The Barbershop Girl

by Georgina Penney

  He listened to Ross’s laughter for a couple more seconds before his patience expired. ‘And no, before you ask, I’m not delirious either. Just read the damn things and get your minions to edit them, and if Reg changes a word of my copy again without my consultation make sure you shoot him at point-blank range. Hurt and aggrieved by this attitude, Ross, hurt and aggrieved.’ He hung up, marginally offended by his friend’s incredulity but understanding it at the same time.

  Over the length of Ben’s varied career, writing had always been something he’d had to torture himself and sweat over. He’d never been able to plan what he was going to put on a page in advance. His fickle friend – Inspiration – wasn’t that accommodating. In the past, he’d had to sit around twiddling his thumbs waiting for it to turn up and it was always, always, fashionably late. It seemed that had all changed now. Even though he’d got less than two hours’ sleep the night before, ideas were zinging through his mind, not even bothering to politely knock before they blazed across his brain. They’d turned up the minute he arrived home and hadn’t given him a moment’s rest.

  There was something about being with Amy that set his imagination on fire. He couldn’t figure the woman out. Not one little bit. She confused him, intrigued him and left him feeling randier than a thirteen-year-old boy in the first thralls of internet porn-fuelled lust.

  To make matters even more confounding, the devious wench had all but kicked him out last night after putting him through the indignity of traipsing out to her prehistoric outhouse in the rain, nether regions wrapped in a pink towel, bare feet slipping on mossy bricks.

  When he’d returned from his ignominious excursion, she’d placated him with the most luxurious cup of hot chocolate he’d ever tasted, the flavour so intense it was close to a sexual experience. Then, when he’d been lulled into a near delirious post-chocolate, post-sex stupor, she’d politely mentioned that she had an early morning the next day and had given him the boot.

  In protest, he’d done the necessary thing and kissed her senseless, trying his damnedest to get her out of that dress, but only succeeded in getting himself so fucking frustrated he was still brooding over the reasons why she’d stopped herself from coming – twice. It was bloody insulting. Or at least it would be if he was the kind of fellow to be insulted by that kind of thing. Which he wasn’t. Much.

  He frowned at the thought, pushing himself away from his desk and stalking into his kitchen.

  He’d called her on it and would have said a whole lot more but her expression had been so tender and vulnerable when she’d looked at him afterwards that he simply hadn’t been able to do it. Instead, he’d decided that the next time he got her underneath him, he’d bloody well keep her there until she screamed for Jesus Christ and his heavenly horde.

  Contemplating that happy future event, he poured himself a coffee and ventured outside. It was a clear day; the air was tinged with the sea, salt and the faint ozone of last night’s rain evaporating on warm tarmac. Although it was winter, there was a huge blue sky overhead and the sun was shining through a number of luxurious, fluffy white clouds only marred at the edges by a hint of grey.

  The sea in front of him was choppy, but not enough to bring out the hordes of surfers that turned up when there was anything resembling a decent swell. Ben breathed in deeply and looked up at a seagull flying leisurely circles in the sky. Damn, but he liked this place. He’d like it a hell of a lot more if he could work a certain lady out. He had a sneaking suspicion that the more he tried to learn about her, the less he’d know.

  Amy’s revelation that her penchant for pinup clothing came from a desire to recreate the comfort of childhood escapism had truly surprised him, as had the other snippets of her past she’d unintentionally shared.

  He’d found himself touched and feeling an uncharacteristic sense of anger on her behalf over the injustice she’d experienced at the hands of her incompetent parents. He’d wanted to demand she tell him more but had stopped himself in time. As impatient as he was to get to know her better, he now realised a subtler approach was required. He just had to work out what that approach was. If he pursued her now after her polite post-sex brush-off, he ran the risk of running straight back into the wall he’d encountered last night, but if he backed off too far . . .

  A thought occurred to him and he grinned. Maybe playing a little hard to get was the way to go. Couldn’t be too easy now, could he? Oh, he’d do the right thing and call this afternoon, but it was time for his kewpie doll to make the next move. If he was lucky, she’d make it wearing nothing more than an Agent Provocateur negligee and a sweet dimpled smile.

  Amy inspected the Amazon package that had just been delivered to her salon with a furrowed brow.

  ‘You gonna open that or just stare at it like a stunned guppy?’ Jo asked. She was stretched out in a pink chair, her bare toes splayed apart with foam while her nails dried. It was just past closing time on a Friday and Jo had dropped by to get a haircut and be prettied up before she and Amy went to their favourite Italian restaurant for a girl’s night out. Myf was supposed to be joining them but only minutes before, her housemate, Gavin, had called to warn Amy that Myf was caught up with a painting she’d just started, which meant that it was just going to be the Blaine girls this evening. When Myf was focused on her work she could go missing for days, sometimes weeks, at a time.

  Amy didn’t mind. She rarely got Jo to herself and Myf’s absence had provided them with a chance to catch up. Not that they’d talked about much. Mostly Jo had gently teased Amy about her latest pair of shoes, a pair of lime-green pumps she’d picked up on discount from the mid-year sales. Jo had nicknamed them ‘squashed frog’ shoes. In retaliation, Amy had threatened to paint Jo’s toenails baby-poo brown. The words had turned Jo’s complexion a waxy grey colour.

  She was still puzzling over that when Jo’s voice broke through her thoughts.

  ‘Ames, if you don’t open it, I’m going to.’

  Amy shook the package again. She hadn’t ordered an Amazon parcel. Using one of the cutthroat razors she kept tucked into the pocket of her apron, she sliced the box open.

  ‘Oh!’

  ‘What?’ Jo craned her neck to see.

  She stared down at the shiny new boxed set of Marilyn Monroe DVDs nestled in the packaging and felt her eyes begin to sting.

  ‘Amy?’

  Amy tilted the box sideways. ‘It’s a present,’ she said breathlessly. ‘A replacement box set. This one’s even a limited edition. He must have ordered it the minute he got home for it to have arrived so soon.’

  ‘Who’s he?’ Jo asked, brows raised, curious.

  ‘Ben.’ She tensed, waiting for Jo to say something. Much to her surprise, Jo averted her eyes to her drying toenails and kept quiet.

  Amy relaxed, turning back to her gift. ‘Oh, this is so lovely.’ She stroked the picture of Marilyn Monroe in her iconic white dress from The Seven Year Itch. ‘I’ve gotta call him.’ Placing the box down on the chair next to Jo, she called Ben’s number and waited for him to pick up. They’d talked a lot on the phone this past week, but had yet to see each other since the night he’d come to dinner. He’d called the next day and had left her laughing uproariously when he described exactly how much he deserved her apology for kicking him out so early after she’d inflicted Harvey on him.

  Amy regretted pushing him out the door. At the time she’d been worried he’d want to further discuss why she’d held back in bed, or worse, joke about it. Thankfully, he’d been lovely and her worries now looked more than a little silly. She was beginning to wonder why she’d been so worried about being out of control around him in the first place. If he was sweet enough to do something like this . . .

  ‘Don’t think he’s there, Ames,’ Jo spoke while absent-mindedly flicking through a magazine, bringing Amy’s attention to the fact she’d let Ben’s call ring out.

  ‘Oh well.’ She looked back at her gift.

  A goofy grin was still plastered across her
features when the shop doorbell rang.

  ‘Hey stranger, long time no see!’

  She looked up just as Jo called out to the newcomer and felt her smile solidify.

  ‘G’day, Jo. Lookin’ good.’ Liam strutted through the door as if he owned the place, his bullish body dressed to impress in tan chinos, a pale pink polo shirt and enough cologne to kill a rat at fifty paces.

  ‘What the hell are you doing here?’ Jo’s expression was so ridiculously pleased, Amy felt ill. She wished she’d brought Gerald in to the salon today. Maybe he’d dislike Liam as much as she did and take a chunk out of him, or trip him over at the very least.

  ‘Thought I’d check in on the little lady here,’ Liam said, sounding for all intents and purposes like he was the white knight riding to the rescue.

  Bile coated Amy’s tongue, burning her throat as she swallowed it back down.

  Jo’s grinned widened, hope clearly written all over her features. ‘Yeah? Ames didn’t mention you two were still seeing each other.’

  ‘We’re not,’ Amy interjected flatly.

  ‘You know, I’d like that a lot, Jo, but Amy here’s playin’ hard to get.’ Liam advanced on Amy, knowing full well she wouldn’t push him away with her sister watching.

  For Jo’s sake, Amy suffered through the attention, holding her breath and clenching her fists at her sides as his lips connected with her cheek. Her stomach heaved as his peppermint-tinged breath assaulted her nostrils. ‘Liam, we’re going out now. You’re gonna have to go.’

  Jo immediately protested. ‘No. No. It’s alright. We can spare a few minutes, can’t we, Ames? Take a seat, mate.’ She moved Ben’s gift from the chair next to her, sitting it on the floor by her feet.

  ‘Great.’ With a triumphant look at Amy, Liam settled himself down next to Jo, tapping his palm on the chair arm. ‘Hey, Amy, while I’m catching up with Jo here, why don’t you get us a beer from that little fridge you keep down the back?’

  Amy froze. All she wanted to do was scream at Liam to get out of her salon and out of her life, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Jo would want an explanation.

  Jo broke the solidifying silence. ‘So which rig you on now, mate?’

  ‘Sunrise . . .’

  Liam began a long, self-important monologue about his job that Jo interrupted to ask the odd question, nodding knowingly. To Amy, he was speaking a foreign language she didn’t want to learn.

  She let the conversation go on for five excruciating minutes before she cut in, wrapping her arms tight around her waist. ‘Liam, we’ve got stuff to do and we’re going out. You really have to go.’ She gave him a tight smile for Jo’s benefit. ‘Now.’

  ‘Aw, listen to it. Does she always order you around like this?’ Liam simultaneously gestured to Amy and dismissed her with an arrogant wave of his hand.

  ‘Always,’ Jo replied, no doubt thinking he was teasing. ‘You gonna be in town for a bit? Maybe we could all catch up. I’d love to introduce you to my fiancé.’

  ‘Yeah, sure.’ Liam gave Amy a wink. ‘As long as Amy here doesn’t object.’

  ‘Why would she?’ Jo did a double take when she noticed Amy’s rigid stance and wooden expression. She paused and then spoke again, this time with a little less exuberance. ‘Ah, actually mate . . . on second thoughts, how about I get back to you on the timing and stuff? I’m forgetting how busy Stephen’s been lately. I’ll give you a call. Anyway, we’re just about to head out for a girls’ night.’

  ‘Yeah?’ Liam looked disappointed, which was no surprise. With Jo in the room, he’d probably thought he’d be able to stick around for ages.

  ‘Bye,’ Amy said brusquely. ‘Jo, can you see him out? I’ve gotta get ready.’ Without even waiting for Jo’s reply, she hurried to the bathroom and locked the door, reaching the toilet bowl just in time to lose the coffee and cake she’d eaten. Breathing in deeply, she stumbled over to the basin above the sink and looked at her face in the mirror.

  ‘You’re not eighteen,’ she reminded her reflection in a whisper, reaching for her toothbrush and toothpaste with shaky hands. Making sure she took enough time for Liam to be gone, she brushed her teeth, touched up her lipstick, straightened her floral green shirtwaist dress and matching cardigan, then walked back to the front of the salon.

  ‘You right there?’ Jo asked. She was leaning down to buckle up a tan ankle boot.

  ‘Fine, petal.’ Amy looked around. ‘He gone?’

  ‘Yeah.’ Jo moved to her other boot. ‘It was good to see him. What’s up? You guys thinking of getting back together?’ Her tone was hopeful.

  ‘Nope. I didn’t want to talk about it when we broke up and I don’t now,’ Amy replied, her voice too loud and higher pitched than usual, betraying her anxiety. She couldn’t do a confrontation with Jo right now, especially not about this.

  Awkward, stifling silence filled the room as Jo studied Amy’s tightly clasped hands and rigidly set shoulders.

  ‘Fair enough. Didn’t mean to step on your toes.’

  ‘That’s alright.’

  ‘Even if they’re covered in squashed frogs.’

  Amy felt herself almost puddle with relief. ‘You should never be nasty to the woman who cuts your hair.’ She forced a grin and lightened her tone.

  ‘Easy, tiger.’ Jo held up her hands. ‘Or you’re never riding on my bike again.’ She was referring to her vintage Triumph. Amy loved riding on the back of it, but Jo rarely let her because she refused to wear anything but heels. It had turned into a long-running joke.

  ‘Heaven forbid. Hurry up and get your stuff. I’m hungry.’ Amy whisked around the salon, collecting her handbag and turning off the record player and the lights. ‘If you don’t get moving, I’m not letting you drive my Mini again.’

  ‘Heaven forbid.’

  ‘Come on, boy. You’re driving me crazy here.’ Amy stood on her porch watching Gerald’s vaguely grey shape waddle around her front yard, sniffing and snuffling at every available leaf, twig and tree while he decided which particular spot to bequeath his business on.

  She shivered as the chilly wind blowing in from the coast cut right through her wrap and thin nightie, triggering a run of goose bumps down her spine. A sharp cracking noise from somewhere in the dark startled her and she jumped, squinting through the trees, unable to see anything without the aid of her glasses or better lighting.

  ‘Hurry up, boy. Why is two in the morning the only time you voluntarily want to go to the loo?’ she called out to the dog again, shifting her weight anxiously from one foot to the other. Unfortunately, Gerald either didn’t understand or was ignoring her in his quest for the perfect spot.

  It took the dog another five minutes to finally complete his business and by that time Amy was twitchier than a fat chicken living next door to a KFC restaurant. Although she had every confidence in Gerald’s ability to deter a burglar, she’d still much rather be inside in the warm with the door locked.

  ‘You happy now?’ she asked him as he lumbered through the front door, brushing past her legs. Her only answer was a wheezing sigh before he made his way over to the beanbag in the living room and clambered laboriously up on top of it before collapsing. Amy gave him a quick scratch behind the ear before turning on her TV and flopping down on her couch. She’d given up on sleeping tonight.

  Her thoughts were a whirling mess and had been ever since Liam’s visit to the salon. She knew that she couldn’t let the situation go on, especially not since she’d come home after her dinner with Jo on Saturday night to find another abusive letter slipped under her front door. Normally she threw the letters out the minute she found them, but she’d kept this one. The minute she got a chance, she was going to take it down to the police station and see what they could do about him. With luck, it would be grounds for a restraining order.

  As much as she wanted to protect Jo’s feelings, Amy had had enough, more than enough. If she didn’t do something now, who knew how long Liam would go on harassing her? It didn’t se
em like the idiot had a life. He’d been stalking her, in all senses of the word, for years. If she didn’t do something there was a good chance he’d still be stalking her in her retirement home when she was ninety.

  ‘Colin, as much as I find myself thinking fondly of you, I wasn’t happy to see you in the flesh this time and I’ll be a sight happier if I don’t see you again for another few months,’ Ben said as he walked through Heathrow Terminal Five’s sliding doors and reached into his pocket for his passport.

  ‘You shouldn’t.’ Colin trotted along behind him, just narrowly missing a collision with a large Pakistani family in the process of organising their luggage. ‘That was the last of it. I don’t think there will be anything more now you’ve signed on the dotted line. If I didn’t say it before—’

  ‘You did. Countless numbers of times.’

  ‘I really am sorry.’

  Ben heaved his overnight bag onto his shoulder, stopping abruptly to scan the information for departing flights on an overhead screen. He had forty minutes until take-off but that didn’t worry him. What was first class for if one couldn’t arrive just in the nick of time?

  ‘I’ve said it a million times and I meant it every time. You’re forgiven.’ He turned to regard Colin with affectionate exasperation, noticing for the first time his employee’s lime-green tracksuit straining at the seams around his generous midriff.

  ‘Velour, Colin?’ He winced.

  ‘You only just noticed? It’s comfortable,’ Colin said defensively. ‘And it is midnight.’

  ‘Yes, I understand that. But really? Velour? What does Sharif have to say about this?’ Ben advanced to the check-in counter with Colin bringing up the rear.

  ‘He hates it.’

  ‘I’m not surprised.’

  ‘I like it.’

  ‘You must do. Anyone who wants to look like he’s a perambulating apple would have to.’ Ben nodded his thanks to the woman at check-in as she handed him his passport along with a boarding pass. He turned and caught Colin’s frown.