Tears stung her eyes and she didn’t try to stop them. It wasn’t every day that Annie allowed herself to feel her emotions. Pretending she didn’t have any seemed to work best for her over the years, at least for a while, until the flood rose too high, smashed the dam and, like now, she had to release it.

She hated her life. She hated this dingy kip of a flat. She hated her job, her mother, this stupid city.

She hated everything.

“No more,” she said firmly as she balled her fists at her sides. “No more. After today, you’re making a change. Things are going to be better. You’re going to make them better.”

But even as she said the words, Annie knew she was kidding herself. She’d tried that mantra before.

And still, nothing ever changed.

Chapter 10

Then

“Good morning, Betty,” Annie sang, as her first salon client of the day took a seat in the chair in front of her. “What’ll it be today?” she asked as she danced about, getting the woman ready for her treatment.

She wrapped and secured an apron around her neck and draped a towel over that, clipping it in place.

“You’re in great form today. Is it a fella who’s responsible?” the older woman teased as her eyes followed Annie’s every move.

Betty was one of her regulars. She always came for the same thing—a wash and set—despite Annie’s angling to get her to try something new. She never did. Most of the women who came here were the same.

“No,” she replied, rolling her eyes good-naturedly. “Why must it be a fella? Why can’t we just be happy all on our own?”

Betty guffawed. “Sure, isn’t that the only reason God created Adam?”

Annie rolled her eyes as she chuckled. “Maybe you can’t be happy without a man, Betty Corcoran, but I certainly can.” She looked at her client in the mirror as she began to run her fingers through her hair. “I make myself happy.”

Betty sniggered.

“Don’t mind that one,” her boss, Rose, put in. “She’s Not-So-Little Miss Sunshine these days,” she said, taking a blatant aim at Annie’s muffin-top—another thing she’d been meaning to fix by taking long walks in the evening after work. But she was always too tired.

The salon owner teased the hair of the blonde in front of her. Rose was lost in a time warp, still back in the eighties, where people liked their hair puffed up to the size of a football helmet. And the explanation for why all of the salon’s clients were in their forties or older, Annie knew; no one else would be interested in getting their hair done by her.