by Maureen Lee
‘I’m glad you did.’ Alice nodded encouragingly. ‘Go on.’
‘It’s just that she’s so rude, Alice: to me, to Chrissie, to the customers, except if they’re old and then she gushes over them so much the poor dears can’t stand it. It was all right when she was working alongside you. You probably didn’t notice, but you kept her in line, kept laughing and apologising for her. I tried that a couple of times, but she put me firmly in me place. Told me she was the one in charge.’ Doreen warmed to her theme, clearly having been smarting over the situation for a long time. ‘There’s one customer couldn’t stand the dryer too hot, kept switching it down every now’n again. Fion was very short with her, told her off in no uncertain terms, and the woman’s never come back again, yet she’d been coming to Gloria’s for ages. If a customer asks for a one-inch trim, Fion will take off two or three because she thinks it would look better. Or she’ll argue over the colour of a tint, or insist someone doesn’t suit a fringe when they’ve had a fringe for years. I often feel – you must, too – that I know better than the customer, but you’ve got to be dead tactful if you suggest they try something else.’
‘I see.’ Alice sighed. On her visits to the salon she had noticed Fionnuala was a little brusque, but perhaps she was so used to her daughter’s ways that she hadn’t realised how much it would grate on other people. She had hoped making her manageress would give the girl the confidence she so obviously lacked, but clearly Fion couldn’t be left to run the business into the ground. ‘I’ll have a word with Fion tonight,’ she told Doreen. ‘In the meantime, will you think twice about giving in your notice?’
‘Of course I will, Alice. I never wanted to leave, it was just that Fion . . .’ The woman paused and didn’t continue.
‘I don’t suppose you feel fit enough to work full-time?’ Alice said hopefully. ‘I’ll need someone straight away to manage the place and Katy’s only twenty-one and not long qualified.’ Katy Kelly was Alice’s assistant.
Doreen’s beautifully made-up face flushed with pleasure. ‘Well, actually, Alice, I wouldn’t mind. I was rather hoping you’d ask when the new branch opened. It’s only across the road from where I live and it never gets hectic like it did in town. The customers are nicer too, not so demanding. They don’t mind waiting a few minutes if there’s the occasional rush on. There’s just one thing, though, you won’t be leaving Fion with me, will you? That would be dead unfair on the girl, us swopping places, like. Despite what I said, I’m quite fond of her. Her heart’s in the right place and she means well. She just doesn’t know how to cope with people.’
‘I’ll let you have Katy. Fion can work with me so I can keep an eye on her.’
‘But it’s not fair!’ Fion raged. ‘Oh, Mam, it’s not fair a bit. Doreen Morrison has never liked me. She’s just making it up.’
Alice’s heart went out to her gauche, bungling daughter, who was on the verge of tears. ‘Fion, luv, Doreen wouldn’t have gone to the extent of handing in her notice if she was just making it up. That would be cutting off her nose to spite her face. And is Chrissie making it up? Because she’s thinking of leaving too. And what about the customers? Every week there’s fewer and fewer. They’re not staying away just to get at you, luv. You’re not old enough for the responsibility yet, that’s all. You make them feel uncomfortable for some reason.’
‘I’m twenty-four.’ Fion sniffed.
‘It’s all my fault.’ Alice decided to put the blame on herself. ‘Managing a hairdresser’s was too much to ask of someone quite so young.’
But this only made things worse, because Fion said tragically, ‘Our Orla’s got four children and Maeve’s a nurse. Running a crappy hairdresser’s isn’t much when compared to them and I can’t even do that properly.’
‘Do you really think it crappy?’
Fion laid her head on her mother’s shoulder and began to cry. ‘No, I loved it. It made me feel grown up and important. Oh, Mam!’ she cried, ‘what’s wrong with me? No one likes me. Everything I say comes out wrong, unnatural, like. I can even hear it meself, this dead false voice.’
‘You don’t sound false to me, luv.’ Alice stroked her daughter’s brown hair. ‘And don’t forget how brilliant you were with Cora. You really knew how to put her in her place. Me, I was willing to lie down and let her tread all over me.’
‘You were dead annoyed when I got Maurice to steal that agreement.’
‘Well, I must admit I was upset at first, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as what Cora did to me in the first place. I realised that after a while. It’s nice to have all the money to ourselves.’ She’d been so shocked when she heard what Fion had done that she’d actually considered letting Cora continue to have her share, but everyone – her dad and Bernadette, the children – said she was stark, raving mad even to think of such a thing. ‘Anyroad, luv, as from tomorrow you’ll be back in the old Lacey’s with me. It’ll be just like old times, won’t it?’
Fion nodded forlornly. ‘I suppose so.’
Alice told Neil what had happened when he commented on Fion’s return to the salon. It was Thursday night and they were in bed together, having just made very satisfactory love.
‘Poor kid,’ Neil said sadly as he smoothed his hand over the curve of her hip. ‘It must be awful to be so self-conscious.’
‘The thing is, Orla, Maeve and Cormac have always been so sure of themselves, which can’t have helped Fion much. It doesn’t help that she eats like a horse, either. She’s the same height as Orla, but her waist’s at least six inches bigger.’
‘When I heard about Babs, I drank like a fish for months,’ Neil said thoughtfully. ‘I suppose some people do the same thing with food. Fion only eats so much because she’s unhappy.’
‘Then what on earth can I do to make her happy?’ Alice wailed.
‘I’ve no idea.’ Suddenly, Neil pinched her waist and she gave a little scream. ‘The other day I was offered tickets for a dance at Bootle Town Hall. I turned them down,’ he said with an exaggerated sigh, ‘because the only person I wanted to take refuses to be seen in public with me. Why don’t I take Fion? It might cheer her up a bit.’
Alice looked doubtful. ‘Oh, I don’t know, Neil. She might get ideas.’
‘What sort of ideas?’
‘That you’re keen on her. She’s definitely keen on you, I’ve told you so before.’
‘I could say she was just doing me a favour, getting me out of a hole, because the girl I planned to take had let me down and I didn’t want the tickets to go to waste. Actually, I wouldn’t mind going,’ he said in injured tones. ‘I have no social life because of you.’
‘Don’t tell lies, Neil. You’re always off to this and that.’
‘Anyroad, about this dance – did you notice I just said “anyroad”, which means I’ve become a genuine Liverpudlian – shall I ask Fion or not?’
‘It might cheer her up, as you say – I can take her into town and buy her a new frock – but don’t build up her hopes, Neil. She’s miserable enough as it is. I don’t want her heart broken as well.’
Fion had virtually stopped eating altogether. She had a slice of dry toast for breakfast, nothing for dinner and more dry toast for tea, because she was determined to squeeze into a size 40 frock for the dance at Bootle Town Hall instead of the usual 42. Alice had agreed to leave it till the very last minute before buying the dress and was actually closing the salon early on the day of the dance, at two instead of four.
‘I want something black and slinky,’ Fion said excitedly. ‘Or really, really bright red, with straps as thin as shoelaces.’
‘We’ll just have to see,’ Alice said, looking at her sharply. ‘Why are you getting so excited? It’s only a dance.’
‘Yes, but I’m going with Neil,’ Fion replied dreamily.
‘Only as a replacement for the girl he really wanted to take.’ Alice hoped she didn’t sound too cruel, but it seemed her worst suspicions had been confirmed – Fionnuala was behaving as if Neil ha
d proposed marriage.
Fion said, ‘I think that was only a ruse, Mam. I think Neil’s always wanted to ask me out, but didn’t have the nerve.’
‘Neil’s never struck me as being short of nerve. Anyroad, he’s much too old for you.’
‘Oh, Mam, don’t be daft. He’s only ten years older. Grandad’s twenty-one years older than Bernadette and you didn’t turn a hair when they got married.’
Alice wondered if she should ask Neil to withdraw the invitation, but Fion would be bitterly disappointed. But she’d be just as disappointed when she realised Neil had no intention of asking her out again. She supposed that as, either way, Fion was bound to feel let down, she might as well enjoy the dance and feel let down afterwards rather than before.
She pleaded with Neil to be gentle with her daughter and he looked at her, hurt. ‘As if I’d be anything else.’
Fion felt as if she was, quite literally, walking on air. The dance was all she talked about – the clothes she would wear, what sort of shoes and that if she kept on starving herself she might manage to squeeze into a size 38. She persuaded Orla’s Micky to teach her how to foxtrot and they practised in the parlour of the little house in Pearl Street. She endlessly discussed with her mother exactly how she should do her hair: in one of the new bouffant styles, or the smooth look favoured by Lauren Bacall, or piled on top of her head in little curls. Or dare she risk one of them shaggy Italian cuts like Claudia Cardinale?
‘For goodness sake, Fion,’ her mother said impatiently, ‘it’s only a dance, not a reception at Buckingham Palace.’
Mam just didn’t seem to comprehend the awesome significance of Neil asking her out. Fion had long been convinced that he was attracted to her. He was always so incredibly nice, so warmly understanding. Whenever they spoke, he gave her his undivided attention and asked all sorts of questions. Of course, Neil was nice to everyone, but she could tell she held a special place in his heart. He probably hadn’t asked her before because he thought Mam might disapprove or Fion might turn him down. She didn’t delve too deeply into exactly why he’d asked now, but he’d asked and that was all that mattered.
It was easy to imagine a bright, starry future – marrying Neil in about a year’s time – she’d be down to size 36 by then and would wear one of those wedding dresses with a three-tiered skirt and have a bouquet of white roses with trailing ribbons. Orla could be a matron of honour and Maeve a bridesmaid – gosh, she’d, actually be getting married before Maeve! They would live somewhere dead posh like Crosby or Blundellsands, because teachers didn’t normally live in places like Amber Street, except if they were unmarried, like Neil — like Neil was now.
The dance was three weeks away, two weeks, then only seven days. Fion continued to starve herself. Mam made her drink a glass of milk night and morning, and said it wouldn’t do her any harm to lose a few pounds, dance or no dance. Mam positively refused to get into the spirit of things.
Only twenty-four hours to go. Fion lay on the bed in her room, her face covered in a mud pack and her feet on the headboard, which made the blood rush to the head and was good for the hair or the skin or the brain. Something.
Mam shouted up the stairs, ‘I’m just nipping round to the salon for a few minutes. One of the dryers is playing up. I think it needs adjusting.’
‘OK, Mam,’ Cormac shouted from his bedroom in the new, deep voice he’d recently acquired. He was studying for yet more exams, but never seemed to mind.
‘Tara, Mam,’ Fion said tightly for fear she’d crack the mud pack, which felt like concrete and still had another five minutes to go.
The five minutes seemed to take for ever. Fion went downstairs and splashed the mud off in the kitchen. She went into the living room and examined her face in the mirror over the mantelpiece, and tried to decide if her skin looked softer, clearer, healthier, firmer, all the things it had promised on the packet. She wasn’t quite sure. Mam had said the mud pack was a waste of time and money because Fion already had beautiful skin.
She had nice hair, too, thick and brown. But it was a very ordinary brown. Perhaps if Mam used one of them Tonrinzes when she set it tomorrow morning, auburn, say, it would bring out the highlights. She wondered if Mam had auburn in stock. She’d ask the minute she came home. No, she wouldn’t. She’d go round now and check and, if necessary, call in the chemist’s first thing tomorrow and buy one.
There was no need for a coat, not even a cardy, on such a lovely May evening. The sun was sliding behind the roofs of the houses, a great, flaming ball, briefly turning the grey slates into sheets of gleaming gold. Fion hummed to herself as she hurried along the street and through the entry into Opal Street. She opened the door of the salon, expecting to find her mother fiddling with a dryer – she hadn’t noticed one was giving trouble. She was surprised to find no sign of Mam, either in the salon or the kitchen. The back door was locked, so she wasn’t in the lavvy.
Perhaps she’d decided to call on Bernadette and Grandad, or she might have gone round to Orla’s. Fion checked the box of Tonrinzes, found an auburn and was about to leave, when she realised she hadn’t brought a key to lock the door – and why had it been unlocked in the first place? Mam must have forgotten to lock it when she left. Never mind, Neil would do it when he came home. She assumed he was out as there wasn’t the faintest sound from the flat, no gramophone, no wireless.
She was about to leave a second time when she heard a woman laugh. The woman laughed again and Fion recognised Mam’s warm, rusty chuckle.
From upstairs? Fion frowned. There was nothing wrong with Mam being upstairs, but why had it been so quiet until she laughed? And there was something odd about the laugh, something intimate.
Fion went to the bottom of the stairs. For some reason she felt reluctant to call out, announce her presence. She crept up a few steps until her eyes were level with the landing floor and glanced through the banisters. Neil’s parlour, once a bedroom, was at the front. The boxroom was now the kitchen and the bedroom overlooked the backyard.
The doors to the parlour and kitchen were wide open, the one to the bedroom firmly closed and it was from behind this door that Fion heard her mother laugh again. Then Neil said something in a tone of voice she’d never heard him use before, soft and tender, throbbing with passion.
Mam was in bed with Neil Greene!
She could never remember leaving the salon, going home, but she must have done, because she was lying on the bed again – not crying, because she would never cry again, just staring at the ceiling, cold and shivering, numb with shock. Neil was in love with Mam, not her. He’d probably invited her to the dance because he felt sorry for her. It might even have been Mam’s idea, to sort of make up for being demoted, for no longer being manageress of Lacey’s in Marsh Lane.
‘My life is a failure,’ Fion said aloud.
‘Did you just say something, sis?’ Cormac shouted.
‘No,’ she shouted back.
‘A complete failure.’ She was whispering now, though there was no need to whisper, because everyone knew. Doreen Morrison and Chrissie O’Connell had refused to work with her, the customers hated her, her family felt sorry for her. ‘I’m useless. There’s something wrong with me.’
Fion felt overwhelmed by a black cloud of hopelessness and despair. When Mam came home, she shouted that she had a headache and had gone to bed early, and no, she didn’t want an aspirin, thanks.
‘I think you should start eating properly again as from tomorrer,’ her mother called. ‘I reckon you’re overdoing it.’
‘Yes, Mam.’
Maeve came home from her night out with Martin and Fion pretended to be asleep. She remembered she’d planned on having Maeve as a bridesmaid and wanted to curl up in embarrassment at even thinking such a thing. What a fool she’d been! And what was going to happen tomorrow? There was no way in the world she would go to that dance with Neil, and what reason could she give for refusing? If only she hadn’t gone on about it so much to everyone she knew.
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There was only one thing for it, Fion decided after a while, she’d just have to leave home.
When Fion woke up it was daylight, bright and sunny, though when she looked at her watch it was only six. The house was silent. She lay watching the sun filter through the curtains and asked herself if she still wanted to leave home.
She decided she did and that she would leave now, without telling anyone, before they got up, though she’d write a note. If she told Mam first, she’d only try to talk her out of it. Anyroad, she liked the idea of giving everyone a shock. Once she’d gone, they might appreciate her a bit more. She would come back in a year’s time having made her fortune. Fion visualised herself with 36-inch hips and wearing a dead smart costume – black and white check with a velvet collar. She would be nice to everyone, not a bit toffee-nosed.
Unfortunately, the family didn’t possess a suitcase. She managed to squeeze her underwear and a nightdress into the leatherette shopping bag that hung behind the kitchen door, and two frocks, a cardigan and some stockings into an Owen Owen’s carrier bag with a string handle. She’d just have to wear her coat, which was a pity, because the day looked as if it was going to be a scorcher. It took some time deciding which shoes to wear, because sandals would look silly with the coat and heavy shoes equally silly in hot weather. In the end she decided on the shoes and managed to squeeze a sandal into each of the bags.
What to say in the note? One of Cormac’s exercise books lay on the table. Only a few pages had been used. She tore a page out of the middle, picked up Cormac’s fountain pen and sat staring at the blank paper. She wanted to write, ‘I’m going because I’m dead miserable and no one loves me,’ so they’d all feel guilty and sorry for the way she’d been treated. But it might be better to leave them full of admiration for her bravery and spirit of adventure. ‘I’m off to see the world,’ she could put. ‘Don’t know when I’ll be back.’
Upstairs, the springs creaked on the double bed and Fion wasn’t sure what got into her, because all she wrote on the paper was, ‘I know about you and Neil. Tara for ever, Fion.’ She folded it up and tucked it behind a statue on the mantelpiece, because if Mam found it straight away she’d only come chasing after her. Flinging her handbag over her shoulder, she picked up the bags and left by the back way, which was quieter.
