Pride and Premiership (23 page)

So Kellie happens to have met the only straight male flight attendant on the planet. OK, so I’ve only flown three times (to Majorca, Majorca and Majorca) but I’ve seen nearly every episode of
London Airport
and all the male flight attendants on that show are as camp as a row of tents. But not this one. His name is Jack (after his English mum’s favourite uncle) Ozdemir (he has a Turkish father), and according to Kellie, they’ve been head over heels for two whole days now.

Two days?! Well, it must be for real. LOL!

I hope that doesn’t sound too bitchy. I’m happy for her, but I also happen to know what Kellie’s like. If I’m honest, I’m just hoping she doesn’t fall out with him by December because he’s arranged our seventy-five-pounds-each-flight-plus-accommodation trip to Bodrum in Turkey, and I can’t wait!

Met Dad and Uncle Pete for a talk.

“Have you identified premises yet?” asked Uncle Pete. “Have you decided what area your salon is going to be in? And whether you’ll have any competition? These are the things I need to know.”

Come back, Kara, all is forgiven.

I’ve managed to find a few interesting salon options online: two are local, three are in Shepherd’s Bush. I’ve called up the landlords and made appointments to see them this week.

If I see one more expensive-for-no-good-reason premises, I’ll scream! Landlords want to charge a fortune for just a building with four walls and a lick of paint! Grrrr.

I’m meeting James for a drink and catch-up this evening, and I’m so–oo looking forward to it. He always cheers me up. (Mainly, I admit, because he makes out that I’m so bloody wonderful.)

Something strange happened tonight. James was complaining about the boss of the hair salon he works in, but all of his gripes about what his boss expects him to do seemed like reasonable requests to me. Realized I’m on the other side now and that’s probably how my beauticians will be complaining about me.

But the biggest surprise is, I’m starting to think that maybe – just MAYBE – Kara wasn’t so bad after all.

Does that make me a mentalist?

And the Great Salon Hunt goes on. Aa–aaaaaaaargh!

Yay! I’ve just seen the best building! It has one large room with enough floor space for nail bars and a (v. grotty but easily replaced) sink at the back, plus space for cupboards and a washer/dryer (for towels). There’s also a smaller room at the back that’s a perfect size for the Tanarama booth, and another room upstairs that can be used for waxing. And it’s in a great location – only twenty doors down from Kara’s.

“I like it,” said Dad.

“Not bad,” added Uncle Pete, nodding. (Uncle Pete is like the Simon Cowell of our partnership – we always want his approval.) “But what about the other salon down the road, won’t it be hard to get customers?”

“Kara’s?” I replied. “I used to work there, remember? Her clients are a lot older than we’re aiming for. They want skin lasering and stuff and are willing to pay a fortune. Our market is young women who want to be brown and manicured for a night out at a decent price.”

Uncle Pete nodded again. OK,” he finally agreed. “NOW I’m willing to go to the bank manager and ask for a loan.”

Yay!!!!

Dad and Uncle Pete have a meeting booked at the bank! The only problem is that it’s on Monday.

“Oh no–ooo,” I said to Dad. “That’s the day I’m going to Turkey. I’ll have to cancel.”

“Cancel? What for?” he replied. “You’ve done all you can do now. And if you ask me, I think you should take a break. It’s going to be non-stop for you if we get this loan.”

I know it’s a bit sad but I’ve already started to pack for my trip to Turkey!

Dear God, please don’t let Kellie fall out with Jack before Monday.

Jog on, miserable grey. Hello–ooo Bodrum, Turkey – clear blue sky around one huge spot of glorious yellow. Now we’re talking!!

Jack (dark, good-looking and wears his furry eyebrows very well) is spending the holiday with us and he’s taking us to the port this evening. He says there’s a great English bar there called Lenny’s. Bring it on.

Boys are the last thing on my mind, and that’s probably why I met a gorgeous one tonight.

The port of Bodrum surprised me. I’ve never thought of Turkey as rich or glamorous, but it’s well classy – there are some incredible yachts in the harbour. Earlier this evening I spent ages staring at them, wondering what on earth these people did for a living to be able to afford them. And for a brief second I thought,
If I’d stayed with Robbie, I could have lived like that
. But it was only very brief – and probably brought on by the fact that they were showing a Premier League Monday-night football match on the big screen in Lenny’s. Yuck! I’d spent months having to watch bloody football and I wasn’t about to watch another match tonight, not now I had the choice, so I went for a walk around the harbour and that’s when I met this boy. His name is Stephen Campbell. He’s Scottish, with a mop of thick brown hair and lips that were made for kissing, and he’s on crutches because he’s had an operation on his knee.

He caught me off guard. I was leaning on a barrier, staring longingly at one of the yachts in the port and I’d literally zoned everybody out – all the couples and groups of friends drinking and chatting outside the various bars – until I heard a voice behind me say, “How the other half live, eh?”

And I turned around to see Stephen’s gorgeous face smiling at me.

“Yeah.” I sighed dreamily. “They’re amazing.”

Instead of walking on, he stood there shyly, not saying anything. I could feel myself starting to blush because I thought he was a bit of all right, so to cover it up I pointed at his crutches and asked how he’d ended up like Long John Silver.

He gave a chuckle. “No, I haven’t got one leg just yet, merely a very suspect knee.”

“What happened?” I asked.

“A wee ligament problem, but I’ve had an operation – it’ll be fine.” He dismissed it as if it was nothing. I couldn’t help smiling at his lovely accent and the way he’d used the word “wee”. “It was written by a Scotsman, you know,” he added.

“What was?”

And when he said
“Treasure Island”
, I thought,
Wow, a man who actually reads.
(Robbie wouldn’t know
Treasure Island
if it fell from the sky and hit him on the head.)

Then a massive roar went up from Lenny’s, so I guessed someone had scored.

“Not watching the football?” I asked him.

“Och, no! I get enough of that at home. What about you?”

“Me? I’d rather stick a hot needle in my eye.”

He laughed. “You can’t hate it that much!”

I thought of Robbie. “Oh yes I can.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Well, that’s refreshing to hear, because all the pretty girls I meet in Glasgow seem to be obsessed with football.” Then he added, “Well, footballers, anyway.”

“Poor fools,” I couldn’t help saying.

“I agree with you,” he replied. “But then again, I would.”

I smiled. He smiled. And then he gazed at me without saying a word. I’ve never in my entire life wanted a boy to ask me out more than I did then. So I decided to take a leaf out of Kellie’s book (a much more subtle one) and went for it.

“How long are you here for?” I asked.

“Two weeks,” he replied. “You?”

“Snap,” I said.

We worked out that he was leaving one day before me. Then I asked who he’d come with and he told me he was on his own – a friend of a friend had got him a deal on a plush hotel so he could recuperate. When he asked me the same thing, I told him I’d come with my best friend and her man.

“They’re proper loved-up. I feel a bit of a lemon actually,” I said.