London, January 1993

Katrina couldn't help herself. Although she'd promised Dee she'd keep her appointment as The Rock 'n' Roll Chef's hair and make-up artist a secret as Dee wanted the programme kept firmly under wraps for the moment, she had to tell Alfie about it.

They were back in Chevelure Chic on January 2nd. That time of year was almost always lean in the hairdressing business. Everyone had spent their money in the lead-up to Christmas and New Year, and parties or events didn't happen again until Valentine's Day.

The rich were different, however. Not for them the trivial worries of how you were going to pay off the credit card bill, or spare enough money for the 'leccy. No. Chevelure Chic's clients didn't have to vex themselves on that account. If there were no parties, then there was still the opportunity to pamper yourself and ensure appearances were kept. The New Year was only a few weeks old, but the pace was yet to let up.

She told Alfie about her new freelancing gig as they wandered the streets one lunchtime. Rick only allowed his staff a half-hour break once a day (not counting unscheduled fag breaks) and she and Alfie had both wanted to escape the stuffy, over-scented salon. So far, they'd both done five clients each, and Katrina's shoulders and upper back ached.

"If Rick finds out, you're dead," Alfie said, taking a large bite of the cheese and ham sandwich Katrina had given him. Debbie always made her a packed lunch and seemed to feel that the bigger it was, the better.

The January sales were tailing off, and they skirted around a queue outside a designer boutique that had slashed its prices in half again. There was a beautiful patch leather skirt in the window, and Katrina watched regretfully as a shop assistant took it off the mannequin. Not that she'd have been able to buy it anyway. Half-price or not, the boutique favoured prices only the clients, and not the staff, of Chevelure Chic could afford.

"I know," she said. "Which is why he isnae going to know about it. Is he?"

Alfie swallowed his bit of sandwich and eyed her beadily. "I'm not going to tell on you, doll. I just fink it's too risky. You 'aven't even finished your apprenticeship yet. If Rick sacks you, it won't be easy to get another job."

Alfie wasn't telling her anything she didn't already know. Debbie had said the same, raising an eyebrow when Katrina told her and Daisy she was going to work for a TV production company. Chevelure Chic was the salon Debbie had used for many years before Tony's prison sentence put an end to such luxuries. And she'd got herself a live-in hairdresser in the form of Katrina.

A good job and a steady income were important, she told Katrina. And she should know.

But this was an opportunity and a half, wasn't it? Working in TV AND seeing plenty of Mick. The programme might only be a lowly cookery show, but where might it lead? In her wilder flights of fancy, she imagined some star, dressed in a fur coat and wearing sunglasses, despite it being Hollywood and hot and sunny outside.

"I'm only signing up for this film if you promise me Katrina Burnett is the hair and make-up artist?" The woman tapped the piece of paper in front of her with a long scarlet nail. "She's the only one I trust to make me look good."

Then, she was flown across the Atlantic in a private jet, the said star meeting her at the airport and throwing her arms around her. "Thank GOD, you're here! Make me look beautiful, darling!"

Katrina had always taken risks, hadn't she? Most of the time, they paid off. She risked making friends with the English holiday-maker who landed up in her old hometown and look where that had led. She'd risked leaving her former life behind, and going to London with the Walkers when they fled Kirkcudbright in disgrace, Tony's thieving uncovered, and now her life was 100 percent better than it had ever been in Nowheresville...

Risks were what made life exciting and thrilling. Anyway, why call it a risk? Try adventure, instead.

"Are you doin' it just because it's Mick?" Alfie had finished his massive sandwich and had started on the packet of crisps Debbie had also included. He spoke through a mouthful of crumbs, muffled and indistinct, and yet the scorn was loud and clear.

"No," she said, keeping her voice light and flat. "I'm doing it 'cause it's TV. And extra money. Your stinky, smoky city isnae cheap."

"Hey, Alfie!"

The shout came from the other side of the street where a figure in a pink fake fur coat was waving furiously at them.

Cheryl Bad Highlights.

She gestured 'don't move' and dashed across the road as fast as her platform heels could carry her, arriving breathlessly in front of them seconds later. Her hair looked even worse in the stark wintry sunlight. Honestly, if she said she'd got her baby sister to do them, Katrina would have believed her.

Alfie looked as taken aback as Katrina felt. "Oh...hey, Cheryl. Erm, do you work near here, then?"

Cheryl smiled brightly, her lips stretching widely across slightly protruding teeth and her cheeks pink. Her eyes, Katrina noticed, didn't move.

"No, just having a look at the sales," she sketched a hand behind her, waving at the over-priced boutique. "Do you work round here, then?"

The pause gave her away. The words were too rehearsed.

"Yeah, I do," Alfie said, pointing at Chevelure Chic. "Just on me lunch break."

Cheryl, Katrina could tell, was giving off not-so-subtle 'piss off' vibes. She was here for a reason, after all.

A kind person, the sort Jesus wanted for a sunbeam, for example, would take pity on her and exit stage left so she could ask Alfie if he wanted to go to the cinema or something.

The kind of person Jesus had long ago decided was his last choice when it came to sunbeam status took her fags from her coat pocket and shook the packet out, offering them to Alfie and Cheryl. Mind you, here she was sharing her precious menthols with a woman who looked as if her hair might burst into flames the minute a lighter went anywhere near it.

Cheryl took the cigarette, leaning in perilously close to Alfie as he lit a match for them all. Katrina smiled blandly at her as she took a drag herself, and stayed firmly in place.

"Ooh, menthols!" Cheryl screwed her nose up and then straightened her face again, shaking her head. "I'm glad I bumped into you, Alfie. I forgot to give you my number after New Year!"

She hadn't forgotten. Alfie said he'd thrown it away.

Katrina tore off the top of the menthols packet and handed it over. "Write it down on this," she said, ignoring the sharp dig she got in the ribs from her colleague.

"Actually," the cheeks turned from pink to red, "I was wondering if you want to go out, this evening, like? Down the pub with me and my mates. It'll be a right laugh, nothing heavy."

About to jump in and say yes, she'd love a night out with Cheryl and her crew, Alfie stepped in front of Katrina and took the piece of card from Cheryl. "Alright, then. I'll call you, yeah? About seven okay?"

Cheryl's face transformed. The flush died down, her eyes lit up, and this time the skin around them creased when she smiled.

"T'riffic! See you then!" She practically skipped off.

"Here for the sales. As if," Katrina turned back towards Chevelure Chic, their half-hour coming all too quickly to an end.

Alfie shrugged. "She is a nice gel. I just couldn't be bothered at the time, but she's alright. Fantastic tits, did you notice?"

There was no accounting for taste, was there? She congratulated herself for not giving voice to the thought. But Cheryl, like Daisy's Ghastly Graham, was yet another example that proved your friends really ought to run every prospective girlfriend/boyfriend past Katrina Burnett for approval.

As if he'd read her thoughts, Alfie asked after Daisy as they made their way back past the jostling queue of January last-minute bargain hunters. Katrina rolled her eyes and told him Daisy had also met someone at Lillian's New Year party.

"...so, she's already doing this thing where she's only listening to the music he recommends, and wearing less make-up because the stupid prick thinks too much is tarty."

Alfie nodded fervently. "Bad sign. Have you slagged him off in front of her?"

Katrina shook her head and then reconsidered. Maybe just a bit.

Alfie proved surprisingly knowledgeable about female friendships. It came, he said, from being the youngest in a family of five. Four older sisters had given him a unique perspective on the female sex, and what they liked and didn't. His youngest sister was only eighteen months older than him, and she told him everything.

Katrina mustn't slag off Ghastly Graham, Alfie announced. She should make non-committal noises until Daisy came to her senses and dumped him for herself. And even then, it was wise not to say too much, especially not 'I told you so'. Daisy was smart. She'd realise soon enough that she was dating a self-obsessed wanker.

Smart. Realise soon enough.

If there was anything else in those sentences, some hidden, lurking message that chose to stay hidden under the waters for the moment, Katrina decided to ignore it.

Alfie now had Cheryl Bad Highlights anyway. He and Katrina were Just. Good. Friends.