The door to the coffee shop tinkles as Charlotte opens it. At first glance, it bears no resemblance to the busy hairdressers it used to be, though there is something familiar in the warmth that envelops her the moment she steps inside.
It’s called ‘Froth,’ which Charlotte considers an appropriately shallow name for a place that was once called ‘Vanity Hair.’ On the surface, it was just somewhere you came to fix your hair. But the healing went deeper than that. People left feeling better about themselves on the inside as well as the outside.
Charlotte had spent many a Saturday afternoon sitting in here as a child, while her mother, Aunt and Gran worked, listening to the chatter that took place beneath the heated curlers. Women would air their woes whilst gentle hands massaged their scalps, and emerge with hair and spirits lifted, a spring in their step. It was like magic. She hopes some of it still lingers in the air now.
Looking around, the buzz is not so different. People’s heads are bent towards one another over steaming mugs, the hum of conversation rising above the offbeat music in the background. The smell of perm lotion has been replaced with coffee, the sound of hairdryers with the grinding blades of espresso machines. But as Charlotte reaches the front of the queue, she’s sure she can still hear her Gran’s voice somewhere amidst the din. What is she saying?
‘Think twice.’
Charlotte shudders. Maybe it was just the barista asking if she wanted ice.
Someone is leaving the window seat just as she approaches the table with her drink. She slides into the chair, keeping her eyes trained on the café on the opposite side of the road. That’s where she has arranged to meet ‘Dan.’ Yet something has brought her here first.
She twists her wedding ring around her finger, her stomach churning. What is she doing? She thinks of Joe at home, probably making breakfast for the twins now, sleep-deprived and yawning, innocently believing that Charlotte is meeting a friend in need. Things haven’t been easy since the children arrived, but don’t all marriages have phases like this?
‘Can I tempt you with a little something on the side?’
Charlotte jumps. A young waiter in an apron thrusts a tray under her nose, piled high with bite-size samples of brownie slices.
Across the road, she recognises Dan as he arrives. Something in the way he smooths his hair in the window’s reflection before he enters makes her feel sick.
‘No thanks,’ she says, watching the door to the café slowly swing shut behind him.
Laughter ripples from the table beside her, and it feels like a soothing pat on the back. This might be a coffee shop now, but it still echoes with ghosts of the past. Still heals people.
Charlotte reaches for her phone, finds Dan’s number, and blocks him. Then she leaves her drink unfinished and goes home to her family.
