Irrepressible You Read online

  ‘This is a first. It’s about time you were happy to see me.’

  Amy almost dropped the tray at the sound of her ex-boyfriend’s too-smooth voice. Please, God, not today of all days. She closed her eyes and sent up a silent prayer, but no one was listening. When she opened them again Liam was still there, bullish and menacing as he sprawled in the chair nearest her. His legs were splayed arrogantly apart, his heavily muscled arms resting on the arms of the chair, and there was a smug smile on the broad features she’d once considered handsome.

  ‘Liam.’ Her gut clenched painfully. ‘I thought you were someone else.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Yeah. I’ve got a client coming then I’m closing for the day, so you’re gonna have to leave.’ She brandished the tray in front of her like a shield and prayed he wasn’t going to be difficult. Not today. She was tired, she had a stress headache and she was fighting a colossal case of the willies about her date this evening with Ben, or more to the point, what she’d do and say if he actually showed up.

  Liam looked around and shrugged a beefy shoulder. ‘Your client’s not here yet. You’ve got time for me. Besides, with that extra bit of weight you’re carrying, you’re lookin’ good. How’ve you been, Amy?’

  Just the mention of her name on his lips left her shuddering. ‘Fine until you turned up.’ She tried to keep her voice level. ‘Look, I’ve told you before that you can’t come here any more. Leave me alone, Liam. It was over years ago. It’s over now. Please leave.’

  She might as well have been talking to thin air. Other than a faint wrinkle on his brow, Liam’s smug expression didn’t change a bit. ‘Nah. I’m a paying customer who wants a shave, so why don’t you put that tray down and give me one?’ It said a lot about the man that he didn’t once think she’d slip with the razor.

  ‘You know that’s not gonna happen. Just leave. Please. My customer’s here. You need to go.’ She nodded towards Terry Nelson’s white Jaguar, which had just pulled up at the kerb out front. Maybe God had been listening after all, she thought, ignoring the combined relief and apprehension currently causing her hands to shake. She hid them behind her back and kept her expression calm.

  Liam’s expression turned stubborn. ‘What’s he here for? I’ll wait.’

  ‘A shave, and no, you can’t wait. I told you, I’m closing up shop after. Just go,’ Amy said, the faint plea in her tone making her furious with herself.

  ‘What’s in it for me?’ Liam demanded.

  Amy’s words were cut off when Terry opened the shop door, ducking his head as he came through and calling out his usual greeting in cheerful, booming tones. ‘Hello young lady, do you have time for me?’

  ‘Liam,’ Amy said softly.

  ‘Am I interrupting?’ Terry’s sharp gaze took in the scene and his bushy salt and pepper brows beetled.

  ‘No, Terry. I’ve got your cake and coffee here,’ Amy said with forced cheer, feeling her knees wobble with relief when Liam stood up.

  ‘She’s all yours, mate. I just dropped in for a chat. She’s a piece of work, isn’t she?’ His proprietorial expression made Amy’s skin feel one size too small.

  ‘The very best,’ Terry replied warmly.

  ‘Bye, Liam.’ Amy suppressed a flinch when he brushed past her, his eyes clearly communicating that he knew full well she wouldn’t make a scene in front of a client.

  Nodding to Terry, he fished his keys out of his pocket and jangled them as he sauntered out the door, leaving the scent of cheap aftershave hanging in the air like a bad memory.

  Aware of Terry’s quietly watchful presence, Amy stomped the adrenaline coursing through her system into submission and refreshed her smile. ‘So where are you whisking your lovely wife off to this evening?’

  Amy only allowed her professional face to slip twenty minutes later as she waved Terry off. Giving in to the tension wracking her body, she gripped the back of the barber’s chair and squeezed her eyes tightly shut as the sick feeling left over from being in Liam’s presence crawled through her system on a thousand scurrying legs.

  ‘Amy?’ Myf’s soft call came from the salon next door.

  ‘Coming, m’love.’ Amy opened her eyes, taking stock of her appearance in the mirror. She grimaced. During the past few hours her lipstick had faded and the curls in her hair had begun to fall as flat as she felt. She’d have to fix those and soon. Ben was due in under thirty minutes–if he was the punctual type.

  She took one last look around the barber shop to make sure everything was ready for Monday morning before making her way next door. The rest of her staff had gone for the day, leaving Myf curled up in one of the beauty salon’s pink leather chairs reading a Marie Claire.

  As always, Myf projected a lovely aura of serene confidence and acceptance that enveloped Amy the minute she walked into the room, making everything seem just that little bit more manageable.

  In direct contrast to Amy’s polished appearance, Myf radiated earth mother chic in recycled clothing splendour. Her wild fro of tight marmalade curls framed her narrow features and, as usual, she wasn’t wearing any make-up. She didn’t need to. Myf was perfect as she was, with her abundance of freckles, dark cinnamon brows and eyelashes, and incredible almost-black eyes.

  ‘Hey.’

  ‘Hey, sweetie. You want a coffee? Or are you still doing that vegan detox thing?’ Amy tottered on tired feet to the back of the salon to make a cappuccino. She was tempted to tell Myf about Liam’s visit but held off. She had never told anyone about Liam’s ongoing harassment. If she was honest, her silence wasn’t only because of her fears Jo would find out; she was also deeply ashamed to admit she had effectively allowed someone to stalk and bully her for nine years. Myf would never judge her for it, but just the thought of speaking the words out loud made Amy’s chest hurt.

  ‘Coffee would be great,’ Myf replied, oblivious to Amy’s internal disquiet. ‘All the detox did was make me crave chocolate.’

  ‘I’ve got some of that here too. You want that instead?’ Amy replied over the noise of frothing milk.

  ‘Temptress.’ Myf grinned. ‘No, I think coffee is better after all the craziness this afternoon. I need the boost. Is it always this full-on nowadays?’ She gestured to the shop. ‘This is insane. When do you get time to centre yourself?’

  ‘Worse and never.’ Amy topped two cappuccinos with chocolate sprinkles, adding extra to Myf’s.

  ‘Really? You don’t look like you’re enjoying it as much as you used to. This is the third time Mel’s quit on you. Have you thought of not taking her back?’ Myf asked quietly, taking her coffee and drawing her finger through the froth and sprinkles before popping it into her mouth.

  Amy just shrugged and took a seat next to her friend, giving her an apologetic half-smile. ‘It’s not that easy, petal. She’s a good friend. You know why she does it.’ She reached down and pulled her heels off, massaging her toes.

  ‘And you tell me I’m too nice.’ The words came as a kind rebuke.

  ‘You are. You’re here, aren’t you? What did you sell your last painting for? Ten thousand?’ Amy couldn’t help but notice that her friend’s bare arms and legs were generously covered with tiny specks of purple and green paint that blended in with her freckles. It made her smile. Myf was an artist, a highly successful one, whose explosive, violently dynamic canvases were a total enigma to everyone who knew her.

  Myf waved a hand. ‘Not important. What’s important is the way you keep forgiving people when they do crappy things. You’re going to have to draw the line at some time.’

  Amy sighed. ‘I know, but you know what it’s like. My friends are my family. Mel’s family. I’m only doing what she’d do for me, right?’

  Myf didn’t look as sure. ‘It doesn’t work like that for some people, love. And you know better than anyone that sometimes you’ve got to let family go . . .’

  Amy felt herself tearing up. She’d let go of so much in her life, she didn’t want to think of giving up another per
son she cared about. ‘Can we change the topic, sweetie?’

  A flash of frustration crossed Myf’s features but she hid it beautifully. ‘Okay . . . so what are you wearing tonight? I take it you want me to stick around and check this guy out?’

  ‘Of course. You’re my bastard detector. I’ve got my blue party dress out the back.’ Amy spun her chair around and leaned towards a mirror. How had Ben seen her scar on Monday? The man must have telescopic vision. ‘He said wear anything, so I was tempted to wear jeans and a T-shirt.’ They both knew it was a lie. Amy’s appearance was her armour, and she never went anywhere without making sure she was fully suited up.

  Myf chuckled. It was a warm sound, one that never failed to make people smile.

  ‘What?’ Amy demanded.

  ‘You.’

  ‘Me what? Look, m’love, if you’re going to laugh, the least you can do is tell me the joke.’ She swivelled her chair back around and prodded Myf with her big toe.

  ‘There’s no joke.’ Myf tucked her knees up under her chin. ‘You look lovely as is, but if you’re going to change you’d better start. It’s getting on.’

  Amy glanced at the clock on the wall. ‘It is too. Far out! Time to frock up.’ She took a quick sip of her coffee then scampered behind the screen at the rear of the room to change.

  ‘So where’s this mystery man taking you?’ Myf called out not long after Amy quickly got naked, put on clean underwear, slid on her stockings and stepped into her dress.

  ‘No idea. Hopefully somewhere not too expensive. My credit card can’t handle it. Give me a hand with my zip, petal?’

  ‘Coming. Why are you worried? He’s the one paying.’ Myf came round the screen and zipped Amy the rest of the way up before stepping back and nodding her approval. ‘I love this dress.’

  ‘It doesn’t make me look fat?’ Amy looked anxiously down to her stomach. Liam’s earlier snipe about her weight slithered insidiously into her thoughts. She’d always had a little tummy but had never thought it looked bad.

  ‘Fat? No!’ Myf bent down to brush the hem of Amy’s skirt straight for her. ‘It makes you look like a young Doris Day. Want help with your hair?’

  ‘No, but you can keep me company.’ Amy lightly rested a hand on Myf’s shoulder as she slipped on her shoes.

  ‘That I can do. So what’s this about your credit card?’ Myf asked, not willing to let the topic go. She padded after Amy to the front of the salon and resumed her seat while Amy heated up a curling wand.

  Amy shrugged. ‘It’s nothing. Usually when I go on a date I pay. I’m used to it.’

  ‘Seriously?’

  ‘Yeah. I don’t like being . . . you know . . .’

  ‘No, I really don’t.’

  Amy waved a hand. ‘Obligated. Food equals sex and I don’t want to feel like I have to have sex with a guy because he’s paid for dinner. It’s easier if I pay.’

  ‘Tell me you don’t pay for their food too?’ Myf asked, her eyes dark with concern.

  Amy frowned at her reflection in the mirror, winding pale lengths of hair around her curling iron. ‘Yeah. Why wouldn’t I?’ She reached for the hairspray. ‘I mean, it just feels better that way. I don’t have to worry about anything then.’

  ‘Would you feel guilty or beholden if I took you out to dinner?’ Myf asked gently.

  ‘No, that’s different.’ Amy searched for some bobby pins in her work trolley.

  ‘How?’

  ‘I don’t know, it’s just different. You don’t expect anything. You’re my friend.’

  ‘I bet you let Scott pay for your dinner,’ Myf persisted. She and Scott were good friends and had held a number of exhibitions of their respective work together. Both women knew full well Scott would be mortally offended if any woman he’d asked out tried to pay for his meal.

  ‘He’s different,’ Amy insisted. ‘Can you see my bobby pins?’

  ‘Different? Like not a man?’ Myf asked, spluttering on her coffee in a burst of incredulous laughter. ‘Have you looked at Scott any time recently? They’re just here.’

  ‘Thanks. Scott’s not the same.’

  ‘I’ll make sure I tell him that next time I see him,’ Myf said. ‘I’ll make sure I’ve got a camera with me to catch his expression while I’m at it.’

  Amy opened her mouth to reply then thought better of it. Instead she popped a few pins in her mouth and began securing her hair back from her face.

  ‘Amy?’

  ‘Hmm? Look, I want to drop the topic, okay?’

  ‘It’s officially dropped. Does your gentleman drive something that looks like silver sex on wheels?’

  ‘Yeah. It’s an Aston Martin I think.’ Bobby pins sprayed everywhere when she realised what Myf was saying. ‘Oh bugger. Is he here?’

  ‘If he’s a sexy, built guy in a suit, I’d say yes.’

  Amy followed Myf’s gaze to Ben, who was prowling around his car to approach the door. He was early! ‘Bugger! Can you stall him? I really have to pee and I haven’t fixed my make-up yet. Keep him busy for a second or two, please?’ She frantically scooped up her make-up bag and sprinted as fast as she could to the bathroom at the back of the salon.

  ‘Sure,’ Myf said in a laughter-filled voice as the bathroom door slammed.

  Ben pulled up outside Babyface, experiencing an unfamiliar sense of anticipation. Checking through the barbershop window and seeing it was empty, he pushed open the door of the salon next door.

  The first thing that struck him was the scent he’d noticed on his first visit. It was stronger this side. A combination of chocolate cake and vanilla, mixed with the various faintly floral, ammonia and acetone smells characteristic of the female beauty industry. The second thing he noticed was the décor, which managed to be blatantly contrived, yet comfortable at the same time.

  The pale pink walls contrasted with the white enamel skirting boards, shelves and window frames. The wall closest to him featured a giant poster promoting the movie Gentlemen Prefer Blondes, with Marilyn Monroe and Jane Russell displaying maximum leg; the opposite wall held three ornate gilt mirrors arranged a metre or so apart. Each mirror had a plush rose-pink leather chair facing it. The back of the room was completely sectioned off with a white screen featuring large polka dots.

  The overall effect should have been cloying but it wasn’t; it conveyed the same level of welcome and comfort as the barber shop. In fact, the only thing that wasn’t comforting was the distinct absence of the proprietor. Instead, he was greeted by a whippet-thin redhead wearing the ugliest green dress Ben had ever seen. She was curled up in one of the chairs, looking him up and down with a bemused smile.

  ‘Anyone home?’ He clasped his hands behind his back and wandered down to the back of the shop to inspect the area behind the screen, which contained a small room, ostensibly for those beauty treatments not fit for company, a small kitchen and another door, which was currently closed.

  ‘I am. Amy will be back in a few seconds,’ the redhead announced in a low, surprisingly strong voice. She had a more clipped, refined Australian accent than Amy’s. It spoke of money, and lots of it, somewhere in the family tree. ‘I’m Myf.’

  ‘Myf?’ Ben raised a brow.

  ‘Short for Myfanwy. Before you ask, Mum’s Welsh. I’m Amy’s friend. You’re Ben, right?’ Her gaze was steady and Ben got the distinct impression his every movement was being thoroughly judged. Interesting.

  ‘The man himself. Do you work here?’ Ben examined a row of nail polishes mounted on a narrow white shelf set above a white spindle-legged table with two chairs either side. He wondered why any woman would want pea-soup-green nails.

  ‘Only as backup. Normally I’m an artist and yoga teacher, but both are too much fun to call jobs.’ Myf gave him such a warm smile that Ben found himself wandering over and parking himself in the chair next to hers.

  ‘An artist? Are we talking empty white rooms with used underwear scattered around, great steaming piles of excrement turned into sculpture, or the mo
re palatable stuff you hang on walls?’ He propped an elbow on the arm of his chair and spun it around to face her.

  Myf laughed. It was a rich, welcome sound. ‘I do the wall stuff. I haven’t advanced to any installation work yet.’

  ‘Perish the thought.’ Ben feigned a shudder.

  ‘Ben?’ Amy’s voice was faintly muffled, coming from behind the mystery door at the back of the salon.

  ‘At your service.’

  ‘Just give me a few seconds.’ There was the sound of something heavy thumping a wall and a muffled ‘Oomph.’

  ‘You alright, love?’ Myf called out.

  ‘I’m okay. Just give me a sec. I’m sorry, Ben. I’m running a bit late.’

  ‘No problem at all. I’ll just entertain myself out here with Myf and some of your quality educational reading material.’ Ben winked at Myf before perusing a nearby shelf and selecting a magazine that advertised Sex Tips to Send Your Man Wild.

  ‘Quality?’ Myf let out a low chuckle.

  ‘Of course,’ Ben murmured. He flicked past countless outlandish advertisements for shoes, perfume and, if he wasn’t mistaken, anorexia, until he found what was he was looking for.

  ‘For example,’ he said loud enough for Amy to hear. ‘Did you know, and I have to tell you I didn’t, that men like having toothpaste rubbed on their privates? Now this is definitely news to me. According to this article—’ His words were stopped mid-sentence by Myf’s shocked laughter and Amy’s shriek from the back of the salon.

  ‘What!’

  ‘Don’t shoot the messenger. I’m just reading out loud.’

  ‘Where are you taking her to dinner?’ Myf asked in a low voice, leaning towards him, her eyes sparkling.

  ‘I was thinking Christie’s on the Beach in Cottesloe,’ he whispered back. ‘Good choice?’ He raised his brows before saying much louder, ‘Oh, no, no. I can’t say I agree with this. It sounds horrifically painful.’

  ‘What? Excuse me?’ There was another thump. ‘Oh damn.’

  ‘Perfect choice.’ Laughter twinkled in Myf’s eyes. ‘She’ll love it. You’re paying.’