Where There’s a Will

by Beth Corby

  ‘You’ll need your strength,’ she prompts.

  ‘I’ll just ring the front desk and find out when I have to check out and how much the bill is.’ And whether they’ll let me work it off as a chambermaid.

  ‘Don’t worry about the checkout time – Donald wouldn’t begrudge you an extra night in a hotel, and as for the bill, it’s all being settled through the solicitor.’

  ‘Is it?’ I stop mid-reach and slump down into a chair, my head lolling back in relief – a puppet with its strings cut.

  Jane laughs. ‘Of course it is; it’s part of the will. Why, were you worried?’

  ‘A little,’ I confess.

  ‘I’m surprised Alec didn’t put your mind at rest, but then I expect it didn’t occur to him that you might worry.’

  ‘We had a row,’ I explain as I pull my jeans on under the dressing gown. ‘He went home.’

  ‘Oh. Was it over your sister, by any chance?’ she asks sympathetically.

  ‘Sort of.’ I throw off the dressing gown and pull a top over my head, shaking my hair out of the collar.

  ‘Have some breakfast,’ says Jane, pushing a plate towards me. I load on a couple of pancakes, some syrup and some strawberries and perch on a desk chair. ‘Well, I wouldn’t worry about it. It was an argument waiting to happen.’

  ‘Was it?’

  ‘With you and your sister interested in the same man? Of course it was.’

  I blink, unsure of how to respond, and eat a pancake. ‘So, what are we doing today?’ I ask, more to change the subject than anything else.

  ‘Sightseeing,’ says Jane. ‘Sort of.’

  ‘Really?’

  Jane nods, puts her teacup back on the tray and glances at my empty plate. ‘Ready to find out what I have planned?’ she asks, and I detect a hint of a challenge in her words.

  ‘Absolutely! Do I need anything?’

  ‘Just yourself,’ she says, and I grab my purse and follow her out of the room.

  London with Jane is an experience! She whisks me straight into a taxi and our first stop is a hairdressing salon.

  ‘They’ve squeezed you in as a favour,’ Jane whispers as we go in. ‘Marlene is a marvel, but I may have overstated your need a little.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘Marlene loves a desperate case, so please ignore everything I say for the next half hour.’

  ‘Desperate—?’ But before I can ask more, a woman with her hair shorn up one side and an angular bob on the other comes over holding out her arms.

  ‘Jaaaaane!’ she drawls, and pulls Jane to her with both hands. ‘How are you?’ Without waiting for an answer her eyes fall on me. ‘Oh I see what you mean! Darling, when was the last time you had a professional cut?’ Leading me through the salon by the hand she lands me in an empty torture chair and rotates me so I’m facing the mirror. She grips my head from behind, her cheek almost pressed against mine and we both study my reflection.

  ‘When did you last have a colour, a cut, or a restyle?’ she asks seriously.

  ‘Umm . . . I . . .’ If she’d said trim, I might have been able to answer.

  ‘Don’t ask, Marlene,’ Jane replies for me, but I don’t think she’s coming to my rescue. Her mouth is twisting just as much as Marlene’s as they both contemplate my apparently disastrous hair. I frown at her, and she gives me a flicker of a wink.

  ‘The colour?’ Marlene asks Jane.

  ‘Natural,’ says Jane.

  ‘I can see that!’ She holds up a piece of my mousy brown hair like it’s a blunt-ended paintbrush liberated from a children’s nursery. ‘Split ends,’ she decrees. ‘Awful cut. No life.’ She drops it and looks at me sternly in the mirror. ‘Darling, what would you like?’

  Feeling like I’ve been strapped to the tracks with a train due, I glance at Jane, who shrugs.

  ‘Any colour preferences, cut, style?’ asks Marlene, waiting.

  Oh what the hell, I’ve wanted to dye my hair for years, but suspecting I might dip-dye my forehead, or accidentally turn my hair green like Anne of Green Gables, I’ve always chickened out. ‘Could I try a chestnut colour?’ I ask shyly.

  We all wait as Marlene squints at me, her head tipping first one way and then the other. ‘Yes,’ she says, nodding. ‘A lovely rich brown with reddish highlights? And a modern bob cut, with the hair nice and short at the back.’

  I stare at her in the mirror, desperately hoping she won’t shave one side of my head.

  ‘No, not like mine,’ says Marlene, shaking her head. ‘No, for you we go symmetrical!’ She turns to Jane, her eyes flicking heavenward, and I half expect her to say ‘muggles!’

  ‘You stay here and I’ll buy you some make-up,’ Jane says, like I have a choice, and snaps a quick photo of me on her phone. My mouth is half open so I probably look like a surprised goldfish.

  Marlene hands her a vivid loop of fake hair. ‘This will be her colour afterwards, so match the make-up to that.’ I stare at it. It’s bright.

  ‘Thanks, Marlene. Get comfortable,’ Jane says to me, handing me a glossy magazine from a stack on the side, and as Marlene zips away to talk to someone at the front of the salon, Jane bends down to my ear. ‘Trust her, she’s a genius.’ Then, pocketing the loop of hair, she abandons me to the mercy of Marlene, who comes back looking scarily determined and calls a minion to come and wash, then colour, my hair.

  By the time Jane comes back, Marlene is wielding a blow-dryer and refusing to let me look in the mirror.

  ‘Darling, it has to be a grand reveal – it’s such a change!’ I’m hoping for ugly duckling to swan, not lamb to mutton, so I look anxiously at Jane as Marlene swings me round to face her. ‘Ta-dah! What do you think?’ Marlene asks her, holding her hands out like a magician.

  Jane beams at me. ‘Marlene, you’re a miracle worker!’

  Marlene spins my chair so I’m facing the mirror, and I stare at myself. I touch my hair, watching my reflection do the same. My hair is so short and bright. I look like a confident, vibrant woman – who admittedly needs a better make-up regime, but still . . . it’s so different. Tears prick my eyes as I realise just how much I needed this, and I don’t just mean the makeover, but the whole experience of being made to feel special.

  I glance at Jane who nods encouragingly, though she looks a bit concerned about my reaction.

  I pat her arm. ‘Ignore me, I’m just being silly. I love it. It’s amazing.’

  Jane grins at Marlene who nods in satisfaction, and Jane takes out her purse. I open my mouth to protest, but Jane shakes her head firmly as Marlene disappears off with her credit card. ‘Today’s on Donald,’ she says firmly, and I smile gratefully, unable to stop myself tentatively touching the short hair at the back of my neck. It’s almost spiky.

  Jane inspects my hair from different angles. ‘It’s a big change, but a good one, and sometimes we need to shed our old selves to let the new one flourish.’

  ‘Let go of the past and embrace the future?’ I ask.

  ‘Or maybe see the opportunities of the present in a new light,’ she suggests, a small smile playing on her mouth.

  ‘Thanks, Marlene,’ says Jane, as Marlene comes back with a handheld card reader. ‘As always, you’ve worked wonders,’ she says, typing in her pin.

  ‘Yes, thank you so much,’ I agree fervently, glancing again at my unfamiliar reflection.

  Marlene slips her arm around my shoulders. ‘My pleasure. I love a good makeover! Now go,’ she whispers urgently, handing back Jane’s card. ‘My boring “give-me-the-same-as-last-time” eleven thirty has been waiting for twenty minutes!’ And with a last squeeze, we’re bustled out past a sour-faced woman and into the street.

  ‘You look fantastic,’ Marlene shouts after us, causing several people to turn and look at me. Well, I suppose it’s one form of advertising.

  ‘Lunch?’ asks Jane and, somewhat dazed by the whole experience, I follow her into a taxi.

  We end up down a tiny cobbled street that becomes too narrow for
the taxi to go any further, and Jane takes me through a small pedestrian gap that leads right onto the bank of the Thames. A sharp right has us standing outside a small hidden cafe with tables on the waterfront.

  ‘Make-up, scarves and sunglasses,’ Jane says, handing me a shiny cardboard bag with tissue paper-wrapped packages inside. ‘Open them later.’

  ‘Thank you!’

  ‘My pleasure. Now, lunch and then we have London to see.’

  After lunch we start with Tate Modern, but we don’t stroll thoughtfully from piece to piece, umming and ahhing. Instead, Jane insists we take turns interviewing each other about each piece as if we are the artists, making ridiculous claims about our motivations and muses, and I laugh so hard I almost see my lunch again.

  Next we view London from the top of The Shard, with a competition over who can name the most landmarks – which degenerates into chaos as we start shouting out attractions that aren’t even in London.

  We eat ice creams in St James’s Park while spotting secret agents and trying to guess their country of origin, mission and code name – which earns us a few confused looks from said potential spies.

  Finally, we end up at Covent Garden Market looking for the most outrageous item of headwear. Jane wins with a snood with savage teeth printed on it.

  Happy and exhausted, we collapse at a table outside a cafe and order some pasta.

  ‘Shame, I think it really suits me,’ says Jane holding up the snood, which she bought for her nephew. ‘Still, he’ll love it and his mum will hate it, so job done!’

  ‘How old is he?’ I ask, picturing an eight-year-old charging about in a cowboy outfit, the snood concealing his identity as he holds up relations with a plastic gun and demands their lollies or their life.

  ‘Thirty-seven.’

  ‘Oh,’ I say, and stifle a giggle. ‘So I’ve been trying to figure out today’s task, but there doesn’t seem to be a theme beyond “London”?’

  Jane puts down her orange juice. ‘You’re half-right. Donald always said London had two sides. He wanted you to see the wonderful, extraordinary and amusing side of London. The details of how to achieve that were up to me.’

  ‘Well, I’ve loved it. It’s been the best day out ever.’

  Jane pats my hand. ‘Good. I was a little worried I might not do the task justice, but after meeting you, I felt sure it would work out.’

  ‘Thank you. It’s been brilliant.’

  ‘You’re welcome.’ She settles back into her seat. ‘Now, would you like a lift back to Donald’s or would you prefer to go back on the train?’

  It’s just after five. I think of the train crammed with commuters, and suppress a shudder. ‘I’d love a lift.’

  ‘Excellent,’ she says, and we head back to the hotel to collect my things and her car.

  Chapter 22

  ‘It doesn’t look like anyone’s in,’ says Jane as we pull up in front of The Laurels a few hours later.

  I glance up at all the darkened windows. ‘Don’t worry. Mrs Crumpton has told me where the spare key is kept.’

  ‘Are you sure? Because you can stay at mine if you’d like?’

  ‘No thanks, I’m fine,’ and I realise I mean it. I feel like I’ve arrived home, and it doesn’t bother me in the least to be here by myself.

  Jane helps me collect my bags from her boot and, after removing the key from under a quartz rock, I give her a hug.

  ‘Thanks so much for today. It was exactly what I needed.’

  She laughs, squeezing me before letting go. ‘I’ve loved every minute of it. In fact, I think we should do it again sometime, don’t you?’ she beams as she gets back in her car.

  ‘I’d love that,’ I say, grinning, and stand back and wave as she drives off.

  Once through the door I call out just to double-check there’s no one in. There’s no reply, so I head to the kitchen, make myself a cup of tea and marvel at just how at home I feel here. Part of it is the people – Donald leading me through the tasks, wanting me to have good experiences and love everyone he loves, Jane helping me, and also Mrs Crumpton making sure we behave ourselves. I look down at a plastic box of apple strudel she’s made, with the words ‘Eat me!’ scrawled on the lid in Sharpie. Very Lewis Carroll, and I can imagine her writing it, knowing full well how much I’d appreciate it. But I also love the house. I love that Donald has a spot on the kitchen ceiling, and still seems to be here, ready to take his walking stick from the oriental jar by the front door. And I love how Donald is becoming more human, fallible, accepting and wonderful with every letter. I already feel like I’ve known him my whole life.

  And Alec?

  I stare at the kitchen wall trying to puzzle out my feelings. Yes, I like that Alec’s here, too, because despite everything, he loved Donald and he’s helped me, even though to begin with he didn’t want to. I couldn’t have done the tasks without him, and I wouldn’t have wanted to, even if I’d known how it was going to turn out.

  Having somehow managed to make myself feel melancholy, I pick up my tea, head upstairs and empty the bag Jane gave me onto the bed. I carefully unwrap each item, feeling like it’s Christmas morning (only without the supersized turkey and family friction), and gaze at the chic selection. I take the Jackie Onassis-style sunglasses to the mirror, almost doing a double take as I see my hair, and slide them on. They suit me perfectly, and I silently thank Jane for being so clever. Next, I apply some of the eye make-up to see how it looks with my new hair. Starting to enjoy myself now, I tune the radio to Radio 1 and bob about to the music as I try on the soft aquamarine and midnight-blue scarves with several of my tops, marvelling at how my new hair sings against them. Perching the sunglasses on top of my head, I pose in front of the wardrobe mirror – and freeze as someone behind me clears their throat.

  I spin around to find Alec in the doorway, with Lauren standing just behind him, eyes wide.

  ‘Oh, hello,’ I say, attempting to be friendly, but my smile falters as Lauren sniggers. I blush beetroot-red.

  ‘Wow, exotic!’ she says, and I suddenly feel like I’m five years old again, caught in my mother’s high heels and scarlet lipstick. I let the scarf slide off my shoulders, and quickly remove my sunglasses. ‘I’ve never imagined you as a conker-coloured hair kind of girl, but it suits you better than I’d have thought.’

  ‘Er, thanks,’ I say, though it doesn’t feel like a compliment.

  ‘It’s a whole new you,’ she adds patronisingly. ‘Well, well. Aren’t you brave!’

  ‘Thanks,’ I say again, my tone flat, and Alec looks suspiciously from me to Lauren.

  ‘Nice, isn’t it?’ Lauren asks him, smiling sweetly.

  ‘Lovely,’ he agrees, frowning at Lauren before meeting my eyes. ‘Truly,’ he adds, his voice softer. There’s a pause and Lauren clears her throat, eyeing us both beadily. Alec seems to come to. ‘I came to give you this,’ he says, handing me Donald’s next letter. ‘And also to say sorry for leaving you in London last night. Did you have a good time with Jane?’

  ‘Er yes, brilliant, thanks. I was just trying on some things she got me today.’ I glance at Lauren.

  ‘They’re nice,’ says Alec awkwardly, and I realise this conversation is excruciating, not because of our argument, or my makeover, but because Lauren is standing there listening to our every word.

  I turn to her, folding my arms across my chest. ‘So, how come you’re back?’ I ask, trying to sound breezy.

  ‘The painters are redecorating my bathroom and I thought, where can I stay while the work is being done? And the obvious solution was here!’

  ‘Not our parents’ house?’ I ask innocently.

  ‘No,’ she says firmly.

  ‘But we’re going to be busy with the tasks, so it won’t be very interesting for you.’

  ‘You may be busy with the tasks, but poor Alec has just been hanging about here all day. I’ve been keeping him company, haven’t I Alec?’

  Our eyes shift to Alec, but his mouth is a hard line.


  ‘Is Mrs Crumpton OK with Lauren staying?’ I ask, and Alec’s frown deepens.

  ‘She left just after Lauren arrived, saying there’d be no dinner today, so I took Lauren to the pub.’ I guess that answers my question.

  ‘Yes, he invited me out to dinner,’ agrees Lauren, smiling slyly at me.

  ‘It was just food and a round of pool,’ he says firmly. ‘As friends.’

  I raise my eyebrows at Lauren, but she rolls her eyes. ‘You say that now,’ she says coyly.

  ‘Yes, I do.’ Alec turns to me, and suddenly smiles. ‘By the way, I love the hair – it looks great.’

  I blush, then wonder if I clash with my new colour. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Jeez!’ mumbles Lauren. ‘Are we going to stand around in Hannah’s doorway all evening?’

  ‘Yes, I should change,’ I agree, remembering the heavy eye make-up I’ve put on.

  ‘We’ll see you downstairs,’ says Alec.

  I move forward to close the door behind them, and hear Lauren’s parting shot: ‘I know it’s brave, but I’m not sure it suits her.’

  Then I just catch Alec’s calm but firm reply: ‘No? Well I think she looks amazing.’

  I can’t help grinning as I tear open the envelope, and start to read.

  My Dearest Hannah,

  London with Jane – how I would love to do that again! I hope you had a wonderful time. Jane wouldn’t tell me what she had planned, but she assured me it would be a whirlwind of activity and that she would do me proud. ‘Make her love it’ was the only instruction I gave her, so I’m hoping that you now understand why I adore the place. Like me, it is never dull once you know how to make the most of what’s there. And also, like me, having a sense of humour is essential!

  So, back to what happened with Judith. Prepare yourself!

  I’m sure, if I’d had an ounce of decency or self-respect, I would have left Judith to her fate in London. She’d made her bed, so to speak. But I didn’t. We began a relationship where she was my world and I was her consolation. Of course there were practicalities to be considered, and to support this new life I took any number of small jobs from hotel porter to desk clerk, doorman to barman. In between my many shifts we were together, but always careful to keep away from prying eyes.