Bad Bridesmaid Read online

  ‘Shit shit shit,’ I shout, jumping out of bed at such a speed I go lightheaded.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Leo asks, his voice is croaky and he’s rubbing his eyes.

  At least it’s Leo. For a second I thought that I might have got into bed with Dan again.

  ‘Sorry. Waking up with a naked man kind of freaks a girl out,’ I explain.

  ‘I’m not naked.’ Leo yawns. ‘Neither are you.’

  Leo pulls back the covers, showing me that he’s still wearing his trousers. I turn around to look in the mirror behind me and sure enough, I’m still wearing my outfit from last night.

  ‘So we didn’t…’

  ‘We didn’t,’ he laughs. ‘We chatted for ages and then we fell asleep. How drunk were you?’

  I attempt to run a hand through my knotted hair as I think, but my fingers get caught and it’s unbearable – but not as unbearable as what I have just realised.

  ‘Oh my God,’ I start slowly. ‘We snuggled!’

  ‘So,’ he laughs.

  ‘We chatted and then we cuddled each other to sleep – who does that?’

  ‘We do.’

  ‘I don’t,’ I start as I pace around the room. ‘Sleeping cuddled up to a guy, fully clothed! I don’t do that.’

  ‘Mia, relax,’ Leo insists. ‘You’re talking like we spent the night engaging in really weird sex acts. We cuddled and you’re acting like we had a one night stand.’

  ‘No, because we already had a one night stand, and I was fine with that. This I’m not fine with.’

  ‘Look, just calm down,’ Leo says as he approaches me. ‘You don’t look so good.’

  ‘You don’t look that great your–’

  I don’t get to finish what I am saying. I run to the bathroom, making it to the toilet just in time to be sick.

  ‘Was cuddling me really that disgusting?’ he jokes cautiously as he rubs my back. It was kind of him to follow me, but I’m not crazy about throwing up in front of an audience.

  ‘My vomit is blue,’ I tell him, although he can probably (and unfortunately) see that.

  ‘It’s that blue crap you were drinking last night,’ he tells me. ‘It’s upset your tummy.’

  ‘My tummy isn’t upset,’ I reply. ‘It’s furious.’

  ***

  Leo ran me a bath before heading down for breakfast. That’s the difference between most men and women: men can simply eat their hangover away. It would do me good to remember that I’m female sometimes.

  After holding back my hair as I threw up the bright blue, blueberry flavoured contents of my stomach, Leo and I didn’t say much to one another. I didn’t mean to act so oddly, I just freaked out when I realised what we’d done. It’s all coming back to me now, I came home last night because Belle and Nancy were teasing me about having feelings for Leo and how did I prove them wrong? By having a nice chat and then falling asleep in his arms – and all done with pants on.

  As I wonder why I reacted so badly, and why I care so much about people thinking I have feelings for Leo, I realise it’s because I do like him a lot. I didn’t know much about him when I slept with him, but when Belle put a stop to that we had no choice but to become just good friends. The thing is, without the sex, the cuddling feels too intimate. Mates don’t cuddle. If you have sex with a friend he’s a fuck buddy, but there’s no name for a friend that you share platonic intimate moments with because there’s no such thing. That, right there, is a boyfriend, and not only have I not had a boyfriend for a very long time, but Leo isn’t boyfriend material. I mean, he’s handsome, kind, funny and all the other things you’d want a boyfriend to be, but he’s made it very clear that he’s a good-time boy with no interest in settling down. He’s the male equivalent of me, and that’s why we get on so well.

  I kind of wish I hadn’t turned down Belle’s offer of getting my bed back, but if I ask her now she’ll know something is up. The best thing to do is just pretend last night didn’t happen, get back to normal, get the wedding out of the way and then fly back to LA where I need never think of my trip here again.

  I squeeze a blob of shampoo into my hands and begin massaging it through my long hair ever so gently. My headache is still booming so today will most definitely be a straight hair day, no way could I endure curling it.

  There’s a knock at the bathroom door.

  ‘Hello,’ I call out.

  ‘Hey, it’s me, can I come in?’ Belle calls back. She’s actually asking for permission to invade my privacy, rather than just doing it. That is progress.

  ‘Sure,’ I call back.

  ‘Oh, sis, you look as rough as I feel,’ she says, sitting down on the edge of the bath.

  ‘This might be the worst hangover I’ve ever had,’ I tell her honestly.

  ‘And you went home early,’ she reminds me. ‘We kept going until four a.m.’

  ‘Did you go to a club?’

  ‘No, we stayed there all night. You were right, the Cock Inn really is the place to be when it gets late.’

  Well, who would’ve called that one?

  ‘I thought I’d better check on you when we got back, make sure you were in your bed and not swept away by a wave or something.’

  Oh God.

  ‘It wasn’t what it looked like,’ I insist, causing my sister to laugh. She’s smiling widely at me, like she knows something I don’t, and it’s making me want to hold her head under the water.

  ‘It looked like you and Leo were spooning. With your clothes on,’ she adds.

  ‘Oh God, don’t, it sounds so bad when you say it out loud,’ I whine, covering my face with my hands.

  My sister splashes water at me.

  ‘Mia, what’s wrong with you? Just be happy. You like him, he likes you.’

  ‘Yeah, but not like that,’ I insist, but Belle is clearly sick of hearing it.

  ‘OK, we get it, you’re just friends. What I actually came for was to tell you that we’re having our hair done today.’

  It’s not like the wedding is today or even tomorrow, so having our hair done today makes no sense at all. Surely whatever ridiculous style my sister has chosen will by messed up by then…

  ‘Well, we’re getting the colours done today,’ she informs me, seeing my puzzled look. ‘There was a little leftover money in the wedding fund, so Mum’s taking all the girls to have their hair coloured, to treat us, that way we just need styling on the day.’

  I protectively place my hands over my honey blonde hair. There is one person I trust to colour my hair and she is over five thousand miles away, so no way am I going to let some random girl have a go at it.

  ‘I’ve just had mine done,’ I insist, but Belle is having none of it.

  ‘Mia, it’s free,’ she reminds me as she leaves the room. ‘Hurry up and get ready.’

  I love that my sister is being nice to me and treating me like a friend for once, but no one is touching my hair. I’ll just have to tell her straight and face the consequences.

  Chapter 30

  I nibble my thumbnail anxiously as we make the journey to the hair salon. Everyone was in such a rush when we were leaving, I didn’t get time to speak to Belle. I was going to broach the subject while we were driving, but we’re travelling in separate cars and, unlucky for me, I’m travelling with my mum and my gran.

  ‘Mum,’ I start, hoping I’ll find the right words as I need them. ‘I’ve actually just had my hair coloured, so while I appreciate the offer, I can probably sit this one out.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ my gran replies. ‘Just have it brightened up a little. We’re not doing this for you, it’s for Belle and for us all to spend some time together.’

  My mum nods in agreement.

  ‘I get that, and I’ll happily sit with you all and watch. It’s just that I’ve had the same colourist for years, and she won’t be happy with me if someone else messes with her work.’

  ‘Colourist, she says,’ my gran snorts.

  ‘Just join in Mia, it will be fun,’ my mum insis
ts, and then the subject is closed.

  The thing is, this is my hair. Everything else on this trip may be short-term, but when I go home my hair goes with me. The subject is not closed.

  ‘It’s just that I’m not exactly comfortable letting a stranger put chemicals on my hair,’ I persist. ‘I won’t know what kind they’re using, and it might not be right for me and–’

  ‘For God’s sake, Mia,’ my mum yells. ‘I don’t understand how my little girl can have changed so much, simply by crossing the Atlantic.’

  ‘Being a snob doesn’t suit you,’ my gran insists.

  ‘It’s not just that,’ my mum continues. ‘You used to be so sweet and caring – you’d do anything for anyone. Belle told me all about last night, how you made sure she enjoyed herself, and she’s been banging on about you all morning. I thought we had the old Mia back but you’re still being selfish. Belle will be heartbroken if you snub this gesture, she thinks the two of you are working things out. Just endure it. What’s the worst that can happen?’

  ***

  As I twirl aimlessly in my chair I look at my reflection in the mirror. It doesn’t matter how much makeup I put on this morning, my eyes are so dark I look like I’ve been punched in the face. There’s something horribly honest about the mirrors you find in hair salons. You’re sat so close to them, for extended periods of time with nothing to do but take a long hard look at yourself.

  Without the safety blanket of my hair (because it’s wrapped up in foil, like leftovers) I have no choice but to take a long hard look in the mirror, and I don’t like what I’m seeing. No one wants to be a bad person really (although the jury is still out on Auntie June), do they? I don’t want people thinking that I’m stuck up or selfish. I don’t look down on my family, they raised me and at the end of the day I’m still one of them, so why do they think I’m looking down on them?

  If that isn’t a snob looking back at me, then what’s the alternative? A pathetic little girl who allowed her mum to guilt her into getting her hair done. I’m really happy that Belle and I are working things out so when she said that Belle was happy too, I knew what I had to do.

  So much for this being a social thing though. My mum and gran have gone for a cup of tea because they don’t believe in colouring their hair now that they’re grey, they think a woman should grow old gracefully – further proof that I was accidentally swapped at birth because I plan to grow old as disgracefully as possible. Give me Botox or give me death.

  The rest of the group are all sat chatting at the other side of the room. Not only am I sitting apart from them but, with several noisy hairdryers on the go, I can’t hear a thing.

  I am sitting over here alone because of my ‘overly fussy request’ as my mum put it before she left. I love my warm, honey blonde colour. It’s a little classier than that bright, Barbie blonde you see most naturally brunette girls rocking. One thing I made very clear to the girl doing my hair today is that I didn’t want to end up with bleach blonde hair.

  A girl called Amber is doing my hair today. When she was assigned to me I instantly regretted giving in to my mother because Amber’s own hair is awful. It’s a sort of burgundy colour and is scraped up in a bun on top of her head. As she admired my long hair she told me how her own was quite short because she had damaged it over the years by repeatedly colouring, straightening and curling it. Still, I didn’t want to make a scene, and if she’s still working here at Dyevine she’s clearly good at her job. Dyevine, what a stupid name for a hair salon. I understand the love we have in the UK for giving salons names with terrible puns, but I don’t think this one quite works.

  ‘Let’s check you,’ Amber says, peeling back a piece of foil. ‘Just a little while longer,’ she concludes, leaving me sitting under the heat lamp.

  ‘I don’t usually need heat when I’m having my hair coloured,’ I tell her, but it falls on deaf ears. I really hope I’m not going to leave here today looking like a Playboy Bunny, with hair so blonde you’ll need sunglasses to look at it.

  After sitting a while longer, I notice everyone else is finished. As Belle walks over to see how I’m getting on, I notice that her shoulder-length, chocolate brown hair isn’t much different than it was before we arrived, so that’s encouraging.

  ‘Will she be much longer?’ Belle asks.

  ‘Nope,’ Amber chirps. ‘We just need to rinse and dry. Follow me,’ she instructs me, walking towards the sink.

  I lie back, my head resting on the uncomfortable sink, as Amber washes my hair. I always find something very relaxing about having someone else washing my hair, but Amber obviously hasn’t been taught the art of the head massage. She’s sloppy, splashing water in my eyes – water that is far too cold. My headache was bad enough this morning, and that’s before my hair was pulled into foil and rinsed like a dog getting a bath. As soon as we’re done here I’ll go pick up some painkillers, then I’ll maybe take a nap and pray that I feel better. Tonight I might actually be able to get some work done!

  ‘Right, back over here,’ Amber instructs, leading the way.

  I sit down in front of the mirror, but as Amber removes the towel from my hair I can’t help but notice it looks a little different than usual. I mean, I know my hair is still wet, and it’s pretty dark here in Dyevine, but something isn’t right.

  ‘There you go, that isn’t too blonde, is it?’ Amber says victoriously, in an I-told-you-so kind of way.

  I shake my head silently as she begins drying my hair. At first she has me lean forwards so she can dry the underneath, but as I sit upright again the true horror of what she has done to my hair hits me. My hair is orange.

  At first I can’t speak. Well, what do I say? It’s orange. Maybe I should say that? But Amber doesn’t seem to think anything is wrong with it – she’s happily blowing away.

  ‘There,’ she says when she’s done. ‘One sec, I’ll grab the mirror.’

  Amber positions a small mirror behind my head so that I can see the back, which is also orange.

  ‘It’s a bit… orange,’ I say, my manners getting the better of me. What I want to do is hit her over the head with that mirror she’s holding and yell: ‘you stupid bitch, you’ve given me clown hair!’

  ‘Oh that’s just the lighting in here, it’s quite dark. Once you get out in that lovely sunshine you’ll realise it’s not much different to when you came in. Just better,’ she adds.

  I stare hard at the mirror. It is dark in here, but it looks orange to me. Still, I give her the benefit of the doubt and leave with the rest of the gang, but the second I step outside I take my compact from my handbag and check it out. I gasp dramatically because out here in the light it only looks even more orange.

  ‘Holy shit, I look like Hayley Williams from Paramore,’ I announce before turning on my heels and heading back in.

  I march up to the front desk where Amber is stood chatting to another employee.

  ‘So I went outside,’ I start, trying to keep my cool, ‘and it only looks an even brighter shade of orange.’

  ‘You said you wanted it warm,’ Amber starts.

  ‘Yes, dear, warm. Not on fire,’ I reply through gritted teeth. ‘Honey blonde is what I asked for.’

  ‘Well honey is orange in colour,’ the other girl interjects.

  ‘Oh, come on, everyone knows what honey blonde looks like. It was the colour I came in with, which Amber knew.’

  Amber shrugs her shoulders.

  ‘Look, I’m Pearl, the manager here,’ the other girl replies. ‘And it looks to me like Amber has done what you asked for.’

  ‘I asked for Cara Delevingne, not Coco the Clown,’ I insist. ‘You can’t expect me to go out in public like this.’

  ‘Well we’re fully booked for the rest of the day,’ she insists, although the place is currently empty.

  ‘So, what?’ I ask.

  ‘We don’t give refunds,’ Pearl informs me.

  ‘Screw the refund. Do you think I care about that? I care about walking aro
und with disgusting coloured hair.’

  ‘That’s offensive to gingers,’ Amber tells me off.

  I roll my eyes. So I’m some sort of ginger-basher because I’m not happy with my orange hair – that’s the distinction here: orange. Ginger hair is beautiful, some of the sexiest women in the world are redheads, but my hair isn’t ginger, it’s a very unnatural shade of orange.

  ‘If you come back tomorrow, maybe we can run a toner through it or something,’ Pearl offers reluctantly.

  ‘Thanks, but no thanks,’ I reply, storming outside where the others are waiting for me.

  I’m no expert, but I’m not sure a toner is going to do much to dampen the orange fire that is my hair. And even if it would, there’s no way I’m letting Dyevine’s two precious stones, Amber and Pearl, anywhere near my hair ever again.

  Chapter 31

  We drove most of the way home in silence. When my mum first clapped eyes on my hair she tactfully told me it was a ‘nice change’ but I gave her such a filthy look she hasn’t spoken to me since. This is all her fault, really. I told her I didn’t want my hair doing – several times – and she guilted me into it by making out like I’m a selfish snob. She made me feel like my relationship with my sister depended on it.

  Sitting alone on the bed I share with Leo, I sigh. There’s no use blaming my mum, I should have stood my ground and gone with my instincts. I should be strong enough not to give in to guilt trips, and to know that you should never trust a hairdresser with bad hair.

  I grab my iPad and open up the file I need to work on. It’s hard to get on with work when I’m feeling sorry for myself. The truth is that I’m devastated, but I haven’t cried about my appearance since I was younger and I don’t plan to start now. The last time I burst into tears was before I moved to the States. I was in the town centre when a complete stranger – who I imagine was the ‘top dog’ of a gang of lads – called me a fat bitch in front of all his mates. I went home and I burst into tears, in private, like I always used to do when people called me names. When it was Belle and Nancy that were teasing me when I was younger this wasn’t so easy, finding a private place to cry. When Belle and Nancy saw my hair I think they both actually felt sorry for me, which was better than them making fun of me, but having people feeling sorry for me doesn’t feel very nice.