“I see. It’s all been a bit of a shock to you?”
“Yes.”
“Is there anyone else I could talk to who knew Anne well?”
Grace tapped her fingers against her lips. “As I said, she never had that many friends but she did look after herself. I remember her mentioning her hairdresser in particular. The saloon is on the main street –Brushstrokes. I don’t remember the stylist’s name. Oh, and you could try the beautician. Anne used to get her nails done regularly. It’s also on the main street, the place with the pink sign – I don’t remember the name.”
“Thank you, Grace, for being so honest. I really just want to help.”
Grace looked down at her hands clasped on her lap. “I believe that. I suppose I just feel bad that I didn’t help Anne, that I didn’t realise she was struggling and was turning to alcohol.” She looked up at Isobel with eyes shimmering with tears.
Isobel reached out and squeezed her hand. “You did what you could.”
Grace nodded. “Talking to you, I realise how upset I am about everything.”
“It is upsetting. But I think you’ll feel better having talked to someone about it all.”
“I hope so.”
“I’d better go.” Isobel got to her feet.
Grace stood too. “If you see Anne please tell her that I was asking for her.”
Isobel nodded, not trusting herself to answer that. She reached into her bag and pulled out a pen and scrap of paper. “Here is my mobile number. If you think of anything else or if you want to talk, give me a ring.”
“I will, Isobel. Thank you for listening.”
“Thank you for confiding in me. But, Grace, should you see Anne, please don’t tell her that I talked to you. I’m only trying to help, and I don’t want her to misunderstand and think that I’m going behind her back. Is that all right?”
“Of course. I won’t say a word.”
As she made her way out of the drive, Isobel wondered why she had given Grace her mobile number. She would be back in Ireland soon and miles away from the drama of the Banks marriage.
Chapter 5
Out on the street once again Isobel glanced at her watch: four thirty. She should have time to get to the hairdresser’s before it closed. As she walked along the street she noticed that the beauticians did indeed have a pink sign saying ‘Ladies Made’. Isobel kept walking, looking for Brushstrokes. As she approached, she could see through the window that there was a counter inside with a receptionist.
Isobel swung open the door, a bright smile on her face.
“Hi, my name is Isobel. A friend of mine, Anne Banks, who lives near here, recommended her hairdresser and I’m sorry but I just can’t think of the name she told me. I was wondering if I could see her?”
The receptionist, a rather dapper man, tall with black hair, smiled. “Let me see,” he tapped on the computer facing him. “Oh yes, Tanya is her usual colourist and Aaron cuts her hair. Which are you looking for – a cut or a colour – or maybe both?”
“Oh. I’m not sure. We talked about so many things I can hardly remember which she was particularly suggesting. I do remember that Anne is a regular with this person and has been for some time. Anne was sure that they could help me with my look.” She laughed and fluffed up her hair.
He tapped on the computer keys a bit more. “Well, of the two, Aaron is here the longest and he’s a great cutter, so I imagine it’s Aaron.”
“Is he here now? Perhaps I could have a quick word?”
“He’s gone for the evening and he’s off tomorrow, and he’s also very booked up for the rest of the week.”
“Oh no! Couldn’t he squeeze me in at the end of the day? Thursday or Friday?”
“No, I’m afraid. He’s working right up to closing time each day, six o’clock on Thursday and eight on Friday.”
“Oh. Why don’t you give me your card and I can always ring and make an appointment for next week when I see how my schedule is?”
“Certainly. That would be excellent.”
It was a shame. Isobel knew that a hairdresser could be like a confessor – they heard everything, especially if you’d been going to the same one for a while.
Having had no success at the hair saloon, she made her way to the beautician’s. Using the same routine she asked the receptionist for the person who took care of Mrs Banks’ nails. Luckily Sharon was available for a manicure. In fact, Isobel’s nails had got quite brittle from the chemo so she was glad to settle down for a manicure and a chat.
Sharon turned out to be about thirty, with long blonde hair and the heavily made-up face of someone very familiar with cosmetics. However, her smile was welcoming and her greeting showed her to be open and warm.
Isobel picked out a colour for the shellac nails and got ready to go fishing for information.
In the end it turned out to be relatively easy. Isobel mentioned that Anne had recommended Sharon which created a sense of relationship and then hesitantly she added that she hadn’t seen that much of Anne recently. Immediately Sharon jumped in.
“No, I haven’t either and she used to come in every two weeks for her nails and every month for a leg-wax. She was one of my regulars, a lovely lady.” Sharon studied Isobel’s nails, eyes only on her work.
Isobel said nothing, realising that Sharon was used to chatting as she worked and would probably get into a flow.
“Anne talked non-stop about Tommy, her little boy. I have a little boy too. He’s four and we were always discussing the best way to be a good mother. To be honest, she was really helpful to me. Brandon, my little one, hardly slept for the first ten months. I was back at work and I was so tired. Anne was great, she used to bring me in information she’d found for me. That year was so hard. I wouldn’t have got through it without her help.” Sharon paused and looked up at Isobel. “She told me about someone she knew, their child wasn’t sleeping, was crying all the time, just like my Brandon. It turned out that the little one couldn’t tolerate the regular baby formula. When they switched to goat’s milk everything changed for them. She wanted me to try it because she knew I was at the end of my tether.” Sharon had forgotten about Isobel’s nails, lost in her story. “It’s more expensive but she brought me in one of the big containers because it made such a difference with this other baby. It worked a treat. Two days and no more colic – just sleep for him and me. Well, Brandon never looked back. You should see him now, as healthy as a horse!”
Sharon gave a little start and resumed her buffing. Isobel made gentle murmuring noises. Sharon continued her monologue.
“Anne knew that money was tight so, when she came to get her nails done, she brought me a container of goat’s milk formula every time until Brandon got too big. She was amazing, so concerned and generous. I couldn’t have got through that year without her.”
“That was kind of her.”
“Yes.”
Sharon had started to apply the colour.
“How long is it since Anne was in?” Isobel asked.
Sharon paused to consider then resumed her task. “She stopped coming in maybe three or four months ago. You’re her friend – will you tell her I miss seeing her? I know she’s a client but I kind of thought of her as a friend.”