped each section in foil. Soon her head was a mass of pieces of foil that stuck out, making her resemble a modern medusa. Jamal set a timer then turned to Mark.
‘Your turn.’
Mark glanced at Catherine and raised his eyebrows, but Jamal took hold of his chin and turned him to face the mirror. Bradley stood next to Jamal holding his tray of styling instruments. She could no longer see Mark, so she gazed at her own reflection instead.
Behind her, stylists waved combs and brushes around, pumped chairs up and down to better reach their models’ heads and ushered their models to the sinks then back. It was a hive of activity and Catherine was filled with admiration for everyone taking part. Her job was high-pressured. She worked long hours and she worked hard, often with tight or seemingly unachievable deadlines; she always had done. Hair stylists worked hard too. They were artists, trusted with people’s hair, but they were also like therapists as their clients often confided in them or asked their advice on matters of the heart. They had to be able to listen and respond, to be patient and to try to create the styles that their clients desired – even at times against their better judgement. Catherine could no more cut someone’s hair than she could sing in an opera, but that was fine. People were different and they all had their own skill sets, their own passions and directions.
Mark, for instance, was a writer. Catherine hadn’t yet discovered exactly what he wrote, as the only answer she’d received had been a bit vague, but the fact that he was a writer made her admire him even more. Writing took patience and resilience, self-discipline and a thick skin when critical reviews came in. But it must also be a wonderfully rewarding job for someone who was creative. She’d always wanted to meet a real-life writer and now she had. And he was a pretty special person too. After all, he was allowing her best friend to style his hair as he saw fit and not many people would be up for that. Mark had patience and compassion and kindness in his heart; Catherine had seen it in how he had behaved towards her mother and towards Jamal, Bradley and Lucy. He was the kind of man a woman could fall in love with – if she allowed herself to fall for him that was.
Catherine’s thoughts strayed, as they so often did, to her mother. The past two weeks had seen another change in their life with the transformation in her mother’s relationship with her aunt. It had seemed to come out of the blue, but then, when Catherine thought about it, perhaps it had been on the cards for some time. Aunty Jane had always tried to have a relationship with her sister and now, it seemed, her persistence was paying off. She had shown Diana kindness during a dark time and Diana had responded well. On more than one occasion this week, Catherine had heard her mother giggling as she spoke to Jane on the phone and it was a sound that had lifted her heart. Age was no barrier to love, whatever form that love came in, and knowing that her mother had someone else in her life lifted the weight Catherine had carried for so long. It was not a weight she resented, but it was a weight nonetheless. It was the weight of responsibility for her mother. But now, Jane had come to share it – even if just for a while. Catherine hoped that it would be permanent for all their sakes.
‘Let’s take a look then, Catherine.’ Bradley cut into her thoughts as he opened one of the pieces of foil on the top of her head then slid the foil off. ‘You are done!’ He removed the rest of the foil, leaving her looking something like a scarecrow with a head of sticky straw, then gestured for her to follow him to the sinks.
But as Bradley started to massage her head, Catherine fought the relaxation she usually surrendered to. There was no way she could start moaning in the middle of the busy marquee. Not unless she wanted to be forever known as the marquee moaner or something similar. She knew from Jamal that there were forums where stylists discussed that kind of thing and the thought of gaining such a moniker made her cringe.
If only Bradley’s hands combined with the warm water on her head didn’t feel quite so good…
Mark had closed his eyes as Jamal started chopping his hair. He thought it would be better to wait until Jamal was done then check out the finished product. He also didn’t want to show any disapproval, surprise or fear while Jamal was working, so closing his eyes and focusing instead on the noises of the marquee seemed the best option. He even managed to try not to wince when he heard the buzzing of a shaver approaching his head.
Bradley had washed his hair first and Mark had found it very relaxing. Bradley had massaged his scalp with shampoo then conditioner that smelt of summer fruits, and Mark had found himself drifting off. He was actually disappointed when Bradley led him back to the chair in front of the mirror.
‘I’m done cutting… apart from a few finishing touches once it’s dry… but you can open your eyes now,’ Jamal announced, dragging Mark from his thoughts. ‘Just bear in mind that it needs to be dried for you to fully appreciate the style.’
Mark slowly opened his eyes.
Well, that was different…
He could see his ears for a start and his neck felt cold without the hair hanging down over it.
Jamal shook a bottle, then squirted some product onto his hand and proceeded to smooth it through what was left of Mark’s hair. Then he picked up a hairdryer and a brush and Mark couldn’t hear a thing other than the drone of the dryer, so he closed his eyes again.
‘It’s fabulous!’ Catherine said as the dryer fell silent and Mark opened his eyes again. He stared at his reflection.
‘Is that really me?’ he asked.
Jamal appeared in the mirror and met his eyes.
‘What do you think?’ He ran his long fingers through Mark’s hair, sweeping it from side to side then letting it drop, then he reached for a can of spray and misted it over Mark’s head.
‘It’s… well, I look younger for a start.’
Mark turned to Catherine.
‘Not that I was bothered about looking younger but now I do. What do you think, Catherine?’
Catherine smiled at Mark. He certainly did look younger and, if it was possible, even more handsome than before. Jamal hadn’t coloured Mark’s hair but instead had worked with the shiny dark waves and the grey at the temples to create a shorter crop. It was graduated up to Mark’s ears where the grey was most obvious then the top was longer, and Jamal had swept it over to one side so Mark looked like a celebrity footballer or an actor off to the Oscars. With his dark eyes and the few days’ stubble, he was…
‘Breathtaking,’ she whispered.
‘Pardon?’ Mark frowned.
‘She said you’re breathtaking.’ Bradley grinned.
‘No!’ Catherine shook her head. “I meant your hair style is breathtaking. Not you. Goodness, no!’
‘Uh… thanks.’ Mark grimaced. ‘Not that I would have become big-headed or anything, but you put me right back into my place, Catherine. Please don’t spare my feelings.’
She gasped. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. You are… uh… very handsome.’ Her cheeks blazed and she raised her cool hands to cover them. ‘Mark… your hair looks great and so do you.’
She turned back to the mirror quickly and tried to will the blush to leave her face.
‘She does think you’re breathtaking,’ Bradley whispered to Mark, deliberately loud enough for her to hear, so she shot him the glare that she reserved for particularly naughty children.
‘Anyway!’ Jamal said as he held a scissors aloft. ‘Time to chop your locks, Catherine. Ready or not…’