Lottie Biggs is (Not) Desperate Page 6

  I read some more of that book The Picture of Dorian Gray which Mr Wood is forcing us to read. I picked it up out of sheer desperation because I needed something to take my mind off the fact that Goose is a colossal disappointment. It’s quite heavy going because the author, Oscar Wilde, has a fantastically boring way of writing and keeps on deliberately using loads of complicated words just to show off. In spite of that, it’s not entirely rubbish. Dorian Gray is actually extremely good-looking and everyone who knows him fancies him a bit – even the other men. I can relate to Oscar’s story on a personal level because my ex-best friend Goose is also extremely good-looking and it wouldn’t surprise me in the slightest to learn that the whole of Cardiff is secretly in love with her and wishes that they could marry her or at least be her next best friend or something. Come to think of it, it wouldn’t actually surprise me to learn that Goose is secretly in love with herself.

  Because she clearly thinks she’s as tasty as chocolate.

  seQuINs aND surPrIses

  I’m really not that bothered about falling out with Goose. All I ever did was hang around her house from time to time and watch the Free Willy films back to back on DVD. Whereas now, Gareth comes over to mine and I get to snuggle up to him and watch films like Legends of Welsh Rugby and England 19 – Wales 26. Strictly speaking, I wouldn’t normally choose to watch this kind of stuff because it just looks to me like a bunch of podgy, hairy men running about and bundling on top of each other. I can’t honestly say that I get the point of it. But what I definitely DO understand is that these films become a BILLION times more interesting in Gareth’s company because every time Wales score, he leaps to his feet, beats his chest like he’s a gorilla, and then gives me a big smoochy pashy. It gives the game of rugby a whole new exciting dimension.

  Although he only does this if my mum is out.

  And anyway, my weekend is proving to be far too hectic to waste time worrying about GailMcKenzie and her hurtful comments. They were just words. Mere Words! How terrible they were! How clear and vivid and cruel!15

  Goose’s stupid words mean nothing compared to the exciting and interesting and actual things happening right now in my life.

  Things like:

  My new job in the pumping heart of the glamour industry

  My new friends, Neil and Dilys

  My blossoming relationship with my future mother-in-law, Jean Stingecombe

  And definitely best of all – Winnie! But I’ll say more about him later.

  Yesterday was my first Saturday at The Jean Genie. I was actually really nervous when I woke up and I almost asked my mum if she’d ring in sick for me but then I remembered that:

  a) There’s no way she’d do it

  and

  b) I wanted the cash.

  I was really panicked about going in though so I sat inside my wardrobe for a while and started to think about what Blake might say to me in this situation. I know it sounds a bit weird to sit in a wardrobe but I’ve previously discovered that this is actually a very useful place for having a quiet moment. My wardrobe is fairly big and when I pull the door closed, it provides a very calm and peaceful environment to think in, even though it’s a bit stuffy and I have to sit on a pile of shoes. But on this occasion, sitting on my shoes was definitely worth it because, all of a sudden, I could imagine Blake saying, ‘What’s the worst thing that could happen today, Lottie?’ When I thought about it, I realized that the very worst that could happen was that Jean Stingecombe might give me the sack. And things didn’t seem anywhere near as bad after that because I knew that this would mean I’d get to come home early and go back to bed.

  When I arrived at the salon, it wasn’t open and I could tell that nobody else was about yet because the door was still locked and there were no lights on inside. Jean had told me to be at the salon for half past nine. I bobbed down and leaned against the wall and looked at my watch.

  It was 8.17.

  I was OVER AN HOUR early. Mr Thomas, my double science teacher, once told me that some people believe that time is a fundamental constant and therefore can always be quantified according to a fixed measure. This sounds incredibly clever and complicated but actually it’s a load of old twonk. I told Mr Thomas this. I said, ‘I’m sorry, Mr T, but that’s a load of total old twonk. I happen to know for a fact that there is definitely nothing constant or fixed about time. Sometimes, a single minute in my life can feel like it’s taking forever and other times, like when I’m watching X Factor or when I’m in the bath, ages and ages can slip past really quickly without me even realizing it.’

  Mr Thomas had then smiled in a meaningful and intellectual manner and launched into some boring complicated waffle that went along these lines:

  ‘Well observed, Lottie. But I never said that I support this notion of time being fixed. This is obviously a pre-relativistic version of time and not one that our good friend Mr Einstein would agree with. Scientific theory has moved far beyond such a simple definition. But if you really want to learn more about this, I can lend you some very interesting magazine articles on the subject.’

  ‘No, you’re OK,’ I said.

  ‘Oh, and I’d prefer it if you didn’t call me Mr T.’

  He’s a nice enough man but he does talk a colossal amount of scatty crap sometimes.

  But the point I am trying to make is that TIME IS BLATANTLY AS STRETCHY AS BUBBLEGUM and even Albert Einstein, the great scientific expert, would agree with me on this matter. Most Saturday mornings, I barely have time to get up, eat something and watch a bit of telly before it starts getting dark again. So it was a total and utter head shock when I looked down at my watch as I crouched uncomfortably outside the salon. I’d already been awake for ages and yet my watch was telling me that it was still an antisocial hour. I really wished it had occurred to me to check it before I left the house.

  At seven minutes past nine, Jean rocked up. She said, ‘Hiya, lovely. You’re bright and early. Have you been waiting long?’

  I stood up and said, ‘About an hour.’ There were pins and needles in my feet and I was staggering around a bit on the pavement because I’d lost control of my lower limbs.

  Jean gave me a funny look and then said, ‘Well, there’s nothing like being early, is there?’

  ‘Not really,’ I said. ‘It’s unique.’ To be honest, I was just making small talk.

  Jean unlocked the door and we went inside and she made me a cup of coffee. ‘It’s just as well you’re here in good time, Lottie, my love,’ she said as she handed me my mug. ‘It’ll give you an opportunity to get a feel for your new uniform.’

  ‘Uniform?’ I said, and frowned a bit. Apart from a stint as a baton-twirler in the Pontypridd Majorette Troop, I’ve never really enjoyed wearing any sort of uniform – and I didn’t wear that one for very long. I was only a member for a couple of months in Year 9. My mum quickly got fed up with driving me all the way to Ponty for rehearsals and I quickly got fed up with people at school hilariously asking me if I’d had PMT last night.

  ‘That’s right, Lottie, my love,’ said Jean. ‘I run a tight ship here and it’s important that we’re all identifiable as members of the same crew.’

  And then she handed me a dodgy black T-shirt with silver sequins sewn on it in flowery patterns and a pair of matching culottes. I quietly went to the staff toilet and put them on. I didn’t even object a tiny bit. Not even slightly. And even though my mum thinks that Goose is the bee’s knees and the kitten’s mittens, I’d be prepared to bet all the money that I’ve ever touched in my entire life that Goose would NEVER have worn those culottes as quietly and as maturely as I did!

  Not that I actually care what Goose would have done anyway.

  When I came back from the toilet, Dilys was in the salon pulling hair out of her brushes and chatting to Jean. Of course, she was wearing the same clothes as me. Side by side, I suppose we must have looked like this:

  When Dilys saw me she said, ‘Ooh hello, Lottie, love. You and me look like two
peas in a pod, don’t we? Do you think the clients will be able to tell us apart?’

  ‘I doubt it,’ I said and then I burst out laughing because, actually, I think we looked nothing like each other.

  Dilys beamed back at me and said, ‘Ooh, haven’t you got a lovely little face when you laugh?’ Then she turned to Jean Stingecombe and said, ‘Hasn’t Lottie got a lovely little face when she’s laughing?’

  Jean said, ‘She’s got an adorable little face. I can see exactly why she managed to catch the eye of a big handsome boy like my Gazzy.’

  Dilys said, ‘Ooh Lottie, you’ve done well there, my lovely. He’s a great big hunk of chunk is your Gazzy.’

  Jean said, ‘Stop it, Dilys. You’ll be making Lottie get all jealous.’

  ‘Ooh, if I were fifty years younger I’d fight her for him,’ said Dilys.

  ‘Behave yourself, young lady,’ said Jean to Dilys, and then she said to me, ‘Are we embarrassing you, my lovely?’

  It’s hard to know quite what to say in a situation like this. A voice inside my head was screaming,

  ‘URGGHHH . . .

  YUCK . . .

  STOP IT . . .

  SHUT UP . . .’

  But it didn’t really seem appropriate to tell my current boss and future mother-in-law to shut up so I just laughed again and said, ‘Um . . . sort of.’

  And we all laughed again and then a mad alien walked through the door of the salon and said, ‘Hello.’

  And that made me do this:

  Dilys said, ‘Ooh, here comes handsome.’

  Jean said, ‘Hiya, Neil, love.’

  And I said nothing at all because I was too shocked.

  ‘Lottie, this is Neil,’ said Jean. ‘He’s our Trainee Stylist.’

  And Neil looked at me and said, ‘Hi. I think I know you, don’t I?’

  I nodded and went red. I knew exactly who Neil was – even if he seemed to have completely forgotten who I was. He was none other than

  Neil Adam

  who used to go out with my ex-best friend Goose before he cheated on her and then dumped her via a text message. And back then, he had – and still has now – ridiculously beautiful cheekbones. And his name backwards is Mad Alien, which is atrociously stupid of his parents when you stop and think about it. And after he dumped Goose, she and I decided that we’d never EVER speak to him again.

  But that was when she was still my best friend.

  ‘Hi, Neil,’ I said and gave him my biggest and friendliest smile. ‘I didn’t know you worked here.’

  ‘One day I’m going to have a whole chain of top-class salons called Hair by Neil Adam,’ said Neil Adam. And then he sucked in his cheeks so his cheekbones stuck out even more and looked all gorgeous.

  ‘Wow!’ I said.

  ‘Now now, Lottie,’ said Jean. ‘Don’t you go getting too pally-pally with my handsome Trainee Stylist. Just you remember that you’re going out with the boss’s son!’

  ‘Ooh, and anyway,’ said Dilys with a cheeky wink at Neil, ‘Neily-Weily’s only got eyes for me. Ain’t that right, Neily, my love.’

  ‘Certainly is, Dilys,’ said Neil with a cheeky wink straight back at her. To me, he added, ‘No offence, Lottie, but you just aren’t my type.’ Then he unzipped his coat to reveal that he too was wearing a shiny black sequinned T-shirt. It fitted him so snugly that I could see the outline of his muscles very clearly. And even though I am blatantly IN LOVE WITH GARETH, I have to say that Neil Adam aka Mad Alien16 does have a very impressive upper body. Gareth has got bigger thighs though. Mercifully, instead of our matching culottes, Neil was wearing his sequinned top with a pair of regular black trousers. He still looked a bit strange though. I don’t think I’d like to see Gareth in sequins. But Jean runs a tight ship at The Jean Genie so it’s really very important that we all look like members of the same crew. Neil is obviously mature enough to realize this.

  There’s no way Goose would be.

  Not that I care.

  Like I said, I’m not that bothered about falling out with her.

  wiNNIe

  At half past four, just as Neil was sweeping up the last reminders of Mrs Owen’s dreadful – but now, thankfully, departed – mahogany beehive, Jean Stingecombe locked the door of the salon and hung the Closed sign in the window.

  ‘We’re shutting the salon early today, team,’ she said, ‘. . . for some staff development.’

  I put down the Hair Necessities magazine I’d been reading for the past hour and said, ‘What’s that?’ I was genuinely interested. I’ve never worked anywhere that develops staff before.

  ‘Training,’ said Jean. ‘I run a tight ship here. It’s important that my crew are all familiar with the latest innovations in the industry.’

  Dilys said, ‘Ooh, whose hair are we experimenting on today, Jee? Neil’s or Lottie’s?’

  ‘Huh?’ I said. ‘Huh?’ And then, after an uneasy pause in which I ran my hand nervously over my ultra-modern Ancient Egyptian bob, I added, ‘I don’t want my hair cut, thanks. I’m happy with it as it is.’

  Jean looked at me thoughtfully and said, ‘Well, Lottie, you are the new recruit so we will need to restyle you a teensyweensy bit. Ideally, your hair should be a reflection of the kind of image we aim to offer to our clients here at the salon.’

  ‘But I don’t want to look like an old person,’ I said in a great big rushy panic.

  ‘Ooh, hark at you!’ said Dilys. ‘You’re only as old as the feller you’re feeling. Ain’t that right, Neily, my love?’ And then she gave Neil a cheeky wink and playfully squeezed his biceps.

  ‘Dilys, you’re a sexual terrorist,’ said Neil and then he made a growling noise as if he were a tiger and snarled at her in a deliberately suggestive manner.

  Dilys chuckled happily and waddled off to the staffroom to fetch us all some mint humbugs.

  I felt a bit sick. I don’t know if it was because:

  a)

  I DO NOT LIKE sexy jokes

  b)

  My Ancient Egyptian bob was feeling threatened

  or

  c)

  I’d helped Dilys to munch her way through three bags of mint humbugs already.

  ‘But I don’t want my hair cut,’ I said again. I was starting to feel quite agitated and my cheeks had gone all hot. If I’d had a wardrobe handy, I’d have gratefully climbed into it.

  ‘It’s all right,’ said Neil with a shrug and a nod at Jean, ‘I’ll do it.’ He glanced at himself in the mirror and added, ‘Can you give me something a bit choppy on top, feathery at the sides and ragged at the back? And maybe you could cut into it so that it looks slightly more textured and a little less heavy. And perhaps try to bring out my cinnamon lowlights a bit more. Whatever you do, don’t use the clippers though!’

  ‘Neily, you’re an absolute angel,’ said Jean and blew a kiss which Neil pretended to catch.

  Dilys returned with a new bag of mint humbugs and mumbled something about her varicose veins playing up.

  ‘Positions then, team,’ said Jean. ‘Lottie, come and stand over here with Dilys and watch the way I rework Neil’s hair.’

  And then Jean began chopping and feathering and ragging Neil’s hair, and while she snipped, she sang ‘Yoo-hoo make me feeeeel, yoo-hoo make me feeeeel, yoo-hoo make me feeeeeeeel like an act-u-al wo-man,’ along to the song which was coming out of the salon’s speakers and had, in fact, been coming out of the salon’s speakers more or less all day.

  When she’d finished, she put down her scissors and stood back to admire her handiwork. Neil Adam aka Mad Alien looked not entirely dissimilar to this:

  Which just goes to prove, without any shadow of a doubt, that my future mother-in-law, Jean Stingecombe, is a supremely brilliant stylist and Neil Adam is EXTRAORDINARILY attractive. I know that sounds a bit disloyal to my Gareth but I can’t entirely help it. Just like that woman in the song, I’m an actual woman and sometimes – just occasionally – I have to acknowledge that I have an actual woman’s urges.
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  After my staff development, I walked home in a good mood. Looking back on it all, I am now extremely glad that I never asked my mum to phone in sick for me. It might have seemed like the easiest thing to do at the time but it wouldn’t really have done me any favours in the long term. Sometimes it’s better to just confront certain sensitive situations head on. And by getting up and getting on with it, I’ve been rewarded with several new and interesting pieces of information to help me on my journey through life. I’ve written them all down in a list.

  New and Interesting Things I Learned Yesterday

  1.

  Neil Adam aka Mad Alien may once have dumped Gail McKenzie via a text message but that does not stop him from actually being a very pleasant person.

  2.

  According to several clientele of The Jean Genie, I have a nice telephone voice.

  3.

  White towels are for regular use and navy towels are for clients who are having a colour application.

  4.

  Earl Grey tea is usually made without any milk.

  5.

  Clients like it when you press their head during a shampooing.

  6.

  They also love it if you ask them about their holidays.

  It may not seem like a huge list but, as a general rule, I don’t usually learn this many new and interesting things on an average school day.

  And then when I got home, my day got even better. My mum was keeping a lookout for me from the living room window and as soon as she saw me walking down our road, she waved and rushed off to open the front door.