The Pearl Inside of Anything

12:30 p.m. (Still stuck in Mirabella)

Let's see. Mum is now through:

· One Tommy Toh state-of-Mum's-life-slash-hair consultation 

  One scalp massage deep repair shampoo (oh, sorry, two, he rinsed and repeated)

· One conditioning rinse

· One hot oil treatment

· One comb out

· One layery cut

· One mousse-ing at the roots

· One messy blow-out

· Thirty-six hot rollers

· Three rounds with the curling iron

· A whole lot of very gentle brushing

· Two minutes of root-teasing

· Endless fiddling with a stray piece only Tommy can see

· One mini-facial and complete makeover courtesy of Yvonne

"There! A little spray, not too much, we still want it to move," Tommy wields his golden can with a final flourish of wizardly arm-waving.

"Ready?" he says to Mum, looking straight in her eyes like it's a challenge. She is still covering her face from the hairspray, but she sits up super-straight and nods. Tommy unsnaps her cape and swings her chair around. She leans forward towards the mirror and her jaw drops.

Oh, Mum. I know that feeling.

Even in her grey sweats, there's no hiding it. Mum is stunning. Tommy's lifted, smoothed and rolled the waves of her brown hair. Her face glows with bronzer, silvery Diana-blue eyeliner and copper-pink lipstick. Yvonne is beaming at her own handiwork. Mum really could be Pamela Ewing. Only prettier. It's Mum who should be going with Tommy to Texas.

"I like it," she says softly. "I really do."

"You should!" Tommy laughs.

"We bring inside out!" says Yvonne proudly. "You are very nice lady. Very good mother." She hands Mum a box of Kleenex just in time. "Now, don't spoil mascara! Is not vaterpoof!" Yvonne sacrifices her smooth forehead for a second to give Mum a strict look.

"Just one condition!" says Tommy.

"Yes?" says Mum, looking concerned, like she's going to have to give all this back at midnight.

"No more broccoli elastics in the hair!"

"I promise!" Mum laughs.

"Ever! I mean it!"

Tommy turns to me. "What a morning! See you in Dallas, Wendy. It's going to be great!"

Fashion hugs all round (we are careful not to break Yvonne) and we are out the door, blinking in the noon sunlight. Except it's way past noon.

12:52 p.m., crawling through traffic on Marine Drive

"Mum, can you drop me at the beach? I can walk the rest of the way home."

"Sure, hon. Something the matter?"

"No, it was just a long time at Mirabella. I want to walk a bit."

"Oh, Wen, I'm so sorry. I just got caught up in it all. I can't believe I lost track of the time. Must've been very boring for you."

"It's okay. You can just drop me here." I tense up a bit, in case she decides to turn down the lane that leads to the beach. But as she pulls over to where I'm pointing, she sniffles and says:

"You know, Wendy, when Tommy asked what was fun for me, I blanked out. I just couldn't think of a single thing," she says to the dashboard. "But that was fun, this morning. I really enjoyed it."

"You look great Mum, I'm glad he did that for you. Don't cry, Mum! Stop it! Remember what Yvonne said! Sheesh! Mum, you'll wreck your mascara! Mum! Cut it out!"

She takes a scrunched Kleenex out of her sweatshirt sleeve and wipes her eyes under her sunglasses. "Oh, I'm fine. I don't know what came over me," she says sheepishly.

"Hair can be like that," I say.

"Right!" says Mum, and pats her head as if she can't quite believe it. "Off you go!" She gives me a gentle push as I open the car door.

As soon as the car is away, I run. Down the lane. Runrunrun. Right into the parking lot.

Which is empty.