having her hair cut today! Rita knows someone from the library whose sister-in-law has her own salon. When Marion offered to come to the house and cut Helen’s hair, Helen couldn’t wait.
She’s been rehearsing the conversation with Marion in her head all week. Can you take about two inches off the bottom and give me a blunt fringe, please?
And now Marion’s late.
Helen’s sitting at the window, waiting and waiting. She’s getting a metallic headache. Marion has Wednesdays off and said she’d be round at two, but it’s half past and she’s not here yet. The terrier across the road’s sitting up at the window like a cuddly toy, its head poking between the vertical blinds.
Mrs Blonski’s coming slowly down the road. She’s wearing pink velvet trousers and silver sandals. She always gets dressed up, even just to go to the bank. As she walks past, she pauses and waves to Helen. She’s blossomed since her husband died. He used to say their Pakistani neighbours were bringing down the value of the houses. Now Mrs Bhatti and Mrs Blonski are best friends. Helen waves back. She’s glad Mr Blonski’s dead. He looked like a rapist.
Agnes appears from nowhere and miaows to be let in. When you open the window, she jumps onto the sill, pulling herself up with her front legs. Sometimes, her back legs buckle and you think she’s going to fall but she makes it. When she jumps up, the terrier starts yapping soundlessly. Helen has just closed the window when Marion draws up in a gold Ford Capri. She gets up to answer the door. Her legs have strange buzzing feelings in them.
Marion is Amazonian, a gust of ‘Hi’s and ‘Sorry I’m late’s. She is plastered in make-up and Opium. You can smell that she smokes. Helen offers her a cup of tea. No thanks, she says, I just had a coffee at my sister’s. Helen gratefully sinks back down into the couch. Marion sits down beside her. Now what would you like done today?
Helen’s palms are sweating. Can you take about two inches off the bottom and give me a blunt fringe, please?
Marion puts her hands through Helen’s hair. Maybe we could layer it through at the top? she suggests. It’s very thick.
I’d rather not. I don’t like my hair layered. I just want it tidied up. It feels like a heavy wig.
Marion seems slightly miffed. D’you think you could wet it for me? It’s easier to cut when it’s so thick. Also, d’you mind putting the cat out? I’m not keen on them.
I’ll just be a minute, says Helen. She scoops Agnes up and puts her out the back. She gets dizzy from bending down too quickly. Sorry, Agnes, she whispers, that scary woman doesn’t want you in the house. I’ll call you as soon as she’s gone, I promise.
She goes into the bathroom and fills the sink. She dips her head in slowly, still dizzy. She has the taste in her mouth that you get before a nosebleed. She doesn’t want layers. She wants to lie down. She wants Marion to go away.
When her hair’s wet enough, she turbans her head and goes back into the lounge. Marion has installed a kitchen chair in the centre of the room. Helen sits down. Marion’s a bit rough when she dries her hair but it’s nice to have her head touched. Helen can smell the nicotine from her fingers.
How long is it since you had it cut? asks Marion.
About three months, says Helen. I went to the Hair Hut but I got such a bad headache when I was there I couldn’t even wait for them to blow-dry it. I had to get a taxi home. It’s great you could come to the house to do it.
How are you keeping now?
To be honest, I feel like I’ve got a new symptom every day. The headaches are awful, like a helmet you can’t take off.
A couple of the women that come into the salon have got it, says Marion. It’s terrible – you’re so young.
Now that they’ve diagnosed the Coxsackie, I’ve to see a neurologist, says Helen. My appointment’s in a month. I was lucky to get one so soon.
Marion doesn’t speak for the rest of the haircut. Helen is relieved that she is exempt from the usual ARE YOU OFF TODAY?/ARE YOU GOING OUT ON SATURDAY NIGHT? (But since you asked, No, I’ve stopped going out and, Yes, I’m actually off every day.)
Helen wonders why Marion’s arms aren’t killing her.
When Marion’s finished drying Helen’s hair, she says, Maybe you can think about going short next time. It’d be less tiring for you to manage.
I’ll think about it says, Helen. How much do I owe you?
A fiver’ll be fine.
Helen goes and gets the money from her wallet. Her wallet’s barely been used. It was a Christmas present from Peter (it came with a matching bag). It still smells of leather. She pays Marion. Thanks very much. It feels much lighter, she says.
I can come back anytime you want. Here’s my number.
When Marion’s gone, Helen can still smell her Opium. She goes to the back door and calls on Agnes. You can come back now, Agnes, it’s safe, Hitler’s gone.
Agnes doesn’t appear. Helen wishes she’d come back in. She lies down on the couch for a bit. She wants to hoover up the hair before Rita gets back. She closes her eyes.
| stranger | What did you do today? |
| helen | I got my hair cut in the living room and hoovered up the hair with the dust-buster. |
She hears Agnes miaowing to be let in. She gets up to open the window. Come on, she says. Come upstairs with me and keep me company. I’ll give you a mint.
Agnes has quirky tastes for a cat. She loves garlic sausage and if you give her an extra strong Trebor mint she acts like it’s catnip – she licks the mint, puts her head on the floor and tries to somersault. (Agnes dies, by the way – riddled with cancer – but don’t tell Helen, she’s got enough on her plate!)
THE SPECIALIST LOOKED like Bob Monkhouse. He had Myra’s letter in front of him. I tried to see what she’d written, if she’d admitted that she’d fucked up until the Coxsackie diagnosis.
You’re very thin, said Bob. Have you got a boyfriend?
Yes, I said, but what’s that got to do with the price of bread? (Into myself.)
He listened as I listed my symptoms: exhaustion, severe muscle pain, weakness, dizziness, skull-crushing headaches, palpitations, stomach cramps, nausea, diarrhoea. (Do you really want me to go on, Bob?)
We’re going to do some tests, he said. The Coxsackie virus can trigger a syndrome called blah-de-blah-de-blah. This may be what you have. We don’t know much about it. We’ll need to do a muscle biopsy and some other tests. Go outside and wait. Thank you. Goodbye.
I went back to Rita in the waiting room. He looks like Bob Monkhouse, I said.
We waited for almost
