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All I want to do is sit in the staffroom all day and gaze at my photograph of Dominic and think about the sights and sounds of Africa, but that’s obviously been thwarted. I’m so busy that I don’t even have time to show him to my regulars who are whipped in and out with alarming speed to accommodate Nina’s appointments. Anyone who came here today seeking a relaxing experience will have been sadly disappointed.
I’m sure I catch a glimpse of Lewis skulking outside the salon, but I’m too rushed off my feet to even think about him. Cristal is in a foul mood all day because she thinks she’s overworked and the boys have another round of bitch-slapping because Tyrone has to do one of Nina’s clients who Clinton is convinced fancies him. The clients do nothing but whine all day long. Kelly’s in a foul mood too because she likes everything to run smoothly and it’s a long way from that today. By home time, I could joyfully kill the lot of them. Huh, and they think the struggle for survival is tough in the Maasai Mara!
So at six o’clock, I swing into Nina’s driveway when I would really rather be heading straight home to lie down in a darkened room. The salon was absolutely manic and, if Nina is away again, tomorrow is going to be even worse.
My friend opens the door without me needing to knock and I can tell from her puffy eyes and face that she’s spent the whole day crying. In the hallway, I take her into my arms. ‘Honey, honey, honey,’ I say as I rock her. ‘What’s the matter, hey? Tell Auntie Janie all about it.’
‘He’s seeing someone else,’ Nina sniffs. ‘I know he is.’
‘Let me put the kettle on.’ I steer my friend towards the kitchen, sit her down at the table and flick the kettle on. I hand her the kitchen roll and, gratefully, she rips off a piece and sniffles into it. ‘Have you eaten?’
My friend shakes her head.
‘Chicken soup,’ I instruct and then rummage in her cupboards until I find a tin of said chicken soup.
‘I think it’s supposed to be mother’s homemade,’ Nina notes.
‘Beggars can’t be choosers,’ I point out and that makes her laugh.
‘He was away at the weekend,’ Nina says while I open the soup and tip it into a saucepan. ‘Supposedly on a business conference, but I found a bill yesterday in his pocket. Double room at some posh spa. I called them to ask if there’d been a conference there for his work and not a sausage. It was just him and her. Lying bastard.’
‘Oh, Nina.’ I pour the soup into a bowl for her and put it down on the table, sliding it in front of her. Then I hand her a spoon. My friend toys with the surface of the soup, picking out bits of the chicken and letting them fall back in the bowl.
‘This is not how marriage is supposed to be,’ she complains. ‘It’s supposed to be about trust and growing old together and shared history. All we have is secrets and hurt and uncertainty.’
‘You have to talk to Gerry.’
‘Don’t you think that I’ve tried? Even faced with this,’ she waves the offending receipt at me, ‘he denies everything. He just thinks that I’m stupid. We argued all last night about it, that’s why I couldn’t face coming into work this morning. I’m exhausted, Janie.’ Nina starts crying again. ‘Now he’s gone off and I haven’t seen him all day. He’s not answering his mobile and I don’t know where he is.’
‘He’ll come back,’ I promise her. ‘He always does.’
‘I don’t know,’ Nina whispers. ‘Maybe this time it’s for good.’
‘What you have to decide, my love, is whether you want him back or not.’
‘Of course I do,’ she says. ‘I love him. Do you think that I want some other bitch waltzing off with him?’
Why can’t love always be the nice, grinny, happy love? Why does it always come with heartache and pain attached? I think of the photograph of Dominic in my handbag that I’m so desperate to show Nina, but how can I waffle on happily about my love when hers seems to be crumbling down about her ears?
Chapter Thirty-Five
The week goes by in a blur and already my holiday seems like a million years ago. I log on to Facebook without much hope in my heart but when my page comes up, there’s a message in my inbox from Dominic. Just a few lines, but nevertheless they make my weary heart soar. When I’ve replied and pressed ‘send’, Mike’s knock comes at my door.
‘Hey,’ he says when I open up. ‘Thought we might be able to fix up that dinner date.’
‘Oh, Mike, I’ve had a terrible week,’ I tell him. ‘Nina’s been off and I’ve been doing her appointments too. I can hardly string a sentence together, let alone promise to be interesting dinner company.’
