Matchmaker Cat (A Romantic Comedy Short Story) by Elizabeth Kyne (best classic romance novels txt) 📕

in here,’ said Salina. She glancedover at the tin hedgehog and they shared a laugh.

‘I bet they'renewlyweds,’ she replied, turning her silver spiny head in mydirection. ‘Are you newlyweds?’

I lowered myeyes, coy Lady Diana style, and smiled. ‘We are actually.’

‘How lovely!’said Salina (or was it Celine?).

This was quitefun.

My hairdresserplaced her hands on either side of my head and straightened itbefore judging how short to cut the next section. ‘Where did youget married?’

‘In a castle,’I said, hiding my bare ring finger within the folds of my nylonhairdressing gown.

‘Ooh!’

She wasinterested now, really interested; much better than telling thetruth. ‘We wanted something romantic. Darren suggested a castle. Isaid we couldn't afford it, but - bless him - he found thiswonderful place on the internet that didn't cost an arm and a leg.Melcesine Castle, it's called.’

‘Where's that?’She glanced up from snipping my side locks.

‘Italy,’ Isaid. ‘Overlooking Lake Garda. It was beautiful. I didn't want togo abroad at first, but English castles are so expensive and theywant you to invite thousands of people. In Italy, we could sneakoff on our own without inviting anybody.’

It was true.Not about me getting married, but about the wedding venue in Italy.I'd found it one drunken evening playing about on the internet.

‘My Mum wouldkill me if I didn't invite her to my wedding,’ said Salina. She puther hands on my head again and scrutinised me in the mirror. Sheseemed satisfied with whatever it was she was looking at and puther comb and scissors aside. She picked up a hairdryer from whereit hung on a slot on the wall. ‘When I get married--’

With a flick ofa switch, the hairdryer roared into life, blasting my head with itsfierce heat and drowning out the rest of her sentence.

It was strangeto see the chestnut brown shoulder-length bob emerge in the mirror.Almost as if it were someone else's hair being shaped on my head. Iwas used to bottle-blonde straggles down to the bottom of myshoulder blades; a legacy from trying to disguise my first greyhair ten years ago. Salina was doing wonders with the style; shetugged out all my natural wave and managed to make the ends of myhair curl under.

The roar of thehairdryer stopped. It was suddenly quieter and cooler. Salinacombed through my hair and, amazingly, it stayed where it was put.It never did that for me. ‘Spray?’

‘Um...’

Before I'd madea decision, she'd picked up an industrial-sized aerosol. I downedthe last of my luke-warm tea before a perfumed, sticky mist fellall around me, alighting on my hair, my shoulders and my lap.

‘There,’ shesaid with finality.

She did thatthing hairdressers do with a hand mirror so I could see the back ofmy head. I nodded my approval (does anyone ever say they hate theback and demand it be cut all over again?) and she removed thenylon gown from my shoulders. Wisps of my clipped hair fluttered tothe ground like chestnut brown confetti.

She took me towoman with the red fringe at the front desk and dictated all thethings I'd had done that morning: permanent dye, moisturisingtreatment, cut and blow dry, spray (they charged me extra for thehairspray?!). It added up to an embarrassing amount. I handed overmy credit card and tried not to think about it.

‘Thank you,’ Isaid to my hairdresser as I turned to go. ‘I'm sorry - I can'tremember your name.’

She'd done agood job and I wanted to make note of who she was so I couldrequest her next time.

‘Susan,’ shesaid.

‘Oh.’ I blusheda little. So not Celina or Salina, then. ‘Thanks, Susan. See youagain.’

I left thesalon and walked down the street with my hair bobbing like ashampoo commercial.

*

Sunday nightand my hair looked as good as when Susan gave it a final spray theday before. I chose a pair of jeans, black T-shirt, short purplecardigan and I was ready for a night out with the girls.

Not 'my' girls;Sheila's girls. Apart from my Mum, Sheila was the only person Iknew in Aylesbury. It was the town I grew up in and the town Iturned my back on after leaving school. I went to university inLeicester and ended up getting a job up there. I loved Leicesterbecause it gave me a chance to be independent, meet new friends andhave new experiences - but most of all, I loved it because itwasn't Aylesbury. I didn't think I'd ever come back. Then I gotolder, I started to think about my Mum getting older and I realisedit was time to go home.

Me and Sheilahad been best friends at school all those years ago. We kind oflost touch when I moved out. Our lives went down different pathsand she became a memory of a spotty girl in school uniform I usedto know. Until one weekend when I was down visiting Mum and webumped into each other in the middle of Market Square. It was likethe intervening years hadn't existed. We must've stood underumbrellas in the rain for ten minutes catching up on what eachother had been doing. We went out for a meal that night at theeat-as-much-as-you-want-until-you-regret-it Chinese buffet down bythe back of Sainsbury's. I hadn't laughed so much in years.

We made aneffort to keep in touch after that - thank God for the internet -and so when I moved back, she offered to take me out to meet herfriends.

I volunteeredto be designated driver for the night and pick her up.

Sheila had oneof those nice semis in Bedgrove at the posh end of Aylesbury.'Nice' families live there, the estate agent had told her, mostlybecause of the reputation of the local schools. Sheila had nochildren, but 'nice' was what she wanted, so that's where shesettled.

I parkedoutside her drive. No sooner had I turned off the engine than shecame rushing out of the front door and down the garden path.

‘Hi Rach,’ shesaid, opening the passenger door and leaning in. ‘Like thehair.’

The clock onthe dashboard said 18:56. Seeing as we'd agreed to meet at seven, Icouldn't see what all the rush was about. ‘I'm not late am I?’

‘The sooner Iget there, the sooner I can have a drink,’ said Sheila. She chuckedher oversize leather handbag with