Scissors Sisters & Manic Panics. Ellie Phillips

and now.

      ‘What’s going on then?’ I said in the general direction of Billy and Enrico when I got my breath back.

      ‘We want to talk to you, if you and my brother have finished eating one another,’ shouted Enrico, smiling at me through the car window so that my knees went weak and I felt completely disloyal to Tony for just a nano-second. But I mean really – just because you’re on a diet doesn’t mean you can’t look at the menu, does it?

      There is quite possibly nothing more thrilling than travelling in a car with your hot boyfriend, your cousin (who, thanks to a great haircut, no longer looks like a geek even if he is one and is using too much wax on his tips) and your boyfriend’s brother (who is better looking than God) at the wheel. Enrico has great taste in music too and the sound was just pumping out of the car stereo, vibrating through our chests – heaping possibility on top of possibility. I mean, who knew what was about to happen? It felt like anything could.

      We drove slowly down towards Mile End and then turned left on to Roman Road. People stared into the car when we got to the crossroads, like they wanted to be riding our train, reading our book. Tony’s shoulder was resting against mine. I was so happy that I had a shoulder and that he had a shoulder and that they were resting against one another. Luckily the small gestures made me happy, instead of HUGELY FRUSTRATED LIKE THERE IS A FURNACE SWEEPING THROUGH MY ENTIRE BODY, which is how Tony described his experience of our relationship most of the time.

      ‘Enrico’s come up with an idea about the salon thing,’ said my cousin Billy from the front passenger seat.

      ‘What salon thing?’ I felt my spine arch in irritation. ‘Are you wanting me to go back and apologise to your mum or something – get my old job back?’

      Enrico pulled up at the kerb. ‘You can go beg Billy’s ma for your job back if you want, Sadie, but that wasn’t what I was going to suggest.’

      ‘OK . . . suggest away,’ I said.

      I was flattered that Enrico was taking any interest at all in my life, being that he was so good-looking and successful and everything. I decided he must really like his brother a lot.

      ‘What d’you think of this place?’ said Tony.

      Opposite the car was a salon I knew only too well. CISSOR’S PALACE – UNISEX HAIRDRESSERS it said, in red block lettering on a shiny black background. In the window I could see Misty with that faithful scrunchie securing her hair à la 1985. Aimée Price was probably in there somewhere too, boring some customer stupid with her motivational slogans.

       Go get it, girl.

      So what? Was Tony suggesting I go and ask Misty for a job?

      ‘You’ve gotta be kid–’ I started.

      ‘Not that one,’ said Tony. ‘This one.’

      I hadn’t noticed but we were parked bang outside an ultra-modern salon with tinted windows and coloured spotlights. It was called Stylee Stylee, Roman Road. For this area it was pretty fashionable. I’d never been in it – in fact I was fairly sure I’d never even heard of it or seen it before.

      ‘Looks OK,’ I said. ‘What about it?’

      ‘It’s pretty new,’ said Enrico, ‘and it’s run by an old friend of mine.’

      ‘Oh?’

      ‘Dariusz Zengelis,’ said Enrico. ‘I was at college with him. He opened this place about three months ago – had a chair in Soho somewhere before – and I hear he’s looking for a Saturday person.’

      Dariusz Zengelis was looking for a Saturday person. I, Sadie Nathanson, was looking for someone looking for a Saturday person. This was starting to sound good.

      ‘Sounds good,’ I said.

      ‘We thought maybe you should apply,’ said Billy helpfully.

      ‘Sure, I should apply,’ I said.

      ‘Cool,’ said Tony and he squeezed my hand.

      ‘Go on then,’ said Enrico, turning round and flicking his head towards the salon. ‘What you waiting for?’

      What was I waiting for?

      I wasn’t dressed for it. I didn’t even have my CV to hand. I needed to psyche myself up.

      ‘I can’t do it now,’ I said. ‘I’m not ready. I need to get my head together. I need my paperwork . . .’

      ‘Well, get it all together, girl.’ said Enrico, ‘Saturday morning – go in there early and mention that you know me. It might just help.’

5

       Another Great Moment in My Life – No, Really

      In any job there is a surprise element, and hairdressing (or barbering) is no exception. The entrant should be able to demonstrate that they are well prepared for the unpredictable, surprising and exceptional.

       Guideline 5: Thames Gateway Junior Apprentice Hairdresser (or Barber) of the Year Award

      It was Friday night, and Friday nights in my family are traditionally spent at Aunt Lilah and Uncle Zé’s place, with Mum and Billy of course, and my Great Aunty Rita, who travels down from Ilford on the number 25 bus. We eat a smorgasbord of Uncle’s Filipino faves and my Great Aunty Rita’s finest Jewish delicacies. Uncle’s cuisine basically worships every part of a pig you can possibly eat and Great Aunty Rita has an absolute ban on pig products, being that she’s kosher, but she likes to pickle everything in sight: cucumbers, cabbage, herring, beetroot . . . If you sit still long enough she’ll pickle you. Of course, Great Aunty Rita is more my family than Uncle is – I mean she’s blood – but somehow I haven’t inherited the pickle gene so I tend to go for the pig-product end of the table. And both sides of the family fry everything that isn’t a pickle. No wonder we never have guests.

      Except that this evening we’d invited Abe. It was Mum’s idea and it was a bad one in so many ways. Yet, strictly speaking, Abe is my family, so why shouldn’t he come to Friday night dinner?

      Great Aunty Rita simply cannot get her head around Abe. As far as she’s concerned he’s connected to our family by an unmentionable substance that she’d rather not have to think about, together with an act of extreme insanity that her niece Angela (that’s my mum) committed some seventeen years ago when she decided to have a child on her own. To be fair to Great Aunty Rita, she has never had any problem with the product of what she considers to be this unholy and unnatural union, i.e. me. And I guess that this is something to be grateful for, but whenever Abe is mentioned she gets an odd look on her face. It’s a look that says, If anybody even mentions the words ‘sperm donor’ I may spontaneously combust. So by and large we don’t. I mean, why would we? Does Aunt Lilah continually mention the night that she and Uncle Zé conceived my cousin Billy? No, thank God, because otherwise we would all lose our dinners, pickles and all.

      Great Aunty Rita has met Abe once before. On my sixteenth birthday this year we broke the habit of a lifetime and went out for a meal. Not at Aunty and Uncle’s place. We went out in town. To a restaurant. Like normal people. But in the whole year we’ve known him, Abe has never been to Friday night dinner, so he’s never had the full-on Family-From-Hell Nightmare Experience. I’d wanted to save him from it until the time felt right, because in the beginning I needed Abe to be separate from my actual family, somehow. I wanted Abe to be mine and nobody else’s. Even Mum had done her best to stay out of things between me and Abe. A couple of times she’d stood chatting in the kitchen with Sarah for hours while Abe and I bonded. And we had walked Abe’s Labrador Daisy together three times – just the two of us. We even worked on Abe’s amazing garden one day. I was getting into the habit of being quite outdoorsy when I went to Bough Beeches.

      My actual