tour-de-force of monologue, but she doesn’t get to say any of it. Instead, to her own surprise, she bursts into tears and begins to sob.
“Hush there,” the girl says, and gives Olivia an unexpected hug.
Olivia finds herself whisked away into what must be the staff room at the back and handed a box of soft tissues. Moments later, as she is still sobbing, a mug of sweet tea is thrust into her hand and she takes a grateful gulp.
“I just wanted everything to be perfect,” she wails but as quietly as she can, bearing in mind the salon’s customers. “I’m getting married in September and I just wanted everything to be okay! Then I get my hair done by a mad woman and now look at me. I can’t get married like this, I just can’t!”
Then Olivia collapses into yet more sobs whilst yet more tissues are gently pushed into her grasp. She blows her nose and takes a gulp of tea. She isn’t holding out much hope that either of these activities will make her feel any better but, in a totally strange way, they do the trick. Or as near as makes no difference.
She blows her nose again and wipes her eyes. “Sorry,” she says. “I didn’t mean to get all emotional like this. I’m so sorry. You must think I’m a total idiot.”
“Not at all,” the girl replies. “We get a lot of brides in here and it’s a very stressful time. People don’t realise. When my sister got married a couple of years back, she almost killed her fiancé twice before the wedding and they’re totally crazy about each other. But don’t worry about your hair. There’s plenty of time to sort it out before September so you’ve done right to come in and see us. My name’s Gemma, by the way. I specialise in hair situations.”
“Hello, Gemma. Nice to meet you,” Olivia says, smiling weakly and thinking that ‘hair situations’ is the best understatement she’s heard so far this year. “And thanks for the tea and tissues.”
Ten minutes later when Olivia has finished her tea, Gemma somehow manages to fit her in for a brief consultation. A few minutes after this, Olivia is having her hair washed with the most glorious-smelling coconut shampoo. Even the smell makes her more hopeful that maybe – just maybe – she may not look like a battered old loo brush at her own wedding. She really doesn’t want to have to wear a veil. After towel-drying her hair, Gemma applies a thick layer of conditioner – which again smells of that amazing coconut aroma – and tells Olivia she’s going to leave it in for ten minutes before washing it out again.
“This stuff works wonders,” she says. “You’ll be totally surprised. And the good thing is – though I can check it out when I blow dry it – that the cut you’ve had already is pretty decent. With a little help from us and these products, you’re going to look fantastic on your Big Day, I promise you!”
Olivia still isn’t sure but when Gemma holds up the obligatory hairdresser mirror, she gasps. “Goodness, that looks a million times better!”
The other woman just smiles as Olivia runs her fingers gently through her hair. It feels better and far less itchy too. Result! Okay, not how it was before That Woman tried to ruin it, but certainly better, so a result still. But the real question is: will it last?
She glances up at Gemma. “It’s wonderful, thank you. You’re a total miracle-worker, but is it going to stay like this or do I have to do something to make it how it was?”
“Good question,” Gemma replies, grabbing a chair and whizzing it across the floor to sit next to Olivia. “So here’s what I think you should do.”
Five minutes later, and Olivia has been given strict instructions concerning using the commercial range of the emergency shampoo and its matching conditioner which Gemma used today. Bearing in mind the totally gorgeous coconut smell which now wraps itself round her, Olivia is more than happy to follow instructions. She doesn’t even mind the price of
“Hush there,” the girl says, and gives Olivia an unexpected hug.
Olivia finds herself whisked away into what must be the staff room at the back and handed a box of soft tissues. Moments later, as she is still sobbing, a mug of sweet tea is thrust into her hand and she takes a grateful gulp.
“I just wanted everything to be perfect,” she wails but as quietly as she can, bearing in mind the salon’s customers. “I’m getting married in September and I just wanted everything to be okay! Then I get my hair done by a mad woman and now look at me. I can’t get married like this, I just can’t!”
Then Olivia collapses into yet more sobs whilst yet more tissues are gently pushed into her grasp. She blows her nose and takes a gulp of tea. She isn’t holding out much hope that either of these activities will make her feel any better but, in a totally strange way, they do the trick. Or as near as makes no difference.
She blows her nose again and wipes her eyes. “Sorry,” she says. “I didn’t mean to get all emotional like this. I’m so sorry. You must think I’m a total idiot.”
“Not at all,” the girl replies. “We get a lot of brides in here and it’s a very stressful time. People don’t realise. When my sister got married a couple of years back, she almost killed her fiancé twice before the wedding and they’re totally crazy about each other. But don’t worry about your hair. There’s plenty of time to sort it out before September so you’ve done right to come in and see us. My name’s Gemma, by the way. I specialise in hair situations.”
“Hello, Gemma. Nice to meet you,” Olivia says, smiling weakly and thinking that ‘hair situations’ is the best understatement she’s heard so far this year. “And thanks for the tea and tissues.”
Ten minutes later when Olivia has finished her tea, Gemma somehow manages to fit her in for a brief consultation. A few minutes after this, Olivia is having her hair washed with the most glorious-smelling coconut shampoo. Even the smell makes her more hopeful that maybe – just maybe – she may not look like a battered old loo brush at her own wedding. She really doesn’t want to have to wear a veil. After towel-drying her hair, Gemma applies a thick layer of conditioner – which again smells of that amazing coconut aroma – and tells Olivia she’s going to leave it in for ten minutes before washing it out again.
“This stuff works wonders,” she says. “You’ll be totally surprised. And the good thing is – though I can check it out when I blow dry it – that the cut you’ve had already is pretty decent. With a little help from us and these products, you’re going to look fantastic on your Big Day, I promise you!”
Olivia still isn’t sure but when Gemma holds up the obligatory hairdresser mirror, she gasps. “Goodness, that looks a million times better!”
The other woman just smiles as Olivia runs her fingers gently through her hair. It feels better and far less itchy too. Result! Okay, not how it was before That Woman tried to ruin it, but certainly better, so a result still. But the real question is: will it last?
She glances up at Gemma. “It’s wonderful, thank you. You’re a total miracle-worker, but is it going to stay like this or do I have to do something to make it how it was?”
“Good question,” Gemma replies, grabbing a chair and whizzing it across the floor to sit next to Olivia. “So here’s what I think you should do.”
Five minutes later, and Olivia has been given strict instructions concerning using the commercial range of the emergency shampoo and its matching conditioner which Gemma used today. Bearing in mind the totally gorgeous coconut smell which now wraps itself round her, Olivia is more than happy to follow instructions. She doesn’t even mind the price of
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