For the Love of Tennis | ✅

Chapter 13

I’m going to do what Mum said to. I’m going to go straight up to Andre and, before he can utter a word, apologise. I’ll make it profound, from the very depth of my seemingly healing heart.

Anything for my mother.

We park in the same spot as yesterday. She hops out and I follow but she stops me as I make to enter the salon.

“Not yet,” she says, gesturing to the boot. “I’ve got some heavy supplies to bring in and I’d really use some help.”

I nod and head for the boot instead. Once it opens, I see a crate full of shampoos and conditioners and spare trimming scissors.

“I’ll do it,” I say when she makes to carry it. “Your elbow, remember?”

Now it’s her time to nod. She steps back, wistfully watching as I heave the box into my arms and through the double doors.

“Through to the back,” she says and then after saying hello to the receptionist, steers me through the shop to a small door towards the rear. Once inside the stock room, I place it gently on the floor, breathing in the dust particles lingering in the air.

Mum kneels down next to me and takes a bottle in her hand before arranging it neatly on the shelf.

“Want me to help?” I ask. She can only do it manually one bottle at a time.

She waves me away. “I’ll manage. You help with the sweeping. I’m sure Andre will be happy to see you.”

Somewhat relieved to be away from the cold, duty stock room, I push through the door, running smack into someone.

“Where’s Fiona?” asks Andre. He offers nothing more as a greeting.

I open my mouth to launch into my planned apology but he dismisses it with a quick wave of his hand.

“Not now,” he says. “It’s urgent.”

I look at his face, only seeing an expression of urgency.

“She’s right through here,” I reply, jutting a thumb behind me. “In the stock room.”

He gives me a nod of thanks, something of which sets me on edge, but I don’t question it as he pushes past me through the door, leaving it to swing closed.

As I work, I wonder what’s so urgent that Andre needs to discuss with my Mum about. Maybe he’s finally giving her a pay rise? My chest swells with warmth at that. Maybe he’s finally listened to me. Maybe my storming out yesterday was a good thing.

Hopefully.

They’re gone for ten minutes. Fifteen. By that point, Maria the receptionist has to help with the clients. Some of them even go to the lengths of refusing to get their hair done if it’s not by someone called Fiona.

“Find your mother,” Maria hisses to me. “She’s been gone long enough and these customers are driving me insane.”

I lean the broom against the wall next to a pile of neatly-swept hair. Then I make my way past the basins where another hairdresser is chattering away to her client and towards the storeroom.

I pause before I step in. Do I want to interrupt a lengthy conversation?

Telling myself it’s been well over a quarter of an hour, I grasp the handle and push my way in.

The dust settles at the back of my throat and I fight not to hack it up as it seems to tickle my lungs. A few coughs escape anyway and, by expelling the air so forcefully around me, it only draws more dust into my nose.