This is not the approach I would advise. Kitchen scissors do not give you a stylish cut. Grief makes you do all sorts of strange things. Even though my hair looked terrible for days after and a hairdresser had to spend a good hour fixing the mess I’d made, the change in how I looked helped me.
When I stared at myself in the mirror, I was no longer the sad, grieving friend whose world had caved in around them. There was someone new staring back at me and I had a strange sense of detachment. My grief for Sophie didn’t go away. It will live inside me for the rest of my life. But after my drastic haircut, I created a new version of Olivia. This helped me to move on with my life.
Changing myself on the outside was the catalyst for easing the pain inside of me.
Having nice hair was a big thing for Olivia. She spent a small fortune on washing, styling, and maintaining her black silky locks. She must have been hurting a lot when she cut her hair off. I read on as she joked about sitting in the chair at the salon post her kitchen scissor cut and her usual hairdresser nearly fainting at her jagged ends.
After coming to the end of the chapter I reminded myself of my reflection in one of the full-length mirrors. My hair was piled up on top of my head in a greasy knot. Since Olivia had died, my hair had become something I groaned at when I entered the bathroom back in my flat. I was always too exhausted to do anything with it so I simply wound it into what I felt was a bun shape and cursed it every time I went to the toilet. If Olivia was here, she would have something to say about it.
I was the sad, grieving friend staring at herself in the mirror. Looking away I caught sight of the pink notebook lying on the bed. I had spent too long staring at the person in the mirror. An idea sprang to mind.
Leaping off the bed I raced downstairs and went into the kitchen to find Layla making everyone a cup of tea. ‘Zac’s out like a light,’ she said, cheerfully. She pointed to the baby monitor. ‘I always carry it with me now that we’re little nomads.’
‘Layla, how do you fancy giving me a haircut?’
She looked shocked. ‘Really? Now?’
I nodded. ‘What do you think?’
‘What sort of haircut? Remember, I never finished my apprenticeship.’
Taking a deep breath, I let the words on the tip of my tongue tumble out. ‘Chop it to my shoulders – yeah?’ I’d always had hair which reached down to my lower back, so this was going to be quite a change.
Grandpa chuckled as he walked into the kitchen and caught sight of me sitting on a kitchen chair whilst Layla cut my hair. ‘Short haircuts are great when embarking on an adventure,’ he cried, lifting his hands in the air. ‘Let’s go large!’
Layla giggled. ‘Eric, you sound like one of the teenagers from the pub.’
He punched the air. ‘My granddaughter, Nadine, is always telling me to go large. I’ve no idea what she means but it feels good to say it.’
Later after I’d showered, washed, and blow-dried my newly cut hair, I looked at myself in one of the full-length mirrors and gasped. Layla had cut my hair to my shoulders. It now gave me an unexpected bolt of happiness.
The person staring back at me was different to the washed out one who looked in this mirror earlier.
I noted the way the ends of my hair flicked up in little curls on my shoulder and when I turned my head, my hair looked alive and glossy. As I left the room to go downstairs and model my new hairstyle now I’d washed it, I smelt a hint of vanilla. It made me stop, press my forehead against the wood and whisper, ‘Hope you like it, Olivia.’
Both Layla and Grandpa clapped and cheered as I twirled about the kitchen showing off my new shorter cut. Even Humphrey barked at me, but I scowled at him as he was still in my bad books.
CHAPTERTHIRTEEN
‘Oh God, you’ve cut your hair off,’ cried Mum, from her sunbed. She was wearing a bright red bikini, and her mahogany skin was darker than the day before. ‘Karen put down that cocktail and come here quick,’ Mum called out. ‘Rachel’s chopped off her beautiful long hair.’
‘Mum, it was never beautiful,’ I said, as Aunty Karen clip-clopped in heels towards Mum to peer down the phone screen at me.
‘Oh, Janice, I like it,’ cooed Aunty Karen, grinning at me and giving Mum a prod. ‘It suits her.’ Aunty Karen was wearing a pink frilly number which clashed with the angry red sunburn strap marks on her shoulders.
‘I’ll have to tell Fay,’ Mum muttered, fumbling with her phone. ‘Hang on a minute.’
I rolled my eyes with frustration as Mum tapped something out on WhatsApp. In the background, Aunty Karen was telling Uncle Robert to stop ogling the woman in the bikini from the villa next door to Mum’s.
Mum screwed up her eyes and read what she’d typed. ‘Two days with Grandpa Eric and Rachel has cut all her hair off. He’s hard work at eighty.’
She smiled sweetly at me. ‘Where’s Dad, Rachel?’
I fiddled with my phone and pointed it at a happy Grandpa, who was sitting with Humphrey on his lap, on the sofa in the east wing’s living room.
‘Get that dog off your sister’s expensive sofa,’ my mother screeched so loudly that she woke up Humphrey. ‘For goodness’ sake, Rachel, get that dirty dog off the sofa. It probably cost Frank thousands.’
I ignored her. ‘Grandpa, do you want to say hello?’
