More Than Just Mum

Now I come to think of it, who ever thought that ‘bee-stung lips’ could be a positive thing? Nothing good can ever come from being stung by a bee on the mouth. It’s utterly ridiculous.

A honking noise from behind alerts me to the now-green traffic light. I drive carefully down the road, trying to focus on parking the car safely, all the while wondering if I require immediate medical attention. The sign for the car park is up ahead and I take the corner, gently easing into a space and then turning off the engine before pulling down the sun visor so that I can examine the damage more closely.

The skin above my mouth is swollen, stretched so taut that it is shiny. But worse than that are the weeping, oozing spots that seem to have appeared from nowhere.

And I was wrong earlier. There is a little bit of blood.

On a scale from terrible to fucked up, this is very, very bad.

And I’m late for my appointment.

Grabbing my bag, I leap out of the car and race across the car park, my hand held defensively in front of my face as a precautionary measure. I don’t want to upset any small children who may catch sight of me. Dodging between little old ladies with pull-along baskets and mums with prams, I speed down the street and then, with a huge sigh of relief, push open the door and fling myself into the sanctuary of the salon. I will be safe here. They are professionals and their business is to take the lame and make them beautiful again. I am among friends.

‘Morning!’ Caroline emerges from the staff area as I catch my breath by the front desk. ‘How’s it going, Hannah? How are your kids? I saw Scarlet in town yesterday afternoon – I can’t believe how tall she’s getting!’

‘It’s going really well,’ I mumble, from behind my hand. ‘And the kids are fine, thanks. How about you?’

What does she mean, she saw Scarlet in town? Scarlet was at school yesterday. Caroline must be confusing her with someone else – maybe she’s got a doppelganger, or a clone. God, what a thought – I love my daughter deeply but two of her is a bit of an overwhelming possibility.

‘I’m good, thanks. Shall I take your jacket?’ She reaches towards me for my coat and I realise that I’m going to have to move my hand.

‘Thanks, Caroline.’

I turn my back on her and hastily lower the zip before shrugging the jacket off and turning back to face her, my hand once again in place across my mouth.

Caroline gives me a slightly weird look but says nothing as she takes a gown from the row of hooks by the door and hangs my coat in its place.

‘Just pop this on,’ she tells me. ‘And then come on through.’

I repeat the performance with the gown and then follow her into the main part of the salon, sitting down at the seat that she is pulling out for me.

‘So, what are we doing today?’ she asks my reflection in the large mirror. ‘Same as normal?’

I smile in agreement and then realise that she can’t see my mouth behind my hand. ‘Yes, please. I need my grey roots sorting out and a quick trim on the ends.’

‘No problem! I’ll just mix the colour and then we’ll get started. Can I get you a cup of tea while you’re waiting?’

A cup of tea would be lovely. It’s exactly what I need to calm myself down after all the stress of the morning. I would kill for a cup of tea right now. But they bring the milk in a little jug here; I will either have to drink black tea or move my hand from my face. Neither of those is an acceptable option right now.

‘No thanks,’ I mumble. ‘I’m fine.’

Caroline shoots me another look before retreating to the staff area and I stare bleakly at my reflection, my hand pressed tightly across my mouth. It seems very unfair that I am sitting in front of the world’s largest mirror, today of all days.

‘Here we are then.’ Caroline is back with the tiny amount of dye needed to eliminate my barely-existent grey hair. ‘Shall we make a start?’

‘Let’s do it,’ I mutter. ‘Work your magic.’

She places the bowl on top of her hairdresser trolley and swivels my chair round so that she can begin with the front of my head. I give her an encouraging smile with my eyes and hope that she’s not in a chatty mood.

‘Erm, Hannah?’ Caroline looks awkward. ‘I’m going to need you to move your hand. I can’t reach your hair with your arm blocking the way.’

Bugger.

I spend three seconds debating the pros and cons of asking her to just dye one side of my head before coming to the harsh realisation that there is nothing for it. I am just going to have to lower my hand and hope for the best.

And I’m probably being totally melodramatic, anyway. I haven’t actually looked at the stricken area since I left the car. The biting winter wind will no doubt have done a lot to bring the swelling down. Caroline probably won’t even notice anything wrong.

I lower my hand.

‘Bloody hell!’ Caroline’s shriek gets the attention of the rest of the salon; I feel five pairs of eyes turn to gaze upon my terrible form. ‘What have you done?’

‘I was trying to wax my upper lip,’ I whisper. ‘It’s not that bad, is it?’

‘Not that bad?’ howls Caroline. ‘I’ve never seen anything like it, Hannah! And we’ve seen most things in here,’ she turns to the gawping audience, ‘haven’t we?’

‘We’ve seen some shocking things,’ agrees her colleague from across the room. ‘But none as awful as that.’ He’s new since the last time I came here and I don’t know his name but, from the sneering look on his face, I suspect it’s something mean.

Caroline pats my hand in what I think is an attempt to be reassuring.

‘Maybe you’re allergic to the hair wax?’ she suggests. ‘I can’t think of any other reason you’d get a reaction like that. You did do an allergy test first, didn’t you?’

I shrug. ‘I didn’t know that I was supposed to.’

Caroline looks shocked. ‘Hannah! You must always test out any new product. You can’t just go playing life and death with your skin.’

I allow myself a small laugh. ‘I hardly think this is a life and death situation, Caroline. Let’s get it into perspective, shall we?’

Her response is to spin my chair so that I’m facing the mirror.

Oh, for fuck’s sake. This is so not okay.

I look like I’ve dipped my top lip into a raging inferno. I wonder if I will forever bear the scars of vainly trying to remove the tiny bit of hair that nobody except that little maggot, Brandon Hopkins, ever noticed in the first place.

The new hairdresser wanders over, his scissors in one hand, an industrial amount of mockery and contempt in the other.

‘You know, it looks to me like you’ve removed several layers of skin,’ he tells me helpfully, peering closer. ‘Did you wax the area more than once?’

‘That is a potential possibility,’ I murmur, closing my eyes for a second so that I can avoid seeing the horror on Caroline’s face and the amusement on his. ‘I thought it wasn’t working so I used each strip several times.’

‘And how many strips did you use?’ he enquires.

‘All of them.’ I swallow loudly. ‘Was that wrong?’

There is a brief moment of silence while everyone takes in my words.

‘You waxed your upper lip using all the strips?’ breathes Caroline. ‘How many strips were in the box?’

I think back. ‘Maybe six?’