Kim & The Hitman, Sandie Baldry [red novels txt] 📗

no less of myself. When I gave the girls’ beauty advice, they listened. The only problem today was I’d lost my key feature, my voice. I wasn’t ill or anything, and it wasn’t as dad said because I talked nonstop to my clients. No, it was a strain affecting the throat. Other than that, I felt great. And the girls depended on me to cast an expert eye over their hair or acrylic nails. Not to mention I had the best gossip, coming from working in a hair salon.

‘Haven’t made you tea, and the kettle needs refilling, so make sure you use the water filter,’ said dad as he followed my progress to the kitchen. He stood by the living room window, no doubt watching out for the paperboy. I mouthed. ‘Okay.’

‘Still not talking?’ he said with a smirk, returning to the view over the front path. ‘You need to see a doctor. What’s it been, two days?’ The letterbox clunked dad’s cue to amble into the hall. And he was the one needing to see a doctor. To get his heart checked, what with all the exertion with her next-door. I was having a rant with myself. I was not an ageist, but some things were not right; sex after sixty was one of them. I could understand it if dad hired a sex worker, or escort, whatever they’re called. But her next door? She must be older than dad by at least ten years. Overweight, mostly taken up with her breasts, and always laughing even when something was not funny. I’d never disliked her, except for her cat that craps in our garden. But her? Then I consoled myself; at least she wasn’t living here. I had watched her creeping out, thinking I wouldn’t hear her making her way down the stairs. Then on seeing me in the sitting room, she gave me an embarrassed wave.

I glanced at Mum’s photo on the wall, and a sudden sadness gripped my chest. This wouldn’t do. I needed to keep my head straight. Focus on the important stuff like what I was going to wear.

‘Only been one day,’ I mouthed, as dad strolled back into the sitting room with his paper, making himself comfortable in his favourite armchair. He wouldn’t move now for at least an hour as he studied the paper. Every line, every word. Then he’d declare, nothing much worth reading!

With a quick check to see he wasn’t looking, I helped myself to his orange juice, washing out the glass after so he wouldn’t know.

‘When are you getting back with Harry,’ he called?

Oh, for god’s sake? I could scream. Why did I have to repeat this? Popping my head around the kitchen door, I looked at him, hoping my face would answer his question. But all I could see was the top of his thinning, grey hair beneath the paper. And I knew, he knew it wasn’t Harry. It was Paul.

Moving over to the sideboard and grabbing a pen and paper I’d been using to communicate with him. I wrote. Again, not getting back with Paul. Paul had ended it, his loss. So, there I was back home. I’d told dad it just hadn’t worked out. He was too annoying. I didn’t say I’d come home from work yesterday to find my bags packed outside the flat door. The locks changed, and a text ending it. The man couldn’t even face me. Shouting through the door, using the F word, Paul knew I disapprove of swearing.

I added to the note for dad, going out, be back about fiveish. I held it over the paper, waiting as his eyes flickered over it before glancing up with a nod. He was a man of few words. I added, let me know if her next door is coming round, warn me. And hung it in front of him. His eyes lifted, then flicked to me with a scowl.

The girls were already at The Fat Meow coffee bar when I arrived. And I was already thinking of a story I could produce about Paul and me that didn’t have me humiliated. I decided I wouldn’t mention anything about him unless asked, flexing my texting finger since that was the only way I would be communicating. I would say it ended at our mutual agreement. And if I were honest, we were way more interested in other people’s businesses anyway. So, a low profile it was. I smiled as I walked to our table.

Introducing Linda, she and I went to college together. We’re the same age, twenty-four. My oldest friend we had gone to the same school, then college. I did her hair, which she kept short. She was a natural dark blonde, which I lighten for her. A round face, with large, blue eyes. The same height and size as myself, we used to share clothes, not so much these days.

Then there was Alex, a tall girl. She had to be at least five feet eleven, with ebony skin and raven hair down to her back which she kept straightened. Her most striking feature, her nose piercings; she also sported several cool tattoos. I particularly liked the tattoo of a bird silhouette on her shoulder. Alex was loud, a voice that could slice through anyone else talking. Though I admit, she told a good tale if you could believe everything she said. Apparently, her partner of five years announced he was gay and asked if it would be okay if his boyfriend moved in with them. She did what I would have done, said yes, and split the rent three ways.

And last, Paula sitting next to Alex. She only moved into the area a few months ago, meeting Alex when she joined the same gym. At odds with the cream doughnut, she scoffed. She was happy to go natural with her face with an unremarkable appearance, other than the eyelash extensions. However,