Feeling Curious (Part 11)

Previously

A week or so after my lunch catch up with Esther, I messaged Liz.

I didn’t tell her exactly what I wanted. I only said I was serious about changing the colour and asked when she was free.

Her reply came a few minutes later.

How serious?

Very.

There was a pause before the next message.

I’ll bring everything round next weekend.

⸻

By the following Saturday, I was beginning to wonder whether I’d been a little too enthusiastic.

I’d spent most of the morning looking at photographs of blonde women with short curly hair. Some were almost white, others had warmer, creamy tones. There were a few that looked distinctly seventies, which appealed to me more than I expected.

I knew I wanted to be blonde. That much was settled. What I hadn’t decided was exactly how blonde.

I went upstairs and studied my hair in the bedroom mirror.

The perm was still holding beautifully. The tight little curls were springy and compact, with the sides beginning to grow out slightly since Liz had last trimmed them. The copper was as rich as ever.

There wasn’t anything particularly wrong with it.

That was probably the strangest part.

For years, I’d regarded my long red hair as something permanent. I’d changed the length, the shape and, more recently, the texture, but the copper colour had always been there.

Now I wanted to see myself without it.

Nick appeared in the doorway.

“Still looking at blonde hair?”

“Yes, still looking for the right shade and tone.”

“And you’re still uncertain after these past weeks of looking?”

“I want it to be right.”

He came over and examined the photograph on my phone.

“That’s quite blonde.”

“I think that’s what I’m settling on.”

He smiled.

“Well, Liz will tell you what’s possible.”

That was one thing I could rely on. Liz had never been particularly interested in doing something simply because I’d asked for it. If she thought it was a bad idea, she’d say so.

I put my phone down.

“I think I’m more nervous about changing this colour than I was about cutting it all off.”

“Really?”

“Yes. At least when I started having it cut, I still looked like me.”

Nick considered that.

“You’ll still look like you.”

“I know.”

But I wasn’t entirely convinced.

⸻

Liz arrived shortly after eleven and knocked on the door.

When I opened it, I was completely taken aback.

I stood in the kitchen that morning looking at the curls in my phone.

“Oh, my God.”

She laughed.

“Morning to you too.”

Her hair was completely different.

The straight blonde style I’d known for years had disappeared beneath an enormous mass of curls. They were a soft, slightly ashy blonde, with darker roots and a rounded shape that extended well beyond her shoulders.

The curls were springy and closely packed, with a short curly fringe across her forehead. She’d worn a cream fitted jumper, wide-legged petrol-blue trousers and brown boots, which somehow made the whole thing look even more deliberate.

“Wow, look at you. When did you have this done?” I asked.

“Tuesday.”

“I love that you’ve had a perm?”

“I felt I had to try it myself.” She beamed, gesturing to my own curls.

I stepped aside to let her in.

“It looks fantastic.”

“Tell me about it. I wasn’t expecting to like it this much.”

She put her bags down in the hallway and gave her curls a quick shake.

“It’s taking some getting used to.”

“It’s so different.”

“Well, I told myself I needed to try something different.”

She smiled, but there was something about the way she said it that made me look at her more closely.

“Everything all right?”

“Yes. Mostly.”

She followed me into the kitchen.

“Craig and I have split up.”

“Oh, Liz. I’m sorry. I had no idea. Please, take a seat” 

“Don’t be. Things had been rocky for ages between us.” She replied, as she sat at the kitchen island.

“You never said anything.”

“I tried to keep it to myself when I was working. No one wants to hear their hairdresser going on about her problems.”

“You know I’d have listened.”

“I know. We’d been drifting apart for months. He was spending more time away from home, working late, going out at weekends. There were a few things I wasn’t entirely convinced about.”

“What, you think there was someone else?”

“Possibly. He denied it, but I had my suspicions. Either way, we’d stopped making each other particularly happy.”

“How long have you been apart?”

“A few weeks officially, since he moved out of the flat. We’d both known it was coming for much longer.”

She took off her jacket and settled herself on one of the stools.

“Anyway, I’m absolutely fine. If anything, it’s made me think about a few things I’ve been putting off. Including my hair.”

“Really?”

“Craig always preferred it long, blonde and straight. I’d fancied a change of style for a while, but never got around to doing it. Then I gave you yours, and seeing how much you enjoyed it finally convinced me.”

“So you booked yourself in.”

“And went straight for the full curl experience.”

She laughed and pulled one of the curls down beside her cheek, watching it spring back.

“I absolutely love it. And now I’ve done something different, I’m wondering what else I might try.”

“Like what?”

“Maybe shorter. Maybe another colour. I’ve been looking at some quite daring cuts lately.”

“Craig wouldn’t have liked that.”

“Probably not.” She smiled. “But I’m not particularly interested in what Craig likes anymore.”

She ran her fingers through the curls at her crown.

“If there’s one thing I’ve taken from your hair journey, Nat, it’s that there’s no point playing safe forever.”

“I think you might end up being more adventurous than me.”

Liz laughed.

“Entirely possible.”

I understood that rather well.

⸻

As I put the kettle on to make us both a coffee, Liz unpacked her equipment on the kitchen island.

There were bowls, brushes, bottles, gloves and several products I didn’t recognise. She’d also brought towels, clips and a protective cape.

“You weren’t joking when you said you’d bring everything.”

“I thought I’d better.”

She pulled up a chair and sat opposite me.

“Right. Tell me what we’re doing.”

“I want to go blonde.”

“Exciting.”

“Properly blonde.”

“How properly?”

I showed her the photographs I’d saved.

She looked through them carefully, occasionally enlarging one to examine the colour.

“That’s lovely,” she said, stopping at a photograph of a woman with a short, light creamy-blonde perm. “But we’re not getting you there today.”

“I knew you might say that.”

“Not with all that copper in your hair, and certainly not with a perm.”

She put the phone down.

“We need to be careful. Your hair’s in good condition, and I want to keep it that way.”

“So what’s realistic?”

“Today, we remove as much of the old colour as we safely can, then see how it lifts. You might end up somewhere around strawberry blonde. Maybe a little lighter in places.”

“And then?”

“Another appointment in about four weeks. Possibly a third after that.”

“Three appointments?”

“At least that’s what I’d plan for. We’ll assess it each time.”

I thought about it.

“And I’ll keep the curls?”

“That’s the intention. But it depends how your hair responds.”

She reached across and examined a curl near my temple.

“The perm’s still good. I don’t want to ruin it just because you’re impatient.”

“I’m not impatient.”

She gave me a look.

“All right. A little.”

“Thought so.”

⸻

By midday, the kitchen had become a temporary salon.

Liz had covered the floor around the chair, arranged her products on the counter and fastened the charcoal cape around my neck.

I sat facing the dining room while she examined my hair properly, separating the curls and checking the shorter growth around my ears.

“Your sides could do with tidying as well.”

“I was going to ask if you’d tidy them?”

“I’ll do it at the end. We’ll see what the colour looks like first.”

She put on her gloves and began mixing the first product.

“Right. This is the boring part.”

“I thought this was supposed to be exciting.”

“It will be. At the moment it’s mostly chemistry.”

She divided the top of my hair into sections, clipping the curls out of the way as she worked.

The first application was surprisingly gentle. I felt the brush moving through the little sections, followed by the light pressure of her fingers as she worked the product into the hair.

“You’re very quiet,” she said.

“I’m concentrating.”

“On what?”

“Whether I’m going to miss being red.”

“Probably, at some point.”

“That’s reassuring.”

“You’ve been this shade of red for most of your life. Of course you’ll miss it.”

She moved to the next section.

“Doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try something else.”

I smiled.

That was more or less what I’d been telling myself.

⸻

The first stage took longer than I’d expected.

Liz worked steadily, checking the colour as it developed and explaining what was happening whenever I asked.

 

After a while, the familiar copper began to change.

It wasn’t dramatic at first. The deeper red softened into something more orange, particularly around the crown. Some of the ends began to look almost golden.

Liz examined a section under the kitchen light.

“That’s responding quite nicely.”

“What colour is it?”

“At the moment? A rather interesting ginger.”

“Lovely.”

She laughed.

“Don’t worry. We’re not finished.”

Once the first treatment had been rinsed away, she dried a small section enough to assess the result.

I reached up and touched the curls. They still felt springy, although the colour was undeniably different.

Liz examined the ends.

“I think we can do a little more today, but only in selected areas.”

“You’re the expert.”

“Exactly. Remember that when you start asking for platinum in twenty minutes.”

⸻

The afternoon went by surprisingly quickly.

Liz applied a controlled lightening treatment to selected sections, leaving the more delicate areas alone. She was particularly careful around the previously permed hair, checking it regularly rather than relying entirely on the clock.

I meanwhile answered a few work emails to pass the time.

We still talked while she worked.

She told me more about the flat she’d shared with Craig, the things she’d kept after he moved out, and how strange it felt not having to account for her evenings.

“Do you miss him?” I asked.

“Sometimes. Mostly I miss having someone there.”

“That’s understandable.”

“But I don’t miss the arguments.”

She paused, then smiled.

“Anyway, enough about me. You’ve got enough going on under that cape.”

I looked down at the dark material covering my clothes.

“I think I do.”

She laughed.

“You’re going to look very different.”

“I can’t wait to find out how much?”

I could tell from her expression that she was pleased with how things were progressing.

By the time she finished the second treatment, the remaining copper had softened considerably. There were still warm ginger tones, but the upper curls were becoming noticeably more golden.

Liz rinsed everything thoroughly and worked a conditioning treatment through the hair.

“How does it feel?” she asked.

“Fine. Nothing unusual.”

“Good.”

She checked the curls once more.

“Right. Let’s get you dry.”

⸻

I was becoming impatient by the time Liz picked up the diffuser.

She’d refused to let me inspect the colour properly while it was wet, insisting that I’d get a much better impression once the curls had dried.

“Just sit still,” she said.

“I have been sitting still for hours.”

“And you’ve done very well.”

“Don’t patronise me.”

She grinned.

The diffuser hummed beside my head as she worked around the crown, lifting the curls carefully and allowing them to settle into their natural shape.

Gradually, the familiar compact perm returned.

The curls were still small and tightly formed, with the little fringe sitting high above my eyebrows. But where there had once been deep copper, there were now warm golden tones.

Liz switched off the dryer.

“Well.”

I looked up.

“Well what?”

She smiled.

“You’re definitely not copper anymore.”

“Can I see?”

“Give me a second.”

She made a few final adjustments, separating several curls and checking the shape around my temples.

Then she handed me my phone with the camera open.

I raised it in front of my face.

“Oh.”

For a moment, that was all I could say.

My hair was blonde.

Not the pale blonde I’d eventually hoped for, but a warm, bright strawberry blonde, with honey-coloured highlights running through the curls. The ends were lighter than the roots, and the whole thing looked softer than the red I’d been accustomed to.

I turned my head slightly.

“Oh, Liz.”

“Good?”

I smiled.

“Very good.”

She stood beside me, studying the screen.

“It’s a lovely first stage. There’s still warmth in it, obviously, but we’ve shifted a lot of that old copper.”

I lowered the phone and looked at her.

“I wasn’t expecting to like this colour quite so much.”

“Well, you might have to live with it for a month.”

“I think I can manage.”

⸻

Before removing the cape, Liz fetched her scissors and clippers.

“One more thing. Let’s give these sides a tidy.”

She examined the growth around my ears.

“I think a cleaner shape will make the new colour look better.”

“How short?”

“Nothing drastic. Just a tidy-up.”

I laughed.

“That’s usually my line.”

She worked carefully around the sides and nape, reducing the grown-out hair without disturbing the fuller curls above.

The clippers made a brief appearance, followed by scissors and a comb as she softened the transition into the crown.

I could feel the familiar lightness returning around my ears.

“That’s better,” she said.

She brushed away the loose hairs and removed the cape.

I stood up and went over to the kitchen window.

The light was beginning to soften outside, but there was still enough daylight to see the colour properly.

I turned my head, studying the curls in the phone camera.

The strawberry tones were particularly noticeable around the front, while the crown had a warmer golden finish. The freshly tidied sides made the whole haircut look neater.

Liz came over and stood beside me.

“That’s the colour I wanted you to see in daylight.”

“Good result for one appointment,” she added.

I touched the back of my head.

“And the curls survived.”

“They did. We’ll give your hair a proper rest before we do anything else.”

I glanced at her enormous blonde curls.

“Between the two of us, we’ve had quite a hair month.”

“Haven’t we just.”

She smiled.

“Although I think yours is going to get more interesting.”

“Neither of us is finished yet, by the sound of it.”

Liz laughed.

“No. Probably not.”

⸻

By the time Liz had packed away her equipment, it was approaching early evening.

The kitchen was almost back to normal, apart from a few towels waiting to be washed.

I made us another coffee while she checked her appointment book.

“Four weeks?” she asked.

“Definitely.”

“I’ll come back and see how much further we can take it.”

“Will I be properly blonde then?”

“Blonder. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

I smiled.

“You’re very cautious.”

“One of us has to be.”

She put her phone away.

“And keep looking after those curls. Conditioner, gentle drying, no unnecessary heat.”

“Yes, Liz.”

“Good girl.”

I walked her to the front door.

Before leaving, she turned back.

“By the way, I really do like that colour on you.”

“Thank you.”

“And I mean it. I know it’s not your final blonde, but don’t spend the next month wishing it away.”

I thought about that.

“I won’t.”

She smiled and headed towards her car, her blonde curls bouncing as she walked.

I watched her go.

It had been a long day, but I was glad we’d taken our time.

⸻

Nick had been upstairs working during the appointment, so when I went upstairs to the bedroom, he had to have a look.

“Blimey.” He said as he walked into the room.

I laughed.

“Is that good approval?”

He came closer towards me.

“You’re lighter than before.”

“Strawberry blonde for the time being.”

He studied my hair, then gently touched the curls near my forehead.

“This is really different.”

“I know.”

“I like it.”

“Do you?”

“Yes. It suits you.”

As we sat on the edge of the bed, I turned my head so he could see the shorter sides.

“Liz tidied it up as well.”

He ran his fingertips lightly over the nape.

“Feels nice.”

I smiled.

“That’s only the first appointment.”

He looked at me.

“First?”

“There are two more planned. I’ve got my next appointment planned for 4 weeks time.”

“And how blonde are we talking?”

I picked up my phone and showed him the photograph I’d saved.

He studied it for a moment.

“Right.”

“Too much?”

“No. Just trying to imagine it.”

“So am I.”

He handed the phone back.

“Well, you’ve already gone from long red hair to a short perm. I suppose blonde was always going to happen eventually.”

I laughed.

“You make it sound inevitable.”

“With you lately? Pretty much.”

⸻

I went into the bedroom a little later and looked at myself properly in the bedroom mirror.

The shape was familiar. The curls, the exposed ears, the neatly cropped nape. All the things I’d grown to enjoy about having short hair were still there.

But the colour had changed everything.

I turned my head and watched the lighter curls catch the last of the daylight.

For the first time in years, I wasn’t looking at a redhead.

And, unexpectedly, I didn’t miss her.

Not yet, anyway.

I was already wondering what I’d look like in four weeks.

To be continued…