of mascara and a pinky-brown lipstick.
“There, very natural.” She sits back and smiles.
“You look like you’ve had a wee holiday,” Stacey says with a grin. “Much better.”
“Come on, take a look.” Jo takes the gown from my shoulders that she’d replaced before blow-drying my hair, in case of any stray hairs she said.
I stand and go to look in the mirror. Oh, wow! I look … like me again. The old me. The me from the coffee shop. The me who used to spend her work-free time in the garden at her grandparents or out walking. The me who used to sit outside every lunch break reading literature I loved. The real me, if I’m being honest. Not the me who took a job she’s not really enjoying because she thought she had to be a success, and because her cheating-bastard-fiancé got her the interview.
“Thank you,” I say sincerely with a big smile.
“Look at that smile.” Jo sighs. “You could light a city with that smile, lovely. You need to find yourself a man. And some friends. And go have some fun!”
“Oh, I have friends, and I do go out sometimes,” I tell her. “I’ve just been busy lately, and my grandpa is sick.”
I say it out loud. The thing I don’t normally tell anyone.
“Ah, I’m sorry to hear that, darling. I hope he gets better soon.”
She gives me an impromptu hug, and I hug her back.
I pay the inexpensive amount they charge me, Jo refusing to let me pay for the tan as she says it was on the house, and I leave promising to go back again in six to eight weeks to get my roots touched up.
I feel lighter with shorter hair and a bit of color to me. As if I’ve somehow washed some of the dirt and grime I’ve dug up on Popov out of my hair, literally and figuratively. As I pass by a shop window, I turn to look at a coat and almost do a double take at my reflection. It’s amazing what a difference a bit of hair color can make. Wow. I should keep this up for sure. And Jo giving me the free tan was lovely, so I feel I owe them really to go back and use them again when I need a touchup.
Birds are singing, the sun is out, and suddenly the world doesn’t seem such a dark place anymore. By the time I arrive back at work, I’m smiling on the inside. My phone goes, and I pull it out of my bag to see Suzy on the screen. “Yeah?” I answer, balancing the phone between my face and shoulder as I grab onto my bag with the other hand, and press the elevator call button.
“Bitch, where are you?” she hisses into the phone.
Shit, have I missed a meeting or something? Maybe I should have told someone I was taking a long lunch, but then again, I was owed the time, more than, and we’re pretty chilled about these things here, or rather we were. How Konstantin will run the company, who knows?
“I’ve been on lunch, why? What’s going on?”
“Come to the smoking courtyard. Now.” Then she hangs up, not giving me the chance to reply.
The bell dings and the smooth metal doors of the elevator slide open, but I don’t step in. Instead, I turn on my heel and walk through the double doors, down a corridor, and out the back door. Down one set of stairs and to the courtyard at the back of the building. It’s unofficially where people come smoke and even have the odd spliff while they think creatively, but no one admits as much. The management must know, though; some days the place smells like a student dorm.
When I push the heavy door open and step into the cool, shaded courtyard, I almost bust out laughing. Suzy is lounging against a brick pillar, attempting to smoke a cigarette and look sultry at the same time. She doesn’t smoke, so she’s making a hash of it. I don’t smoke either, but I know you suck the smoke in, not pretend-inhale a tiny bit then blow it out, while narrowing your eyes and screwing up your face.
“What the heck are you doing?” I ask as I reach her.
“Oh my God. What did you do?” she shrieks, loudly enough for everyone near us to turn and gawp at me.
Great.
“Nothing… I mean, I had a haircut on my lunch.”
“And the rest,” she says with