Tell Me No Lies

By Maxine-Rae Brown

The book itself; Tell me no lies, is about a middle aged recently
divorced woman struggling to keep her sanity in a world she is naive
to and blunders along bumping into one disaster after another. She
believes herself to be independent and a strong woman but finds
herself to be quite vulnerable and fragile suddenly entering a world
of devious corrupt behaviour which envelopes her in fear and
almost giving up, not knowing who to trust and then struggling
financially to keep her head above water. Then events take a
different turn once again. This book is amusing, sometimes sad
but always positive.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris UK
• Release date: Feb 24, 2011
• ISBN: 9781456865733

Maxine-Rae Brown

Maxine-Rae was born in 1960 in Germany and growing up she travelled around Europe with her parents. Her father was a warrant officer in the army so she was well travelled by the time she settled in England. She worked as a hairdresser for thirty-five years and is currently working on a book called Confessions of a hairdresser.

Book preview

Copyright © 2011 by Maxine-Rae Brown.

Library of Congress Control Number:   2011901935

ISBN: Hardcover    978-1-4568-6572-6

ISBN: Softcover      978-1-4568-6571-9

ISBN: Ebook          978-1-4568-6573-3

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

Xlibris Corporation

0-800-644-6988

www.xlibrispublishing.co.uk

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CONTENTS

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-one

Chapter Twenty-two

Chapter Twenty-three

Chapter Twenty-four

Chapter Twenty-five

Chapter Twenty-six

Chapter Twenty-seven

Chapter Twenty-eight

Chapter Twenty-nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-one

Chapter Thirty-two

Chapter Thirty-three

Chapter Thirty-four

Chapter Thirty-five

Chapter Thirty-six

Chapter Thirty-seven

Chapter Thirty-eight

Chapter Thirty-nine

Chapter Forty

Dedication

My book will be dedicated to my mum and dad for the enormous love and continued support that they gave me in a nurturing upbringing.

To my husband for his faith in me, his love and devotion to me; he is my rock, my love; he gives me strength and fills my life with love and laughter.

To my daughter, she is an energy, so lively and so beautiful that she fills my heart with hope and pride for a wonderful future. I hope that I have inspired her to live a ‘good’ life.

To my new son, he has given me an insight into a new world for which I am so happy to be a part of. I hope that I can inspire him and teach him how to have faith in people and believe in himself because he has a strength of character that is commendable in any human being but especially in one so young.

To my friends, my hunnies, they know who they are; we’ve laughed, we’ve cried, and we have shared so many wonderful memories.

To my family, for their support and continued love and belief in me, thank you.

Thank you to you all for the patience and support, while I tapped away continuously in a world of my own. I love you all, and without all of you in my life, I would be nothing.

Chapter One

The alarm woke me up this morning far earlier than either my mind or my body was quite ready for. Simply focusing was the first problem, then that familiar pain merged around the kidney region. The pain that told me it must be Monday; tut-tut, the pain that reminded me that I had overindulged in the red wine again. Oh no! Work! My mind was starting to function now, the cog wheels were turning slowly, and the body was starting to respond. I had to get to work. A feeling of dread waved over me; I never thought I would ever feel this way about my work, but recent events had just about not only ruined my faith in human nature but also questioned my sanity.

I struggled out of bed and had the revitalising shower that was bound to stimulate me, or at least that’s what it said on the bottle: tea tree oil, a product of the nineties, or perhaps a product for overworked, too-busy individuals, who so desperately wanted to be healed but did not have the time.

Feeling as though my trusty oils had done the trick and now well and truly awake, I prepared myself for the overenthusiastic greeting that I was sure to get from my two trusty and truly gorgeous boxers. I say gorgeous; one was so old she could almost be entered into The Guinness Book of Records; she had a strange putrefying smell about her, and other dogs approached her with caution. They sort of tiptoed towards her very apprehensively, then they sniffed her cautiously as though something was going to jump out at them. There was an air of disbelief about their approach, and then equally cautiously and without turning their backs on poor Tess, they tiptoed backwards away from her. The approaching dogs had no sensitivity at all, and poor Tess had to witness them blowing out their noses, making sneezing noises as they tried to dispel the offending smell almost as though it hurt their sensitive nostrils. It was a sure-fire way of knowing that this once-superior dog and the matriarch of all the dogs on the field, now shunned and snubbed because of the seemingly toxic fumes emitting from her once-beautiful and once-powerful body, was closer to doggy heaven than I cared to admit. She eventually refused to go past the gate of the house. I was sure she could no longer subject herself to the bullying of her fellow doggy friends.

Then there was Britney. We bought her to keep Tessa going, and for a while, she did seem to give the old girl a new lease of life. Britney was the vivacious dog that Tess once was. She had abounding energy and was so full of fun in a sort of innocent, almost retarded way. The main problem was she was so confused about the whole dog thing; she just didn’t seem to realise that she was one! She was bigger than the average boxer and oafs around in an ungainly and clumsy fashion. Sometimes the other dogs would run out of the way, not because they were afraid of her, but because she charged them with such force, and most of them knew from previous experience that they were about to be rammed with what I can only imagine must compare to a bulldozer crushing one’s innards with full force. Most of the local dogs and their owners knew that if Britney was lolloping towards them, she would most probably get overexcited and then lose all sense of direction and coordination, and this usually resulted in a collision of limbs. I had become quite clever at escaping her ungainly escapades, but this was only the result of previous painful collisions, and I had the bruises to prove it.

I had often wondered if it would be wise to change our walking venues, but on reflection, it was probably safer to stay where we were because at least on this field, at the same time every day, it was usually the same dogs and owners who knew her clumsiness, and more importantly, they knew how to get out of the way.

As predicted, and so welcome, the greetings started way before I even approached the utility door, and I didn’t have to see them both to know that they were pushing each other out of the way to be sure to get to me first. Tessa lost patience and tried to bully Britney out of the way. I could hear from the growls that she was telling the younger dog off. Britney still gave in to Tess; the respect levels within the house were greater than those outside on the field.

Their noises got louder as I opened the door, and they could not disguise their glee and excitement at seeing me—made all the more noisy by my own silly noises and equally loud expressions of delight. These silly but very necessary noises were private play and could not be repeated to any unsuspecting onlooker; this of course was only more proof of my pending insanity. My insanity, not the dogs’—a quick check of the floor and a proud relief that, as yet, Tessa had kept her dignity and there were no incontinence slip-ups. Once that started, she would, unfortunately, have to meet her Maker a tad sooner than Mother Nature had planned for her. She looked up at me with her big, innocent, and trusting eyes, and I felt a wretch for even thinking such thoughts.

Having got the usual chores out of the way, there was the real task—to get my daughter out of bed. Now Olivier was not a morning person, hence my rather genius investment in an electric bed. It was simple. I plonked a healthy breakfast on a tray, then plonked the tray on Olivier’s lap, and then pressed the remote control that would sit her into an upright position and therefore speed up the teenage waking-up process. This is a tried, tested, and highly recommended investment for any parent of teenagers!

Finally we were on the school and work run, respectively. One major problem—my front tyre was flat—well, it was Monday. Then as if things couldn’t get any worse, Zara rang me to tell me that my salon had been burgled. I couldn’t change the tyre for risk of ruining my newly manicured nails; besides I wouldn’t know how to change it, and my huge Marcus was far too heavy, Marcus being my car, a Range Rover. The name suited him as he is big, black, very strong, very reliable, and very handsome. These are in fact all the qualities I look for in a man but don’t necessarily expect to find. There was only one logical thing to do as I could not drive him to the garage; I put the foamy stuff in the tyre. I am a genius. It at least got me to the garage.

Colin was a very modern man; he didn’t make lurid suggestions of a sexual nature in relation to the car. (I have experienced this before in certain other garages.) I rather think that from the look on his face he has been told it’s not politically correct, but the dead giveaway is the obligatory scratch to the groin area. I don’t quite get it. Do men do this to tame the precious creature or to check if it’s still there? If the latter is the case, then most men must live in fear of it disappearing. Ah ha, I’ve got it; Colin simply did this to stimulate his brain, because he has an answer for me, wait, and another scratch to stimulate the beast and a ‘tut-tut’ and a sharp suck of air.

‘You shouldn’t have done that. We’re not allowed to take that stuff out, health and safety you know.’

Not realising that I had put some poisonous substances in my tyres I simply retorted, ‘Marcus told me to do that.’ I heard Ollie sniggering and gave her a direct look that she would understand. She was quiet.

‘Well, you leave it with me then, and I will get it sorted for you.’ Colin was suddenly making sense to me.

I explained to Ollie the genius of being a woman. ‘Amazing! It was a problem when he thought that I had done the handy work, but as soon as he thought his fellow man had done the job, it was suddenly OK. Did you notice how stimulated his brain seemed to be? When he scratched his vital parts, there was an immediate answer.’

Ollie was hysterical. ‘Mum, you have a wicked sense of humour.’

‘Well, don’t let me put you off the male species. They are useful, and that clever peeing device they have will be of interest to you one day in the far distant future . . . I hope anyway. Well, what do I care how he finds his wisdom? The tyre’s getting changed, and that’s all that matters right now. Poor Zara’s in a right state because the salon’s been broken into, so I will get you to school and see what delights the rest of the day has to offer.’

Ollie looked shocked, but I reassured her that I could deal with it and there was nothing to worry about. We were soon on our way. I dropped Ollie off at school, not before scribbling a note to her teacher, explaining why she was a little late. She gave me an enormous hug and told me she loved me. I could see her fellow classmates looking out of the window, and it gave me a warm glow to think how popular she was at school.

Her hug was not quite enough to take away the anxiety as I approached work; what would I face there? I was feeling positively sick as I approached the salon; I had been burgled three times before, and it doesn’t get any less painful. Apart from the loss of money, there was the invasion of privacy and the dammed inconvenience sorting the insurances out. The business was on its knees when I bought it, and I worked six days a week and long hours to get it up and running again. Although it had been really hard work, it had also been very rewarding too, as I have some wonderful clients, most of whom have become friends over the years. Most of my clients have been very loyal to me and we have, over the years, shared highs and lows together. I do enjoy the company of other women and often the conversation is different without men around. I am not a man hater though, far from it, I do enjoy making both men and women feel better about themselves. It does work both ways too, as very often, my clients do brighten up my day too.

Here I was reminding myself why I was running a business as I approached the problem. As predicted, Zara was in a terrible state, not least because she had almost expected the burglar to still be in the salon, and most of all because she locked up on Saturday night and opened up on Monday morning. She should have been my first suspect, it hadn’t actually occurred to me, but it obviously had occurred to her.

This had to be the work of a previous employee, who obviously still had a key to the property. I could only think of one person strange enough and vindictive enough to do that . . .

A while ago, I had spent a lot of money on the conversion of two then-wasted storerooms and made them into one useful, if compact, room. Of course, it goes without saying that I didn’t do the work myself, as much as I would love to knock walls down (I imagine it would be very therapeutic), it’s far too messy for me. Being thrilled and very excited with the results of my new little venture, I set out to find the right candidate for the job. I did originally want to be a beauty therapist myself, but at the time of my training, one had to be a mature and ever so sophisticated-nineteen year-old before even applying. Meanwhile, I did hairdressing to fill in the gap years. My father then announced that he had spent enough on my education and was not prepared to fork out any more money on my training. I wasn’t too disappointed as I had already discovered that I was far too squeamish to massage someone’s acne-covered back. What would be even worse for me would be to have to wax a neglected bikini line that has taken on the form of a simulated forest. Soon I realised that one had to be a bit of a sadist to be a beauty therapist. I decided I was not vindictive enough for the job. Waxing a bikini line demands certain sadism, in my opinion. Meanwhile, I had discovered that I had a natural flair for hairdressing, and on that flair, I set out to pursue my said career.

My father was enormously disappointed. Having spent so much money on my convent boarding school education, he had expected me to use my languages and pursue a career in Switzerland as a secretary. I suspected that having me locked up in the said convent for years was just a ploy to keep me away rather than enhance my future, but my mother reassured me that it was simply for my own good and that it pained them more than me to send me so far away. I was never convinced. Having done everything in my power at school to be as bad as I could to get expelled and fail miserably, I even went to the grand effort of selling all that I owned—uniform etc.—so that they couldn’t send me back. When I announced my clever plans to my parents (usually on Kings Cross station when they picked me up at the beginning of holidays), they simply told me that I would have to buy it back because they’d paid upfront for the following term. I was gutted and helpless against parental power.

Meanwhile, I had made the most of my chosen career and was enormously proud of my talents, a tad wasted perhaps in this little village, but enjoyable nonetheless.

After two weeks, the work was finished on my somewhat dinky little room, and I advertised for a suitably qualified individual to fulfil the part. One of these rather important criteria, apart from her qualifications, meant that the candidate had to be small!

Only two people applied for the job; one was pregnant and that was no good to me. The other candidate was a rather strange little creature, very timid, but foremost, she was very petite.

When I interviewed the strange little creature, she was very nervous, but I put that down to interview nerves. All her qualifications seemed to fit, and what’s more, she could start right away. How perfect! I must admit, I did have reservations, but all the paperwork she had produced said that she could do the job, so how bad could it be?

We had set a date for a trade test, and of course, I was to be her victim, so I dutifully booked myself out of the salon and let her administer a facial, a pedicure, a manicure, and a half-leg wax. It was a very enjoyable afternoon for me, and she fitted the criteria. So what more could be done? Actually, precisely nothing, because the law states that the employer is not allowed to ask intrusive or invasive questions. Questions that in my opinion should be allowed, like, ‘Have you suffered any mental illness? Do you have a contagious disease?’ These, in my opinion (which I’m aware counts for nothing) are all perfectly logical questions, which, if answered honestly, would cut out any further stress and expense with future court cases. In short, the employer has no rights because the employee is truly protected by the ‘PC’ law. It goes without saying that the employee would hardly disclose any dark secrets, and so the game begins . . .

The strange creature started on the Tuesday, Monday being her day off. I took her shopping to make sure we had all we needed, and already she was getting on my nerves. Just how long does it take to choose nail polishes? So I encouraged her a little. ‘Just select a few colours, make sure there is a good selection of reds, (for me of course),’ and I urged her to get a move on, explaining that not really knowing if she was trying to impress me or just being trying.

Finally, I got her back to the salon, and after a few days, the little creature was growing on me, and the clients seemed to like her too as I encouraged them to enter her den to be pampered and spoilt by her gentle touches.

Well, my first instincts should never have been ignored, and she turned out to be a whole lot of trouble, although I suspected really that she would not have the courage to break into my salon. I would put those thoughts on the back burner of my mind.

Chapter Two

Life seemed to continue pretty much as normal; I say normal, but my life for some bizarre reason does not seem to be as ‘normal’ as anyone else’s that I know. My clients ask, with eager anticipation, what have I got up to over the weekend, and naturally I edit most, but even so, my day-to-day events do seem to be more eventful than most of theirs. It’s not that I have boring clients. Actually most are pretty fabulous; somehow things just seem to happen to me.

It is a common thing for hairdressers to be open and trusting. Indeed, if there is an event around town, it’s usually hairdressers and taxi drivers that get the free invitations. Why? Because we are ambassadors of our towns, in short, we talk. I suppose we have the rather esteemed and not-to-be-knocked reputation for being gossips. There, I’ve said it, and I’m not ashamed. This does not completely include me as half the time I can’t hear the intimate details of sordid affairs. Then usually in my case, I hear so many stories that I tend to forget most, or worse, jumble them up into one fairly amazing story, and then can’t repeat it as one client may guess who I’m talking about or, indeed, a part of ‘said amazing story’ might actually be hers.

If those of you salon squealers are cringing in your seats, wondering what horrors you’ve told your hairdresser, rest assured that usually on a busy day most of the finer details are forgotten. While, of course, major scandals are filled to be repeated at more appropriate times and perhaps with a bigger audience.

I do seem to get a lot wrong though. One of my most loyal and longest lasting clients, Iris, had been into the tiny den to have a luxurious treatment by our tiny little friend, and while I thought the time was being passed giving Iris extra treatments, Iris was, in actual fact, being subjected to the lectures of the religion that the strange petite and her husband shared. It seemed that Iris had been used as a confidante rather than a more accountable bill. La petite invited Iris to a meeting of the secret brethren of some obscure order. (When recounting the saga, Iris couldn’t remember the name of the religion. I think that she was in shock.) La petite wanted Iris to watch her perform some show or other. This amazed me because I thought that she was far too shy to perform in front of anyone.

Iris was now terribly late for her appointment with me, and the juniors were running around like maniacs, but ever the professionals, and still smiling, making it look as though it was not a problem, and yet my column was in a serious mess for clients booked in after Iris.

Later, I gently mentioned these overstretched appointments in la petite’s den, explaining that people had to know what times they were allotted as they may have plans. The reaction I got from la petite was worthy of any theatre production. ‘Oh, Mel, I had devastating news this morning.’ She looked as though she were going to cry, and I thought from the look on her face that someone had surely died. I gave her my most sympathetic look and waited for the devastating news; she could see that she had my full attention, so she continued, ‘I only weigh six stone.’

I looked her up and down in utter disbelief. What on earth she expected from me I wasn’t sure of. ‘Well, surely that’s obvious to you when you look in the mirror?’ This was all I could say, then the lunchtimes flashed through my mind, the lavish feasts her husband sent her to work with, she insisted on sharing them with us, and the long visits to the toilet after every meal. And now the shock at her own petite size. Could it be that she was an anorexic?

I wondered if her husband was aware and if he was trying to feed her up. It all made sense now: the nervous energy, the awful dry mouth she seemed to have (you know when that white foamy stuff appears in the corners of the mouth). I see that and often wonder why people don’t know that that is there. Then panic comes over me as I wonder if I ever display such a dry mouth. Surely not me as I regularly do sneaky checks on my face in the mirror while doing clients’ hair.

I tried to help and advise the girl, but it was beyond my expertise and the actual word ‘anorexic’ was politely never mentioned. Then, much to my relief, one morning, the petite and her Sri Lankan husband came and emptied the salon of all that was hers. Somehow I knew that wasn’t the end of it, and sure enough, the next morning, far too early, the strange creature rang me up to tell me what she thought of me. I was furious and reminded her that rather than increasing trade she had scared most of my clients away and had depleted the said trade.

Many months later, I heard she had started work but been sacked from a salon in Hull city centre and that the lying little cow had told them that she had owned my salon and that my Rodger had made a pass at her. I put them straight, and like me, they had heard her chanting that she was a witch while in her room. I suppose, on hindsight, I should have sacked her there and then, but I was afraid of a tribunal. After all, would I have been seen as prejudiced for not accepting that my employee was a witch? Well, who knows? The law is complicated. Or worse, was she a witch? And if that were the case, would she have cursed me? A lesson learnt: don’t employ skinny people who prepare loads of food and then give it away; they have hidden agendas!

What a way to start the day, bright red, a bit shaky, angry, and frustrated! The police made all the muffled noises and gave me a crime number, but in this burglary it was hard to see why they had gone to all the trouble. So it seemed more malicious than purposeful. However, I did make the decision not to tell the police about my suspicions, thinking really that the odd little creature would not have the nerve to actually break in.

Or had I underestimated the strange little creature and was she and her husband, in fact, capable of sneaking in the dead of night? Had they worn black, skintight clothes and balaclavas? Maybe they had some sort of sexual kick out of it? Maybe that was just the way my mind worked.

We tidied up the salon, and it was the main talking point of the day, possibly the week. When the rest of the girls came in, we explained what had happened, and funnily enough, I wasn’t the first to suspect the petite witch. We spent the day imitating some of the things she used to do. Her behaviour was sometimes frantic, and as she had systematically lost most of the potential clients, she would try to make herself look busy by tidying the salon and sweeping up. ‘I don’t know where all this hair comes from,’ she would complain while she swept in a manic and frantic way. We all found this hilarious and would often, rather cruelly, blow the hair around with the dryer, pretending to do it by accident. The memories of this strange period in the salon made us giggle all day, and it was soon hard to imagine there had been a burglary that morning. Laughter has always been my therapy, and the girls are my tonic.

I got no help from my insurance company because it was an inside job, and the only way forward was to get a warrant from the police to search every house of all my employees, both past and present. Apparently, the employees could refuse entrance, as I would do myself if I was in that position, and after all, how could I display such distrust? I would have to cut my losses and accept the intrusion. I did, however, organise to have my locks changed.

For a long while there were suspicions in my mind, about Zara, the petite and also the woman upstairs in the flat above. Her brother was a drunk, and his girlfriend, it turned out, was a prostitute, and she had broken into his flat, stealing a huge bottle of change he had. I was worried then that he may have the key to get into my salon. It did feel awful, not knowing who the perpetrator was and how to prevent it in the future.

It had been a crazy week: a pattern that did seem to repeat itself way too often. It was definitely about time we all had a night out together. We all organised to meet in the pub opposite the salon just for tea and a few drinks. Ollie joined us. She got on so well with the girls, after all, they were around her age group, and that made me old enough to be their mothers.

Ollie always had a change of clothes in the car, and she could soon transform herself from a schoolgirl to an amazing teenage goddess. My little beauty room had now become a staff room, fully equipped with a mirror and all the delights of a dressing room fit, for any starlet. Certainly, Ollie would never miss the opportunity of coming out with us, and indeed, I couldn’t really stop her as she had been sneaking out illegally with her friends for ages behind my back. I suppose I should have known better because I had done it when I was younger. ‘Staying at my friend’s tonight, Mum, OK?’ I think Ollie had perfected the art better than I ever did because I always got caught out.

She burst out of the room and swanked past me, tossing her long, blonde mane of hair. ‘How do I look, Mum?’

‘You look gorgeous, darling.’ And she truly is. The pride overwhelmed me sometimes when I looked at her. She is lovely to look at and lovely to be with. At five foot ten, with long, blonde hair, she turns heads wherever she goes. Her skin is a beautiful olive shade, and her dark, big, brown, eyes melted both male and female alike. Her bone structure is so well defined. She has a straight nose and lovely thick lips with a perfect cupids bow; her lips and nose were from her dad, but the rest of her wonderful genes were most defiantly from my side. I always said that she got the best of both of us. Sometimes, her beauty overwhelmed me, and when I looked at her, she definitely was the light of my life. She uplifts my spirits and is my tonic.

Actually, she’s not a blonde at all but a natural redhead; of course, she hates it. My mother-in-law (God rest her soul), used to call Olivier’s hair, Titian. Certainly Ollie was the luckiest of her cousins, as the two were real bright carrot redheads, and they were the real pale-skinned type with loads of freckles and a genuine fear of the sun for fear one glimpse would burn them. My mother-in-law had Irish blood in her veins, and she was blessed with very black hair and blue eyes; she had been quite a beauty in her younger days. She said that the Irish had been raped and pillaged by the Saxons and the Vikings in days gone by and this is what accounted for the Irish looking so foreign. Indeed, in Spain or Italy, she had frequently passed as a local woman. Ollie was so lucky to have the olive skin of her ancestors rather than that of her paler, although no less significant or beautiful, cousins. Yes, she was definitely the light of my life.

We made quite an entrance when we walked into the pub; a lot of heads turned to look, and we all scoured the room but pretended not to notice too much, unless it suited us to do so. I often felt a bit like a mother hen on occasions like this, the great protector. I couldn’t drink because I was driving, so it was more for the girls’ benefit, as a team-building mission rather than for me.

I noticed a regular staring across. I figured he must be looking at me as he was far too old for any of the girls to be interested in him. Actually, he was too old for me to be interested; I do rather like younger men. The trouble with men my age or older is that they are looking for wife material: a good cook and a housemaid, sometimes even a nanny for their children. Having been through a nasty and bitter divorce, I was not looking for a relationship.

Still, no harm in playing, if only to practise my flirting skills. So I tilted my head and smiled my sweetest smile. There was a roar of laughter and applause from the girls. ‘She’s off again.’ The girls had spotted my manoeuvre. Indeed, it was Tasha who had originally pointed it out to me, as before that I had been blissfully unaware that I did it.

‘Who are you playing with?’ Tracy asked me.

‘Well, no one now, thanks to you lot. You’ve spoilt my fun,’ I answered, pretending to sulk. I dare not look back at the guy, just in case he had sussed me out. I wasn’t interested. He wasn’t my type. I was just practising my skills. I would act vacant and play some other time; after all, he was always in when we were in. That was a bad sign. He may have a drinking problem, oops he may have noticed me and think that I had a problem.

I was really in the mood for going out now, so we arranged to meet at my house in an hour. We usually got ready at mine; it made it much more fun. Of course, everyone had made sure that their hair was already done in the salon, so it was a quick turnaround. On the way home, Ollie and I organised our time like a military operation. ‘You make the pasta while I walk the dogs, poor things have been locked up all day,’ I instructed her.

‘I can’t eat pasta, Mum, not to go out drinking,’ Ollie informed me. I had noticed that food was becoming a problem; she was becoming more conscious of her weight like any teenager would. I suppose it didn’t help that I was overweight, a legacy of an unhappy marriage. Of course, I do want to lose it, but it’s just not easy with such a hectic lifestyle.

When I was younger, pre-Ollie, I used to starve myself if I wanted to lose weight and limit the amount of calories that I took. I took diuretics and filled cups of soups with bran to fill me up. I had terrible eating habits. I am older and wiser now, but the dreadful eating habits of my younger days have taken their toll on my body. I had deliberately taught Ollie all I knew about nutrition and food, so that, hopefully, she wouldn’t make the same mistakes as I had made. We decided to have a sandwich each, so Ollie was to prepare them while I would walk the dogs. We arrived home and garaged the car. Something wasn’t right; my heart started pounding so hard, and I suddenly felt really shaky . . . The dogs were out; someone was in my house.

I told Ollie to stay in the car while I investigated the problem. It was stupid really to have left her, but if there was danger, I certainly didn’t want her involved. The truth is known: She had a better right hook than me. I am fiercely protective of me and mine. I love my house so much, and I am so proud of it. The thought that somebody had got in it was terrifying.

As I approached the kitchen, I looked in to see if I could see anyone. The dogs were under my feet, begging me to pay them some attention. I checked them over to make sure they were all right. They both looked at me with their big, ever-loving, ever-trusting eyes. That’s the thing about dogs, no matter what happens, no matter how long you leave them, they will always love you and stay faithful. Right now if I could have one wish, it would be that they could talk to me. I wouldn’t want that wish to last forever because I think that they would be a bloody nuisance if they could moan at me. Right now, I would have to do this without their help.

I opened the back door which opens into the utility room; damn I forgot about the alarm; it sort of sings a little tune when the door is opened for whatever purpose, I’m not entirely sure. Only in this case, the only purpose of the alarm was to alert the intruder that I was entering my home. I was scared, my heart was pounding, and I was actually shaking. My mouth was dry, and I was suddenly very desperate for a wee. Why does that happen? Why do our bodies let us down in our hour of need?

I pushed the door open, then let out a scream. I jumped back and felt a warm feeling running down my leg . . . ‘pelvic floor, girl, pelvic floor’, but it was too late. Thank God I had a skirt on, and the intruder could not see, apart from the little puddle.

The intruder was Neil. All fear went out of the door, and suddenly I was furious. ‘What the hell are you doing in my home, and how did you get my key?’ I demanded to know. The anger must have shocked him, because, for a big man, he did look very scared. My mind was reeling. ‘What was he up to, and had he done this before . . .’

‘I . . . I . . .’ He stumbled over his words. He was quite clearly surprised to see me home at this time, but what was he planning? He certainly looked very guilty. I felt irritated and impatient now. ‘Well?’ I demanded to know. I could feel myself shaking and my heart was pounding, but this time with rage.

‘I . . . er . . . I was letting your dogs out. That’s all right, isn’t it?’ He looked so nervous, like a frightened little schoolboy who had been caught out. Then, before I could answer, I realised that Ollie was behind me; I instantly melted and thought it best to play down the situation. I didn’t want to alarm her, and after all, Neil had always been a great support to both of us. I could see his expression change as he said hello to Ollie; he knew I wouldn’t make a scene in front of her. I urged Ollie to go and get ready while I chattered to Neil, she was happy to get past us I think, sensing that there was an atmosphere.

I tried to work out how this had happened. He had obviously stolen a key. Oh Lord, my poor mother! I had blamed her for the missing keys. Mum had insisted that she hadn’t got them, and I had thought that she was losing the plot, because naturally, I knew that I hadn’t lost them! Suddenly, all sorts of things were flying through my mind: All those items in strange places, sometimes even food would go missing and Ollie and I both knew that we hadn’t had it. Suddenly I remembered the underwear of mine that I couldn’t find . . . Oh hell! Was he responsible for that? We had often been confused, and we used to joke that we had a poltergeist and all the while Neil had our ‘misplaced’ bunch of keys. I had been half-heartedly fussing the dogs as a sort of comfort zone to release some pressure from the obvious tension in the room. Now I looked up at Neil and asked in an angry whisper, ‘Now please tell me what you are doing with my keys, and in our home?’ Before he could answer, I blasted more at him. ‘This is my house. It’s private, and you have no right to come and go as you please. I’ve had a really busy and a really crap day at work, and I don’t expect this when I come home.’

I could tell that my voice had got higher and higher while I spoke, and he sensed how upset I was. ‘I was just trying to make it nice for you, Mel, for you coming home. What’s happened at work? Please tell me. Let me help you.’ He put out his hand and expected me to take his; this only refuelled my anger. He continued, ‘I’ve done loads for you. Didn’t you notice that I’ve cut your grass? I’ve tidied up your garage. I’ve . . .’

I put my hand up to stop him. ‘How dare you use all that as an excuse to help yourself into my home! I haven’t asked you to do anything for me. I am quite capable, you know. I have lived on my own before. In fact, I am embarrassed that you do all these things for me. What must my neighbours think, and Claire, what does she say? Does she even know that you are here? I’m sure she would not be comfortable with this. I wouldn’t, if the roles were reversed.’

His expression completely changed now, and he looked so cross. I could tell this was going to get loud, so I pushed past him into the kitchen. He grabbed my arm with a real force, then he pulled me towards him; he was trying to kiss me. He was shaking. I tried to pull away, but he was too strong. ‘Mel, I love you. I have always loved you, and I will do anything for you. I will treat you right, not like that bastard you married. You and me, we can be together now.’

Jesus, I wasn’t expecting that. He was holding me really tight now, and I could feel him shaking; he was afraid of my reaction.

I was afraid to hear about these things, and I actually know a girl who was stabbed to death by her jilted lover. I decided to pacify him. ‘Don’t worry. It will be all right. We will talk another day. I’m sorry I just can’t deal with this right now. You are scaring me, and I don’t know how to deal with this. You and Claire are my best friends. This isn’t right. I think that you are low, that’s all. The grass is always greener on the other side, but we all know that it does not necessary mean it’s true, don’t we?’

He seemed to calm down a bit, and I rubbed his arm reassuringly, rather like a puppy dog, only right here and now, a very scary, puppy dog.

I was very nervous, unsure, my earlier high all forgotten as I tried to cope with this current crisis. He was putting his shoes on and looking as though he believed it was a good idea that he should go. He smiled up at me, and there was my old pal again. He had a dark side, a scary side, but he had always been a really good friend. ‘Oh god, what would Claire think?’ She had already been through one of his affairs and stuck by him. I didn’t understand why, but I had always respected her dignity throughout it all. What were people going to think of me? I pulled myself together. How could they think any thing wrong of me? I hadn’t done anything wrong. We were friends, but we had never been intimate.

He pretended to give me a playful punch; he was trying to look calm, but his fists were clenched, and he looked tense. ‘I will go now,’ he said. He was still shaking. He looked scared, or was he upset? It was hard to tell. Perhaps it was because of what he had told me, but he had told me loads of stuff in the past. Why would he be so nervous or scared now? I wanted him to leave. I had wasted enough time on this, and it was never going to go anywhere. So I patted him again and said, ‘Listen, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be rude, but I really must be going now. I’ve promised to go out with the girls, and you must get back to your wife.’

He didn’t look happy. He just stared at me as though he was telling me something telepathically; it seemed that minutes passed, but it was probably only seconds, then he made a move to go. ‘I will call you tomorrow. Have a nice time, and be good. Bye.’ He turned, and then he dropped his bombshell. ‘I don’t care about Claire. Our marriage was over a long time ago. She’s a frigid bitch. We haven’t had sex in years. I hate her. She hates me and so do her parents. It’s you that I want. You and I could be really good together. I will look after you, and we could get fit, and we will turn heads when we walk into a pub. Everyone will be jealous of me.’

Hang on! Wasn’t I gorgeous as I was? Now he wanted me, and I was to get fit. Has my weight come into the equation again? Well, it certainly wasn’t the most romantic proposal that I had had, and more frighteningly, it was clear he wasn’t going to leave any time soon. How the hell had I got into this situation? Friends had warned me that Neil had a crush on me, but I had poohoo’d the very thought. Why hadn’t I seen this coming? Neil had always been around. We were all friends. He had always been the man that Rodger wasn’t. The time that my tyres were slashed, Neil had been close by and had organised my tyres being changed. I had been really upset, and he had sorted it all out for me. Ollie’s father would have just told me to get on with it. He would have just left me to it. Then there was the time that my windows were smashed at work. He was close by, and he came to the rescue like a knight in shining armour, and he sorted it all out for me. He had always been a great friend. They both had, especially since Rodger and I had split up. They were both there for me—just lately it seemed that Neil was around too much. As he was going out of the door, he turned and asked me, ‘Where you going tonight? Have you got a date?’

His words shocked me all over again; we had stood in an uncomfortable silence, it seemed, for ages, then to ask me yet another inappropriate question seemed so odd. ‘No, I’m going round town with the girls.’ With that, there was a knock on the door. We both turned to look, and then to my amazement, he strode towards my door and opened it.

‘Hi, there. I’m just leaving. Mel’s waiting for you, come in.’ Becky and Tracy looked a bit surprised, but they bounded in past Neil and rolled their eyes at me almost in unison, as if questioning me. Neil came towards me before the girls could and kissed me on the cheek. ‘Remember what I said, darling,’ he said in a soft voice, and then he turned and left out of the front door. That’s a point; why hadn’t I seen his car? Where had he parked? I just didn’t understand. Where had he gone, and so quick!

The girls were pouring into the house now, and the noise was uplifting. Suddenly the music was on, and glasses were clinking. Tracy came in and gave me a big hug; she demanded to know where my drink was and was it OK if they all helped themselves. I nodded and opened the cupboard I kept the glasses in and the cupboard that the booze was in.

Estelle and Zara weren’t coming, so Jess, Leila, and Kylie went upstairs, drinks in hand, to Ollie’s room, and Becky and Tracy came upstairs to my room, and I briefly told them what had happened and what had gone on. They were visibly shocked. ‘God, Mel, you’ve only just got out of one controlling relationship. The last thing you need is another. Who does he think you are?’

‘Hurry up and get ready. We are wasting valuable drinking time,’ said Becky, and they titivated themselves, trying my make-up while I got a quick shower and dressed ready.

It was chaos in the house, and I often wondered what the neighbours thought of the noise and chaos when the girls were around. Oh well, sod it; it’s my life and I feel as though I have only just started with it. Within the hour, we were all teetering on our heels and swaying a little out of the house and squeezing into the minibus we had ordered. We left the house looking a little like an Oxfam shop stockroom must look after an extra appeal. There were clothes all over, and it smelt like a perfume factory with a tinge of smoke and air-freshener.

The taxi driver was smiling at us all, he knew practically all our names; he had picked us up before, usually worse for wear. We were on our way. Suddenly I exclaimed, ‘Oh god, I didn’t get my keys back. You all came in and I forgot.’ I felt sick and anxious.

‘Don’t worry, he won’t come back. His wife won’t let him out again tonight. Do you want us to sleep over?’ Tracy was always the nurturer.

‘No, it’s OK. You’re right. He won’t come back.’ She was right, of course, he wouldn’t come back tonight. ‘Ollie, did you get the dogs in?’ I wasn’t really in the mood to go out now and waves of panic were flooding over me. ‘Yes, Mum, fed and watered them. Your little darlings are safe!’ Ollie spoke to me sometimes as though I were the daughter and she the mother. She was very grown up though; she always had been too far ahead of herself.

The girls were collecting their change to pay the driver. We were on our way to partying; our journey was over. We had arrived! The music was pounding out of the bars; it takes you over; it beats with your heart and you have to join in; it draws you in like a hypnotic trance. As soon as you enter the bar, you are a part of the scene. The atmosphere takes you over and draws you in. You have to dance; the music pounds, and you can feel the vibrations right through your body. You don’t care any more about the world outside; all that is important is here and now.

We knocked back our shots, and ordered a fishbowl; it was full of alcohol, and now we sucked up the vibrantly coloured liquid through straws. Before long, I was shooting the liquid out of the straws and spraying whoever was close enough. Needless to say, it wasn’t long before I had the entire area to myself, or at least the shooting distance was clear. It wasn’t long before my spiral curls were limp and frizzy. I was past caring; once in this state, I was beautiful. I was slim and desirable to all men. A few more drinks and I would be past the limit zone and most desirable to all women too. Luckily, we never outstayed our welcome, and it was soon time to move on to the next bar. We were already taking long enough to get from one bar to the next; not because we stayed too long in any one bar but because it took two steps forward and three staggering backwards. On the dance floor, we were drunk enough to think that we were the original Pan’s People, and the drunken steps didn’t show too much, but in the street, in between bars, the involuntary dancing had taken over. What the hell! It was fun (probably to passers-by too) and sort of a workout too, which justified the copious amounts of calories the next day!

A few more bars, and it would have to be the nightclub. We had to make a swift exit from Yellow bar because it turns out the junior had put neon extensions in my hair (but only on one side) so my hair and my florescent nail varnish was making me look like a glowing drunk disco diva! I don’t know to this day whether or not she did it out of spite or stupidity, but it was funny at the time; not least because we were by that time quite inebriated. I decided it was excellent revenge tactics; subtle and quite a classy trick in a tacky sort of way! We must look distinctive as a group because all the DJ’s know us, the bouncers too. It was very soon apparent to me that Ollie knew all the bouncers and that and her fake ID soon allowed her the illegal access to the bars.

Of course, we all have coloured hair and most of us have extensions. Ollie’s hair is very blonde and past her waist; she is a size ten with the longest legs. She should model, but that’s just my opinion, which naturally may be slightly biased. Carina is very pretty and has the most amazing eyes and certainly knows how to use them. She has white blonde hair with a black flash across the top. Tracy is tiny, only four foot eleven with black hair and blonde flashes; she’s very loud, especially when she’s had a drink. Tracy joined us later on but soon settled into the group as she has a heart of gold and is the organiser of the group and indeed, sometimes, the salon.

Kylie is amazing looking with a massive arrangement of natural black tight curls and a vibrant purple streak on one side. I later found out that she lost her virginity in this nightclub to a complete stranger and obviously in the doggy position because the carpet burn marks scarred her forever. Apparently, a visit to the clinic was necessary later too. I tried not to let her see that she had gone down in my estimation after hearing that news. I couldn’t imagine anyone having such a low self-esteem to let themselves down in such a huge way. The girls told me that it went on a lot in the clubs, but thankfully I never saw it. This was one huge reason why I chaperoned Ollie to these seedy, horrible places though. Not that I thought for one minute that Ollie would do anything like that, but I certainly didn’t want her to see anything like that either. I did wonder if the girls told her everything because she didn’t tell me; it sometimes filtered through the gossip system back to me, but often by the time I found out, it was old news.

Leila was Carina’s younger sister (which was a bloody nuisance when they had family holidays, funerals, etc., as they were both off work at the same time). When Leila was born, the family’s united genes must have been more powerful because she was blessed with even more outrageously gorgeous looks than Carina. She had a natural beauty that was sorely missed by any top modelling agency. Men quivered at the sight of her, and as yet, she was not fully aware of her powers over the opposite sex.

Then there was Jess, petite, very blonde, and sweet. Jess was a hopeless case; she couldn’t concentrate on anything for longer than fifteen minutes, and she was of no productive use in the salon, but I just never had the heart to sack her, although she was a bloody nuisance because her boyfriend worked for my ex, Rodger, and of course Rodger used to pay him for information about me.

We got to our usual nightclub, and as usual, the bouncers let us in. It wasn’t our favourite nightclub; it was the only one we could all get in without an ID. We headed straight for the bar. I had been trusted with the kitty. I didn’t really know what I was doing or how much a round should be, but I suppose I was picked because I was used to being in charge. A friendly bar lad served us with a huge beaming smile; I am a sucker for a nice smile. He winked at me, so I smiled back at him; there was no time for coyness. I had enough to drink to be very bold. Besides, enough Dutch courage and I could upstage any young wiper snapper! Said bar served me with my huge list of drinks and told me that I was beautiful. He gave me a free drink and made me promise to come back to him every time. I was ‘beautiful’ . . . I was his! Like a puppet, I promised that I would; or perhaps more like a muppet!

We danced, we drank, we staggered, we cleared the dance floor, and we had the most fun we’d had in ages. When seated, we were positioned near the bar, and I think I spent a lot of time staring at the bartender, who incidentally got more gorgeous as the night wore on, or perhaps the more that I had had to drink.

I think that I bought a lot of drinks that night; my purse certainly would indicate that I had the following day. He served me every time, and each time, he leaned closer and closer to me. He shocked me by planting a kiss gently on my cheek, which then progressed closer and closer to my lips. In the end, I was just going across for chats and kisses. It wouldn’t amount to anything. I didn’t even want it to. It was just a bit of fun . . . His name was Tyrone. He said he had a break and invited me across to sit with him, and I noticed he was shorter than me. Obviously, I had realised that he wasn’t tall, but the bar had disguised his height, or lack of it. I was amazed at his confidence; of course, he had the advantage of sobriety and experience, it would seem, in seducing desperate old tarts. Once sat down, his shortness didn’t matter.

He sat very close to me, and I thought that he was going to whisper something in my ear, but he kissed my neck and then my cheek. He was gently stroking my back, and I could feel myself melting. I was amazed at the expertise in one so young and assumed this was his practice ground. His soft kisses reached up to my lips, and soon he was kissing me. I didn’t object. I felt as though I were in some kind of a time warp. This was not normal for me; this was so far away from the person that I was. I looked around to see if I could see the girls. Ollie, I didn’t want her to see this. I felt as though I had been put under a spell; suddenly, common sense overcame me again, and I tried to sort out my fuzzy brain. I gently pushed him away from me, letting him know that the moment was over, and in the