The Hanahaki Club: Episode 10
Episode 10: Rivals, Part 3
So far…
Mortified by his condition, and finding himself the only boy at the hanahaki support group, Taran has no intention of going back—especially since Merryn, one of his college peers, also also attends the group. Instead, for reasons he can’t bear to share with anyone else, he is determined to go it alone.
Episode 10: Rivals, Part 3
Taran
Snip. Snip. Snip. Snip.
“An’ I told her, that man may be single, honey, but he’s not available—emotionally, ya know?”
“You’re so right.”
Snip-snip. Snip-snip.
Ting!
“Good morning, Mrs Levi! Let me take your coat whilst you pop this on.”
“It’s chilly out there. Nice and warm in here.”
“We’ll soon have you all cosy, don’t you worry—make yourself comfortable at this sink here. Cup of coffee? Tea?”
“No, thank you, dear.”
“Comfy? Let me know if the water gets too hot. How have you been?”
Snip. Snip. Snip.
“An’ two weeks later, she finds out he hooked up with his ex, again—”
“Whilst he was seeing her?”
“Yes! They weren’t ‘officially’ dating—that was his excuse—so it didn’t count as cheating.”
“You did warn her.”
“I did! Unavailable, I said. An’ I was right, ya know?”
Riiiing. Ring. Riiing. Ring.
“Cutting Edge Hair and Beauty, how can I help you?”
“I hope she dumped him.”
“Cassie can do 2pm on Tuesday or 11am on Thursday this week.”
Snip-snip. Snip-snip.
“He moved in with her a month ago.”
“Great, you’re booked in with Cassie for 11am this Thursday. See you then, Ms Larsen.”
Taran put down the phone and slid out from behind the reception desk. He grabbed the broom he’d left leaning against a station and went back to sweeping up the locks of glossy chestnut that lay scattered on the tiles.
“She let him move in?”
“There were problems with his landlord or somethin’, so he moved in and was textin’ all the time…”
“Let me guess—the ex?”
“Then last Friday, she caught him on the phone when he thought she was still in the bath, and he was all: ‘I miss ya, baby, I wanna see ya’.”
“And it was the ex?”
“The ex.”
Taran caught Cassie’s eye in the mirror and she winked at him as she snipped another inch off Angela Crumping’s strawberry-blonde barnet.
“Well, you did tell her.”
“Yes, I did, honey! I told her over and over again.”
Taran smiled to himself as he swept the fallen tresses into a long-handled pan. The salon was practically his second home. The bubbly smell of shampoo, the pear drop sweetness of hairspray, the stinging odour of bleach and hair dye mingled with the cloying richness of ground coffee had been part of his life since he was nine years old. There was a comfort to the constant chatter, the rhythmic snip of scissors, the hum of hairdryers and the muted rumble of the washer-dryer on its cycle in the utility room. In this warm, intimate environment, where clients came in drab and weary and left polished and refreshed, Taran had spent his afterschool hours and Saturday mornings, doing homework perched on a stool at the reception desk; or curled up on the little black leather, two-seater sofa under the front window, leaning on the armrest as he watched bars of sunlight flickering on the cream tiles and half-listened to the ebb and flow of tidbits and gossip that came and went with each ting of the bell above the door.
Taran had spent as much time here as he had at home, and, after Gramps’ allotment, the salon was secretly his second favourite place in the world. It was, after all, where Cassie spent most of her time—the place she had poured all her heart and her energy into since the tender age of nineteen; the business she had built with the help of their mother’s life insurance money; the business that had put a roof over their heads, put food on the table and paid the bills to keep them warm in winter. It was the place that had allowed them to stay together and that had provided them with a community: Katie and Laila, the other two stylists; Beki, the nail technician who rented the back room three days a week; and their regular clients who were always bringing in home-baked treats, asking Taran when he was going to stop growing, and trying (and failing) to set up Cassie with their sons and grandsons. As a child, Taran had been treated as part of salon life, and once he was old enough he’d started to earn his pocket money by making cups of tea and taking the clean towels and robes out of the washer-dryer. As soon as he was legally allowed to work, Cassie had taken him on as part-time staff, extending his duties to manning reception, washing hair, cleaning up stations, managing their website and fixing any I.T. issues.
But the thing Taran liked most about the salon was that he got to watch Cassie in her element. Watching her multitask as she cut hair, chatted to her clients, and gave advice or instructions to her employees was fascinating. Her energy was endless, her mood always upbeat and her patience saintly—particularly when taking on high school students for their work experience or hairdressing trainees for their practical placements. It was clear she loved her job, even though it left her with very little time to herself and so exhausted that she spent most of her evenings and weekends sprawled on the sofa with a sharing bag of crisps and a crime documentary that had her eyes bugging out of her head. Taran had never once heard her complain about her work. She’d complain about the price of supplies going up, or a raise in the rent, or about how hard it was to get hold of plumbers these days, but she never moaned about being on her feet ten hours a day, or staying up late to do paperwork, or about customers who were rude or patronising, or about having to look after a sick parent whilst completing an apprenticeship, or about working a full-time job from the age of eighteen, whilst also taking on the responsibility of raising an eight-year-old when she was still only a teenager herself.
“So, did she finally listen to you and kick him out?”
“She did—threw his stuff out on the street that very night.”
Taran saw Cassie shake her head as she put down her scissors and ran her fingers through Angela Crumping’s hair to check the evenness of the cut.
“Well, she did the right thing in the end.”
Angela hummed cynically. “Oh honey, ya think that would be it, wouldn’t ya?”
Taran caught a flash of Cassie raising her eyebrows in the mirror as he headed to the backroom to empty the pan.
“I caught her textin’ him yesterday evening. He’d been sending messages all week sayin’ he’s sorry and misses her.”
Cassie’s response drifted into the back room as Taran emptied the pan and then began emptying the washer-dryer, which had just finished its latest cycle.
“Does she not know what the block function is for?”
“That’s what I said. ‘Honey,’ I told her, ‘You know better than that. I’ve told you a hundred times now and I don’t think I can tell you one more.’ But,”—and here Taran could imagine Angela shrugging expressively as she paused to exhale a long, loud sigh—“That’s love for you.”
Ting!
Cassie’s tone was typically wry: “That’s not love, that’s insanity.”
What’s the difference? Taran wondered, as he began folding towels and putting them away on the shelving above the washer-dryer. Love was some sort of insanity: it completely consumed your thoughts, dictated your behaviour and turned you into a person you didn’t recognise anymore—like someone who avoided their friends and lied to get out of Friday night plans. Despite Angela Crumping’s cousin’s questionable life choices, at least she wasn’t hacking bits of flowers out of her lungs every day—surely, in all the world, there couldn’t be anything crazier than that?
“Feeling better today?”
“Shit!” Taran hissed, as his skeleton tried to jump out of his skin and he knocked his head on the counter. He rubbed his head as he crouched in front of the washer-dryer and squinted accusingly up a Kai.
“Sorry,” Kai laughed softly. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”
“Yeah, right. That’s why you’re laughing your arse off.” Taran grabbed the last towel from the machine and threw it at Kai’s face as he straightened up.
“No need for violence,” Kai continued, still laughing in that gentle way he had. He folded the towel and offered it back to Taran who took it and put it away on one of the shelves. “I thought you’d hear me come in, but you were obviously lost in thought. Are you due your break yet?”
“Not for another half an hour,” Taran replied as he shooed Kai towards the door and back out into the salon. “What are you doing here anyway?”
“I came to see how you were doing. Figured you were probably here, since you weren’t answering your texts.”
Taran frowned and pulled his phone from his pocket. He hadn’t checked it since he’d started his shift… which was mostly on purpose.
“Why don’t you take your break now?” Cassie said from her station, where she was plugging in the hairdryer. “You can pop to the shop and get some more milk.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yep. And some crisps. A sharing bag.”
Taran shot her a disapproving look which she ignored. “Anything else?” he asked, slipping off his apron and grabbing his jacket from the coat stand.
“Some dip.”
“What kind?”
“Sour cream and chive. A big tub. Nice to see you Kai!”
Kai blushed a little, as he always did when Cassie spoke to him. “You too, Cassie.”
“Come by for a trim soon.”
He gave her a little nod. “I will.”
Ting!
Taran rolled his eyes at them both as he pushed open the door. Cassie was always gushing over Kai’s hair, which was a thick, shoulder-length, natural platinum-blonde, usually worn in a half top-knot. She told Taran she was convinced Kai was half-elf and Taran had told her that he was sure she was fully a weirdo.
Kai followed Taran to the shop, which was just next door. “How are you feeling?” he asked.
“Fine.”
“It’s a shame you missed last night.”
Taran hummed non-committedly as he grabbed milk, dip and crisps from the shelves and hastened to the checkout.
Kai trailed casually behind him. “You’ve had a cough for a while—I hope you’re not over-doing it.”
Taran felt the blood drain from his face for a second and he nearly dropped the dip as he scanned it through the self-checkout machine. “Dude, you sound like my sister—it’s gross.”
Kai laughed. “Sorry. I’m glad you’re feeling better.” He patted Taran on the shoulder as they headed out of the shop.
“Stop that,” Taran admonished. He halted outside the shop and shoved the milk, dip and crisps into Kai’s arms before tugging on his own jacket to check his shoulder.
Kai laughed as Taran peeled the banana sticker from his shoulder.
“What are you? Five?”
Kai threw his head back as he continued to laugh, eyes crinkling at the corners and silver hair glistening in the feeble January sun that struggled out of the blueish grey clouds above. Taran lunged at him to slap the sticker on his forehead and Kai twisted away gleefully.
“Let me guess,” a voice said from behind Taran, “The banana sticker prank, right?”
Taran froze, feeling the blood that had earlier left his face rushing back to his cheeks and his ears with full force.
“Hey, Cherie,” Kai said.
Taran took advantage of the distraction to smack the sticker on Kai’s face and whisk his shopping out of his arms before Kai linked arms with his girlfriend and planted a kiss on her cheek. She grinned and peeled the banana sticker off his face.
“You guys never change.” She turned her chocolate-and-honey eyes to Taran and gave him a fond smile. “Are you feeling better? We missed you last night.”
“Well, I was doing better until five minutes ago when this idiot nearly gave me a concussion.”
Kai shrugged sheepishly. “Sorry. I really didn’t mean to make you jump like that.”
“Planning a party for later?” Cherie asked, nodding at the sharing bag of crisps that Taran was hugging protectively.
“These are supplies for Carrie’s party of one,” Taran explained. His eyes slipped, despite his best efforts to stop them, to where Kai and Cherie’s fingers were now threaded together. “You guys heading off somewhere?”
“A little lunch date,” Kai said.
Taran nodded. “Have fun. I’ve got to get back to the salon.”
“Thanks,” Kai said with a bright smile. He tugged gently on Cherie’s hand to lead her towards the bus stop. “Speak later,” he said over his shoulder.
Taran just nodded again.
“Say ‘hi’ to Cassie for me,” Cherie said, her glossy-pink mouth quirking up at the corner as she gave one of her cute, slightly awkward waves.
Taran nodded a third time, not daring to open his mouth for fear that the tickle in his chest would take the opportunity to expel a bouquet of pale petals past his lips and up the street on a passing breeze for the whole world to see. He watched silently as both his best friends disappeared up the road and around a corner, his face and ears still warm and his heart thudding thickly in his chest. Had he played it cool enough? Had either of them noticed? Was his jealousy obvious?
How terrible to be in love with your best friend who was dating your other best friend. He wanted to be happy for them, but his heart was too twisted up in pain and regret to be that selfless. If only he’d beaten Kai to it and been the first to admit his feelings. Or perhaps he should have been honest from the start when Kai had told him how he felt about Cherie. Perhaps he should have said ‘Me too, buddy. No hard feelings. May the best man win’, instead of keeping his mouth shut and suffering in silence. But how could he have put their friendship at such risk? They were his childhood friends; he couldn’t let a silly teenage crush ruin that.
And yet, it felt like it was ruined anyway. Here he was, avoiding them both because he hated feeling not only like a third wheel but like a secret villain too. What kind of person was he to hope their relationship didn’t last? How would that even play out anyway? Was there any situation where Kai and Cherie broke up, even if it was mutual and amicable, and it would be okay for him to try his luck? Where it would ever be acceptable to date his best-friend’s ex-girlfriend?
Not that it mattered anyway; Cherie obviously didn’t see him that way, or she would never have agreed to go out with Kai. She liked Kai and Kai like her, and they’d been nothing but happy since they’d started dating five months ago.
But that didn’t mean he wanted to see it, or hear about it, or know about it in any way.
Taran tucked his chin into the collar of his jacket and kept his eyes on the pavement as he turned and walked back to the salon. He couldn’t tell anyone about this; he already knew what they would say. His jealousy was ugly. He shouldn’t be so selfish. He should be a better friend. He really was a villain.
He had to get rid of these feelings, even if it meant ripping the weeds out of his chest himself. He would cure himself somehow. He would find a way to kill these feelings before they killed him, and before he was robbed, yet again, of people he cared deeply about.
Next time: Episode 11—Rivals, Part 4
Teaser:
Merryn slapped a blob of marmalade onto a piece of toast and gave it her full attention as she tried, and failed, to spread it evenly. She wondered if she could manage to leave the kitchen without having to look directly at Sye. She was being weird and awkward, and he was definitely going to notice.
The Hanahaki Club Index
Welcome to the index page of The Hanahaki Club. Please scroll down to find links to each published episode. If you need any help, let me know via the message button at the bottom of the page.
Author’s Notes:
This episode is dedicated to my hairdresser, who has been putting the world (and my spilt ends) to rights since I was fifteen. May she never retire.
Next week: Episode 11—Rivals, Part 4
PJ
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