complaining, it looks lovely.
Georgia Ling Aww bless yah un xxx
Jenny Martin You had a marriage proposal, Daisy??? xxx
Abby thinks I’m talking about my super-duper new haircut. She’s right, annoyingly. I wanted to sound intriguing and deep, so that people would think I was, you know, intriguing and deep, while actually I was just talking about a haircut. Although there are one or two more things it applies to of course. My life in general, to be more specific.
After Abby inadvertently rubbed the hairs on my legs up the wrong way two days ago then frowned at me with her perfectly sculptured eyebrows, I secretly decided it was high time I gave my whole body a bit of a de-fuzz. The local paper had already started running stories about glimpsed sightings of an escaped bear, complete with close-up photos of residents looking concerned, so I knew it was time to dust off the razor and tweezers and put everyone’s minds at ease.
It’s amazing really how smooth legs and shaped eyebrows can make you feel kind of invigorated. I actually felt a bit like I was on the periphery of the human race, rather than out in the field miles from anywhere. I wasn’t back in, but I was approaching the steps to the porch. Maybe it was the fresh air finally touching my bald skin after all these weeks.
After it was done, I took another long look at myself in the mirror in the bathroom and decided that my head hair would also have to go. Or the ends of it would, anyway – this was only about grooming, not aero-dynamics. It was generally up in a ponytail these days, but when down had started to look like a frayed rug: fairly smooth and straight three-quarters of the way down, then the final quarter exploding outwards in an indistinguishable blur of light brown fluff. That part was no longer welcome at the Daisy Macintyre establishment.
‘Just take off the ends, please,’ I said to the hairdresser. Stacy, I think she was called. She had the most ruthless eyebrows I’ve ever seen, plucked to a line no wider than a centipede. I couldn’t take my eyes off them in the mirror as she examined my head.
‘Ooh isn’t your hair lovely, hun,’ she said, trying to jerk her fingers through the tangle at the end. She leaned forward and put her mouth right next to my ear. ‘Just sooo gorgeous.’
‘Oh, really? Thanks.’
‘Oh yeah, it’s really stunning, so silky and lovely.’ In the mirror, a snarl appeared on Stacy’s face as the brush got stuck again. ‘You’re very lucky, I’m so envious actually.’
‘She’s patronising you,’ Mum’s voice said in my head. ‘Look at her hair, thick, smooth and glossy. It’s insulting, Daisy. Tell her to stop.’
I opened my mouth to speak, but a sudden searing pain from the back of my head told me that clumps of my hair were being torn from my scalp by their roots. ‘YOW!’
‘Oopsie daisy, sorry, sweetpea, my fault.’
‘Of course it’s her fault,’ Mum whispered furiously. ‘She’s yanking your hair with the brush, you’re not yanking her brush with your hair. Say something!’
‘Oh, er, heh heh, that’s OK. Made me jump a bit, that’s all.’
‘Yeah, it will do m’darling. Just a teensy weensy little knot or two, all riii-iight?’ By now, the muscles were standing out on Stacy’s jaw and a vein was pulsing in her neck. A collection of metal bangles on her wrist were crashing repeatedly into my head and ears and her enormous tanned cleavage was squishing hard into my back. She worked the brush roughly through to the ends, then gave up on it and picked up a comb. I eyed it nervously, then gripped the arm-rests of my chair and braced.
‘So how’s life treating you, sweet?’
My head was being yanked back then pushed forwards repeatedly in a kind of giant exaggerated nod. I tried to relax my muscles and go floppy to avoid whiplash. ‘Life is shit, actually, Stace. My mum died, then my stepdad, my real dad’s in America, my sister and stepbrothers hate me and I’ve got nowhere to live and no job, thanks. You?’
I didn’t say that. No one ever wants to hear it. I said, ‘Fine, thanks. How about you?’ Mum tutted loudly in my head.
‘Aw, I’m good thanks, sweet. Off to Tenerife next week, can’t wait actually!’
‘Oh really? That sounds nice.’
‘Yeah. One week all inclusive, sun, sea and sangria, three stars. Really really looking forward to it.’
‘Wonderful, lucky you.’
‘Yeah, I know. We go back there every year, me and Steve. They absolutely love us there ’cause we’re always so up for it, ja know what I mean?’
‘I think I do …’
‘We really go for it, me and Steve. We’re always messing around, having a laugh, life and soul of the party, it’s a proper giggle. Last year I won the Loveliest Jubblies competition and Steve glassed the judge.’
‘Shit!’
‘Oh my God it was soooo funny. People shouting, tables going over, Miguel running around waving his arms, total carnage! We were in complete stitches, actually.’
‘Jesus …’
‘I laughed so much, well, everyone did, afterwards, you know, once we knew he wasn’t really hurt. Hysterical.’
‘Sure.’
‘Yeah, holidays are brilliant. You got anything booked then?’
‘Um, no, not yet.’ Absolutely no need for her to know I was currently unemployed.
‘Aw, bless. You gotta have something to look forward to, sweetie.’
At that moment, I was looking forward to gently stroking my head with my hands and telling it everything was going to be OK.
Twenty-five minutes later, she held a mirror up behind me while I examined the damage in the one in front. It was a hideous disaster. She’d taken at least three inches off the length, cut some layers in around the sides and shortened the fringe. The lack of weight from the shortened length was making the whole thing more curly and little tendrils of hair were sticking up randomly at the sides and bobbing under. The overall effect had taken fifteen years off me. I was now thirteen.
‘Is that all riii-iight?’ Stacy asked, although she wasn’t really asking it, she was reciting lines. Her attention was fixed on an elderly lady wrapped in a towel who was being brought over from the sinks. ‘Be with you in a minute, Ada, all riii-iight?’ She made reflected eye contact with me again and smiled encouragingly as she picked up random sections of my hair and pulled it through her fingers. ‘I’ve just put a couple of long layers in there, to give it some softness and definition.’
‘How can it give softness and definition?’ Mum demanded, but I was mute.
‘Is it okaaa-aaay for you?’
‘Say something!’
I nodded. ‘Yes, yes, it’s lovely. Thank you.’
Stacy smiled and put the hand mirror back down on the counter. ‘Fantastic. If you’d like to go and see
