Chapter 12

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'Remember when Roxy Rogers ripped Larry Owen a new one on Celebrity Lock In last year, just because he said he preferred her as a red head?' Izzy swung her head from side to side in front of the salon mirror, examining the hairstyle she would wear two weeks from today at her wedding. Her hair was loosely curled and pinned in a messy low side bun. Loose strands framed her rosy cheeked face. She looked like she'd just emerged from the glossy pages of a bridal magazine - if you ignored the skinny jeans and black tank top, that is.

'Who the hell is Larry Owen?' From the couch at the opposite end of the salon where Dee and I were perched, I saw my own face, distressed and red, reflected in Izzy's mirror.

'He's an old game show host,' piped up Geri, the head bridesmaid. I wondered if she was the infamous bride who tripped on her Jimmy Choos down the aisle and made her bridesmaids wear candy pink satin dresses with cap sleeves.

'Cash Surprise Chaos - that was the show, right?' asked the hairdresser, running her curling tongs over Geri's chocolate brown hair. ''Somethin's a-rumbling!''

I assumed that was the catchphrase, like the one I remembered from the Aussie kid's show A-Maze-ing, where they yelled out at least three times every episode, 'Double dare, physical challenge!'

'That was the one!' squealed Izzy's other bridesmaid Karen in her thick Yorkshire accent. She pounded her palms excitedly on her thighs as she sat in front of her own salon mirror. The curls that the hairdresser had already crafted in her platinum blonde hair bounced along with her boobs, which were threatening to spill out of her white scoop neck tee. I heard a laugh escape the mouth of a woman on the other side of the salon, her foil covered head shaking as if she had a fond memory of the show replaying in her head.

Izzy had invited Dee and I along to her Saturday morning trial hair appointment after we'd texted her while we were out shopping. We'd been flicking through racks of floaty pastel dresses for spring/summer that I couldn't afford in a boutique whose name I couldn't pronounce on Carnaby Street and we'd wanted to know if she'd like to get a wine and lunch with us as soon as it hit the socially acceptable 'start drinking' time of midday. We'd forgotten that Izzy actually had a wedding in two weeks to freak out about and had to multi-task. So after dragging Dee away from a gorgeous purple designer dress that would have taken me five days of work to afford, here we were in a salon in South Kensington. I'd stupidly wondered out loud how Izzy could afford a trial appointment at such an exclusive salon, but Dee had rolled her eyes and reminded me that Izzy was tying the knot with an investment banker.

'You mark my words,' she'd said, one of her long red fingernails pointing to the sky, 'that wedding of hers is going to be something else.'

Dee, in her floppy-brimmed felt designer hat, black leather leggings and white man's shirt, looked right at home in the salon. Her expression matched the slightly bored expressions of the hairstylists as she examined her nails. I, however, felt slightly conspicuous in my khaki H&M shirt dress and tan New Look boots. My hand kept flying up to pat my roots every time I saw them glaring darkly at me in the mirrors. I could sense Izzy's hairstylist glancing at my roots from time to time, too. In my reflection, I saw a puzzled look cross my face.

'So are you saying I'm the new Larry Owen?'

'Well, yeah, you sort of are,' shrugged Izzy. 'But don't worry; everyone was totally on Larry's side after she yelled in his face on CLI. She's known for overreacting about nothing.'

'Well, what happened after she yelled at him?' I implored, a hint of desperation creeping into my voice. Izzy, Karen and Geri exchanged glances.

'They pretty much had slanging matches every day over the cleaning, who ate the last of the cereal, that sort of thing,' said Geri. 'Larry got so fed up, he was forced to leave.'

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