The glamp site, p.1
The Glamp Site, page 1
THE GLAMP SITE
IZZY BROMLEY
Copyright © 2025 by Izzy Bromley
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Formatted with Vellum
CONTENTS
IZZY BROMLEY
Also by Izzy Bromley
Books by Imogen Clark
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Acknowledgments
About the Author
I’m SO sorry
IZZY BROMLEY
=
ALSO BY IZZY BROMLEY
The Coach Trip
Table for Five
The Bed in the Shed
BOOKS BY IMOGEN CLARK
Postcards From a Stranger
The Thing about Clare
Where the Story Starts
Postcards at Christmas (A Novella)
The Last Piece
Reluctantly Home
Impossible to Forget
An Unwanted Inheritance
In a Single Moment
A Borrowed Path
In Another Life
1
‘And the winner of Best Hair and Beauty Salon is . . . .’
My heart is pounding so loudly I’m sure they must be able to hear it up on the stage. I feel sick too. I definitely shouldn’t have had that fourth glass of Prosecco, not before the announcement at least.
I cast a quick glance over at the other nominees. Katya from Glow Up and Go is biting her lip filler so hard I can almost see the toothmarks from here. Jeni, owner of The Luxe Bar, is smiling confidently, perched on the edge of her cream velvet chair ready to jump up when they call her name. Oh, to have a quarter of her self-confidence.
I turn my attention back to the announcer who is clearly milking his moment in the spotlight for all it’s worth. They don’t have announcement delays this long on The Traitors! I feel Simran’s hand reaching for mine under the table and she grabs my fingers and squeezes. When I spin my head to look at her, her pretty dark eyes are stretched wide open. She nods urgently as if we can make the prize ours just by wishing hard enough.
I turn back to the stage. The man making the announcement is fumbling with the gold envelope. He clearly fancies himself as a bit of a comedian. Just get on with it, I want to shout but I manage to restrain myself.
Finally, he gets the envelope open, pulls out the card and peers at it. Then he reaches into his jacket pocket for his reading glasses. For the love of god, could he take any longer?
‘And the winner is . . . Radiance Revival.’
Simran is on her feet and jumping up and down before I’ve had a chance to absorb what he said. Radiance Revival. That’s us! That’s me! My salon that I started from scratch and have built up steadily with my own blood, sweat and tears. Radiance Revival – now, officially, the best beauty salon in North London.
Everyone is clapping. Adam, sitting on my other side, nudges me.
‘Emily. It’s you!! Stand up.’
I still can’t quite believe it.
‘Would you like to come and collect the award?’ asks the comic on the stage, holding the glass trophy out towards me.
Flustered, I finally come back to myself and set off towards the stage, my heels tip-tapping across the wooden floor. I can’t help having a little peek at Jeni as I pass her. The smile now plastered across her face is somewhat different from the one a moment ago. This one definitely doesn’t reach her eyes. I give her my best magnanimous look as I pass her. Bad luck Jeni, you witch. Better luck next time.
And then I’m on the stage and receiving my award. It’s a crystal star with ‘Best Hair and Beauty Salon 2026 – Radiance Revival’ etched into it. It’s remarkably heavy and I’m scared it’ll slip out of my grasp and shatter into a million pieces all over the stage. I hold onto it tightly with both hands.
‘Thank you,’ I say, turning to the audience. No one else gave a speech when they collected their award but I’m not everyone else. I am Emily Brancaster and I don’t do things like everyone else.
‘I’d like to thank all our clients for their loyalty,’ I begin. ‘And all my staff for their hard work. And especially my husband, Adam, for his unfailing support. This award is for you all.’
Then, despite its weight and my fears about dropping it, I lift the crystal star up above my head in a gesture of triumph. The event photographer seizes the moment and I hear the satisfying click of his camera shutter. Good. That’ll be a good shot for the publicity.
Adam is whooping at me and Simran and the other girls are cheering loudly from our table. I give them one last huge smile and then I pick my way back down the stairs and across the floor to my seat. Katya mouths ‘Well done’ as I pass her. Jeni looks as if she’s swallowed a wasp and is whispering to the woman sitting next to her, no doubt complaining that she’s been robbed.
By the time I get back to our table, they have started to announce the next award. I don’t hear what it is. My head is too full of my prize. I did it. I really did it!
Adam is still on his feet and he sweeps me up in a huge hug.
‘Well done, Em,’ he says into my perfectly styled hair. ‘I’m so proud of you. You’re brilliant.’
And he’s right – although obviously I would never say that out loud. I am brilliant. My salon is fabulous and I totally deserve to win. I let my pride wash over me for a moment before I shake it away. I’ve never been one to rest on my laurels. Now I have to maintain what I have achieved. I need to win again next year.
And the year after that.
Already my brain is spinning with ideas, but I drag myself back to the here and now. Tonight is about celebrating what I have achieved. Tomorrow I can think about what I’m going to do next.
Adam and I sit back down and Simran pops the cork on a bottle of champagne that has appeared from somewhere and begins pouring. I can’t stop grinning.
‘Well done, Simran,’ I say. ‘Well done all of you!’ I lift my glass and toast all my wonderful therapists. ‘We did it!’
2
My hangover is comprehensive and all-consuming. I usually get away with it if I stick to drinking fizz but I suppose everything is relative and it depends how much fizz we’re talking about. And we’re talking a lot. We stayed at the table while all the other awards were announced, our support for businesses we’d never heard of becoming more effusive as the empty bottles stacked up. And then there was dancing and cocktails, and dancing and shots, and after that it’s all a bit hazy.
Feeling suddenly panicky, I lift my head from my pillow to scan the bedroom for my beautiful crystal star award but there it is, in pride of place on my dressing table, entirely intact. A warm glow radiates through me at the sight of it. I didn’t dream it, then? I really did win Best Hair and Beauty Salon. The glow is quickly replaced by nausea and I drop my head back onto my pillow with a groan.
The door opens and Adam appears with a very welcome cup of tea. He looks significantly better than I feel.
‘Thought you might need this,’ he says, smiling and raising the cup.
I shuffle up in bed and arrange the pillows behind me on the headboard. I do it very slowly – no more sudden movements for me this morning.
‘Thanks,’ I say. ‘And thanks for making sure my award got back in one piece.’
‘Your award is safe,’ he says. ‘But I have a massive blister on my heel.’
I frown, unable to make any kind of connection between the two things.
‘You made me put it in my socks,’ he says. ‘To keep it safe? Remember?’
I have only the fuzziest recollection of this but it does sound like the kind of thing I m ight have demanded.
‘Anyway, my feet didn’t take kindly to having no socks on and my shoes rubbed.’
I feel immediately guilty although, apart from making the initial sock-use request, the ensuing blister can’t be my fault. Adam is a grown man after all.
‘Oh my poor prince. Did you find the plasters?’
He lifts his foot to show me he has a wide array of plasters of differing sizes affixed to the heel. We have proper blister plasters in the first aid box but I don’t have the strength to explain so I just nod sympathetically at him.
Adam puts the cup down on the bedside table and comes to sit next to me on the bed.
‘What’s on the cards today?’ he asks. ‘Might I suggest a lazy day, spent basking in your success?’
Actually, I have some stock ordering to do and the payroll needs checking before Tuesday but I can tell he doesn’t want to hear that so I agree.
‘And maybe a nice celebratory Sunday lunch out,’ I add. I don’t fancy cooking with this hangover.
‘Great idea,’ he says. ‘Let’s enjoy it.’
And he’s right. It’s not every day your business is crowned the best around. I should put my natural instincts to one side and luxuriate in the moment. No one will die if I don’t do the stock ordering today.
He starts to stroke my blonde, perfectly highlighted-with-subtle-tones-of-honey-and-gold hair and I lean into his hand like a cat.
‘I’m so proud of you, Em,’ he says and the cockles of my heart warm. ‘I know you can be a bit . . .’
Hmm. A bit what? Determined? Single-minded? Tenacious? Steely? Stubborn?
‘Focused,’ he continues.
Okay. I can live with focused, although I might have preferred brave, courageous, forward-thinking, professional, businesslike, practical, organised, disciplined.
‘But you’ve worked really hard on building up the salon to what it is now—’
‘Award-winning, you mean,’ I chip in, grinning.
‘Yes, award-winning. And that took a lot of guts, so well done you!’
It’s nice to have my hard work recognised. Building the salon has taken focus and guts, and there have been one or two moments along the way when I thought it might take our marriage too, although we’ve managed to stumble over the rocky patches and come out on the other side. Radiance Revival is my single biggest achievement to date and this is just the start. I’m already thinking of other branches, maybe my own product range, a beauty academy where I can train my therapists to the standards I demand. I may only be twenty-nine but I have meaty ambitions and, to be honest, what can possibly stop me? I’ve already shown I have what it takes – last night proved that. Now I just need to keep going.
Adam doesn’t need to hear all this though, not right now and definitely not with this hangover. I will keep my goals to myself and just keep moving towards them, day by day, with that focus he just mentioned.
‘We can have a period of consolidation now, though,’ Adam continues. ‘Now that you’ve won. No need to chase off after the next thing for a while.’
He doesn’t look at me. He probably doesn’t dare. I bet he’s tensed for impact, sitting there on our bed next to me. I don’t take the bait. Instead, I turn to him, smile and nod.
‘Exactly,’ I say. ‘Consolidation.’
I see his shoulders drop and a relieved smile sweep across his anxious face. Bless him.
3
To say I’m a perfectionist is possibly understating it. When I was a little girl, there would be all hell to pay if one of my bunches was higher up my head than the other or my socks weren’t both at exactly the same height. My very many Jellycat toys all had to be in their allocated spots at all times and the books on my bookshelf were arranged precisely in size order, tallest to smallest.
It’s a trait I’ve held onto. At beauty school I was the student whose tabard was always perfectly pressed and whose brushes and nail kit were scrupulously clean. I passed the exams with Distinction and was awarded the prize for the best student in the year in both the first and third year. There was a minor blip in the second year as advanced pedicures didn’t come naturally to me. Feet. Shudder.
My perfectionism is probably one of the reasons Radiance Revival won the award. I always try to think of everything a client could possibly need or want and preferably before the thought has even occurred to them. No detail is too small and nothing too much trouble. To be honest, much of it is way too much trouble – they can be a fussy lot, women – but I try to accommodate their every request with a smile and a ‘can do’ mindset.
And this, together with some super-hard work by me and my wonderful team, has meant that what started out as a one-woman enterprise in a tiny room above a hairdresser’s has become a thriving – award-winning – salon with five therapists, which is ripe for expansion.
But not today. It takes me all day to come round from my hangover and I’m not fit for much more than binge-watching Modern Family on Netflix and eating carbs, and before I know it it’s already mid-afternoon and our Sunday lunch out is starting to look unlikely.
I’m just contemplating a fifth episode when Adam’s phone rings. He frowns as he looks at the screen and I wonder who’s calling.
‘Katie, hi,’ he says when he answers it. ‘This is a surprise.’
Katie is Adam’s cousin and we barely ever hear from her because she works on her dad’s pig farm in Yorkshire and I’m not sure she has time to do much else. We never visit – I mean, it’s a pig farm – and she never comes to London so I’m not sure I’ve seen either her or Adam’s Uncle Joe since our wedding.
Idly, I wonder what she wants. Maybe she’s coming down for some pig farmers’ convention and needs a place to stay. I think about my pristine guest bedroom with its sumptuous white bedding. Pigs are supposed to be clean animals but I don’t think the ones on Uncle Joe’s farm got the memo, if the state of Katie’s coats and boots are anything to go by.
I listen in to Adam’s conversation and try and work out what’s going on but then he gets up and leaves the room because the television is too loud and I can’t locate the remote control quickly enough to turn it down.
He doesn’t come back for a while and so my attention drifts back to the television. When he does finally reappear I’ve forgotten all about the phone call. He sits down next to me and I tuck my legs in to make room for him.
‘That was Katie,’ he says.
He’s a man of few words, my Adam, and I can see that a little encouragement is required if I’m going to find out what’s going on.
‘Cousin Katie? Yes. How is she?’
I decide to go down this line of questioning rather than cut straight to what does she want?
‘Bit of bad news actually,’ he replies. ‘Uncle Joe fell and broke his leg.’
I want to be sympathetic but my hangover doesn’t have much give in it and Uncle Joe has never tried to hide the fact that he finds me and my life frivolous and a bit silly.
‘Oh dear,’ I manage. ‘How did he do that?’
‘Pig tripped him up apparently.’
The urge to snort out a guffaw is very strong but somehow I perform an act of super-human control and keep it inside.
‘He was feeding them and a couple of the big sows got a bit enthusiastic and pushed him over. He fell awkwardly and he’s broken his leg in two places. They thought he’d broken his pelvis too but that’s just bruised.’
I feel bad that I almost laughed now as this sounds grim particularly for a man in his sixties.
‘Is he okay?’ I ask.
‘Not really. He can’t work for a start and the gilts are about to farrow.’
It’s like Adam has suddenly started speaking in tongues but I nod and try to look interested.
‘Tricky,’ I say. My eyes are wandering back to the television screen but Adam keeps talking. There’s more it seems.
‘So poor Katie is trying to manage on her own. But what with the farm and looking after Uncle Joe as well, she’s not coping that well.’
‘I can see how that might be difficult,’ I say. I mean it too. Adam’s Uncle Joe is a cantankerous old sod at the best of times. Lord only knows what he’s like if he’s confined to barracks.
‘So . . . ’ Adam starts pulling on his lip, something he only does when he’s nervous and my heart gets that sinking feeling. ‘She’s asked if I can go up there for a few days to help out.’
