The Barbershop Girl

by Georgina Penney

  The phone rang a few times, probably more than he noticed, but he ignored it. Anyone who knew him would understand, eventually.

  The only person he thought to call was Amy. Every morning he woke up with a picture of her in his mind, then the ideas would come again and he told himself he’d call her after he got the next chapter written, and then the next. He’d never had the words come this strongly and he had a furiously frantic feeling that if he didn’t get them all down at once and in order, they’d disappear and he’d never be this lucky again.

  Ross wasn’t going to be happy. This wasn’t a travel book, not in the usual sense, certainly. It was something completely different. Autobiographical even.

  Without even realising it at first, he’d found himself including anecdotes from his childhood in boarding school, about his awkward relationship with his parents in chapters that only passingly mentioned his relocation to Australia. In fact, other than mentioning a certain little blonde as the source of his inspiration, his manuscript took a direction that was entirely and extremely personal.

  There was no structure in his work to speak of, but an insane hunch told Ben he was writing his best stuff yet and he didn’t want to stop. He could edit it all later and get rid of the bits that bared too much of his soul.

  Despite his public persona, he’d always been an intensely private man and this would be rolling over and exposing his belly to the press for a disembowelling. At the moment he didn’t care. It took him a little over two weeks to finish his first draft and when he finally came up for air it was with a gasp.

  Amy.

  When he reached for his phone, the battery was flat. How long had it been like that? He shook his head. Couldn’t be that long. It wasn’t until he charged it up and saw the date, along with eighty-three missed calls, that he realised how much of a hideous faux pas he’d committed. It was one thing to be incommunicado for a week, quite another to be off the radar for two.

  Some time during the sleep-deprived haze of the past seventeen days, he’d forgotten that the woman in his head wasn’t the woman who inspired him so completely, who he was so eager to talk to, see, smell, touch, right now. That woman, the real Amy, probably wasn’t too happy about his absence from her life for so long without a word. Damn.

  Bracing himself for an onslaught of abuse, Ben procrastinated enough to have a shower and a shave, run a pair of clippers over his head and make himself something more substantial than a bowl of cereal to eat before he gave her a call.

  ‘Hello? Ben?’

  ‘Forgive me?’ he asked, then winced at the ice-cold silence that greeted him for the next few seconds.

  ‘No,’ she said softly after a while. ‘Not yet. Where have you been?’

  ‘Here.’ Normally good with words, he didn’t really have any at the ready right now. ‘I, ah . . . I was writing and I lost track of time.’

  ‘For over two weeks?’

  ‘It’s embarrassing, really. If it helps, I thought to call you, I thought of you every day but I know that’s probably not much of a defence. I don’t know how to make it up to you.’

  ‘Neither do I,’ Amy replied in a tone that Ben couldn’t decipher. He resisted the urge to punch himself. ‘Why didn’t you call me back? Or answer the door when I came by?’

  ‘My phone was flat and I genuinely didn’t hear the bell.’ He grimaced at the poor excuse, vaguely remembering his doorbell ringing at some time or another. ‘I didn’t realise so much time had gone by. It’s never hit me like this. The ideas came and I got so busy . . .’ His words trailed off into silence. It was a silence Amy didn’t help him fill. ‘If it makes you feel any better, I didn’t call anyone back. My editor wants to cut my throat, my agent wants my liver and my PA, who’s a vegetarian pacifist, wants to chop me up into tiny little bits.’

  His words hung in the air for an excruciating minute before he heard Amy take a deep breath.

  ‘So you were writing the whole time?’

  ‘Yes. I completely, utterly lost track of the time. Please forgive me. I assure you, I promise you, it wasn’t intentional and I mean it. I really did think of you. Every day.’ Ben had never grovelled in his life but he was doing it now. He knew that leaving it two weeks without a by-your-leave after their holiday was nigh on lynching material. He just prayed she’d find clemency.

  There was a further silence during which all he could hear was the sound of his own pounding heart and some miscellaneous blurred background noise on the other end of the phone.

  ‘You’re lucky, you know.’

  ‘Am I?’ He held his breath.

  ‘My best friend’s an artist. I’m used to her. She gets distracted, too.’

  Ben exhaled in a rush while making a note to buy every painting in Myf’s next exhibition. ‘Thank God.’

  ‘But never for this long.’ Amy fell silent again. There was none of the usual bubble in her tone and that genuinely worried him.

  He didn’t quite know what to say. She wasn’t giving him anything to work with. It was excruciating staying quiet and waiting for her to talk again, but he had a feeling he could quite easily put his foot in it and didn’t want to risk it.

  ‘Did you really lose track of time or were you lying?’

  ‘Despite what you’d probably believe, I’m a terrible liar. I’m rarely in a situation where I feel the need to explain myself,’ Ben said truthfully. ‘I can show you my manuscript if you’d like, if that’s what it takes, and I never, ever show anyone my work at this stage of the game.’

  ‘I’ll think about it.’ She sounded tired, exhausted, as a matter of fact. Ben said as much.

  ‘I am. Things have been crazy lately. It’s probably a good thing you’ve been busy.’ An ounce of her usual cheer returned to her tone and Ben felt the muscles in his back and arms relax.

  He let go of the tentativeness; it didn’t suit him anyway. He was still feeling like a colossal shit, but there was no use dwelling on the negative. ‘If I prostrate myself before you in your barbershop and beg your humble apology, how forgiven does that get me, and more importantly, do I get into your pants?’

  Amy let out a shocked burst of laughter. ‘Pretty presumptuous of you, given how hurt my feelings have been lately.’

  ‘I’ll make up for it later. I promise.’ He tried to inject as much sleazy innuendo into his voice as he could. He really needed to work on the Groucho Marx eyebrow wiggle. He had a feeling she’d appreciate it.

  He was rewarded when she sighed. ‘I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think I believe you.’

  ‘Wonderful.’

  ‘But I’ll believe you even more if you cook me dinner. At my place. And sleep overnight with no complaining about Harvey or mentioning how much nicer your house is.’ To Ben’s surprise there was a genuine authoritarian edge to her tone he’d not heard before, with the exception of when she was cooking.

  ‘Your wish is my command.’ He grinned. He hadn’t expected to be let off this easily. Although he had a feeling that, with Amy, things were never as simple as they seemed. He was proven correct by her next words.

  ‘It better be. While you’re at it, bring a copy of The Lion King. I feel like some escapism. I’ve had a horrible few weeks and you haven’t helped.’

  ‘Do I have to? Oh wait, don’t answer that.’

  ‘Bye, Ben.’ She hung up.

  Ben looked towards the heavens. ‘You really do have it in for me up there, don’t you?’

  BEN WAS AMAZED to find himself fighting a pang of anxiety as he pulled into Amy’s driveway. He’d just spent the previous hour trying to find a copy of a Disney movie. Disney, for God’s sake. Downloading the damn film wasn’t an option – Amy’s television had probably been made when Churchill was convincing the troops to storm the beaches, so it wouldn’t have any facility to connect to anything but the most basic technology. As it was, Ben had actually been surprised to note she had a DVD player until she’d mentioned that her sister had bought it as a present years before. He ha
d no idea how she’d hooked it up to the tube. Probably through a complex series of adapters that defied all logic.

  He knocked on her door and was stunned by the sound of a dog growling. Maybe the mutt had learned to be a good guard dog after all. He reconsidered when he tried the handle, found it unlocked and let himself in, making a mental note to redden Amy’s backside for being so trusting.

  ‘Hello?’ he called out, looking censoriously at the bulldog dozing in a beanbag to his left. ‘One growl? What was that supposed to do? I’m hardly shaking in my socks.’

  The dog just snuffled indignantly and closed his eyes.

  ‘She would have been better off with a cat.’ Ben stomped through the house calling for Amy with no answer, only to find her in the courtyard out the back. She was watering a motley assortment of potted plants arranged against the mossy bricks of her walled backyard, wearing a white shirtwaist dress dotted with tiny pink roses and a pair of impractical pink heels with pompons on the toes.

  Ben thought, not for the first time, that Amy Blaine had been born in the wrong era. With her colouring and style she would have been considered a bombshell in the forties and fifties. Deciding to wait for her to notice him, he held out the ridiculous piece of Disney fluff as a peace offering and waited.

  Amy’s mind wouldn’t shut up. It had been a truly horrible day, horrible week, horrible month. If she was the kind of lady to pull her hair out and howl at the moon, she would have done it weeks ago. Mel had finally returned after two weeks of deliberation. Her studious, calm presence served as a daily reminder of just how great Amy’s lapse of judgement had been in keeping Kate on for so long. As much as she knew she’d made the right decision about firing Kate, it hadn’t been easy finding someone to replace her. In the end she’d settled on Ted, a quiet, soft-spoken 24-year-old stylist from Sydney who showed a lot of promise.

  In addition to the workplace stress, there’d still been no word from Jo.

  Amy had tried calling twice, but the phone had rung out both times. In the end, she’d decided that she’d done all she could and it was now Jo’s turn. Scott was overseas again, so she hadn’t had anyone to talk to about the problem and didn’t want to burden him any more than she already had in any case. Myf would have been her other best option, but Amy hadn’t wanted to interrupt her friend when she knew Myf was madly trying to build up a big enough portfolio to hold a solo show at the end of the year.

  Add Ben’s two-week absence to all that and it was an understatement to say she hadn’t exactly been Little Miss Perky of late.

  She’d tried to stay optimistic about Ben’s radio silence, but around the one-week mark an all-pervasive hurt had begun to gain momentum. It had mixed insidiously with a dread that hung around her like a dank cloud as she’d waited for Liam to return from his usual stint on the rigs. The nice senior constable from the police station had said they’d visit him soon after he returned, which would be either today or tomorrow. She could only imagine how he’d react.

  All in all, if someone were to tell her there was an evil genius planning to blow up the world at any minute, she would have said, Fine, at least I get a sleep-in tomorrow.

  ‘I think they’ve had enough water, don’t you?’ Ben’s voice startled her so much she screamed and spun around, only just managing to not trip over the hose.

  ‘Ben?’

  ‘Yes, but it could be your neighbourhood serial killer for all the security you have here. Correct me if I’m wrong, but weren’t you burgled only a few weeks ago?’ His expression was anything but apologetic, despite the brightly coloured DVD clasped in one hand.

  ‘Yeah but . . .’ Amy began and then shrugged. The hose was still running, leaving a growing puddle of water on the paving at her feet. ‘I forgot and I knew you were coming anyway . . .’ She let the words trail off as a feeling of immense relief washed through her, leaving her knees weak and her hands shaky.

  She hadn’t been wrong. Jo hadn’t been right. He hadn’t walked out and left the minute she’d got a little bit serious. The DVD in his hand proved it. For a man who hated all things Disney, even revealing to her one night that he’d received legal threats from the massive corporation for parodying their products, she knew he must really care if he’d got her one of her favourite comfort movies. And he looked so good. Her tummy flip-flopped. She knew she was being a pushover, she knew she should be grumpier with him but . . .

  ‘The Lion King?’ Her features split into a wide grin.

  ‘If you ever tell anyone about this, I will have to kill you,’ he answered with narrowed eyes.

  Amy ignored his words, took two seconds to turn off the hose and then threw herself at him, glorying in the feel of hard muscles and his warm citrus smell. It felt even better when his arms wrapped around her in a tight hug.

  ‘I take it you missed me,’ he said wryly.

  ‘Nah. You’re horrible,’ she said into his cream-coloured cricket jersey. ‘I don’t miss horrible boyfriends who don’t call for weeks.’

  ‘Sorry about that.’

  ‘You’re not forgiven yet. What are you making me for dinner?’

  ‘Take-out.’

  ‘Not good enough.’

  ‘I brought cake too. From a bakery. A good one. It’s as homemade as I get, I’m afraid.’

  ‘That’s almost good enough. What flavour?’

  Ben pulled back and gave her an incredulous look. ‘Chocolate. What else?’

  ‘You’re forgiven. For now.’ She grabbed him by the hand and led the way back into the kitchen. She had a feeling he didn’t often apologise, so she’d do her best to make the most of it.

  ‘Do you have a spare water bottle?’ Ben asked the next morning. He was lying on his back in Amy’s bed and she was curled up next to him, her head nuzzled against his shoulder. Her alarm clock said it was around seven but neither of them were going anywhere. It was a Sunday after all.

  ‘You need a drink of water?’ Amy mumbled.

  ‘No, I need to piss and you have this insane fetish for outdoor toilets.’ Ben growled indignantly when Amy giggled.

  ‘Tough. Put on your big boy pants and go out there.’

  ‘Care to hold my hand?’

  She gave an outraged squeal when he pulled the covers off her. ‘NO!’

  ‘I think you do.’ He took the time to tickle her tummy before bracing himself for the elements and venturing outside.

  Amy howled with laughter as Ben let loose with a string of obscenities as his bare feet made contact with the cold, rain-damp paving seconds later.

  ‘It’s alright for you!’ he snapped indignantly when he returned, standing at the end of the bed wearing only a pair of black boxer briefs. ‘You’re used to it. My poor feet are practically blue.’

  ‘Aww.’ Amy rolled over, stretching like a contented kitten. ‘You don’t look that hard done by.’ Her eyes rested on his boxers. ‘Although, I gotta say, your ego’s deflated a bit. Want to come back to bed?’ She yelped when Ben answered her invitation, promptly pulling her warm little body against his cold one, rolling her over until she was blanketed by him.

  ‘Vigorous activity, sweetheart. It’s the only thing that’s going to prevent my hypothermia.’

  ‘I’ll take the hypothermia!’ Amy shrieked, protesting until he managed to distract her enough with the vigorous activity.

  They were still cozied up in bed a while later when Ben’s phone rang and kept ringing.

  ‘You gonna pick that up?’ Amy asked after the ten-minute mark. She’d already noticed Ben’s habit of ignoring his phone as often as possible, for as long as possible.

  ‘No.’ Ben nuzzled a naked nipple, then looked around for its twin. ‘I’m otherwise occupied.’

  Amy glowered down at him. ‘Want me to answer it?’

  ‘Hmm? Why not?’ Ben nibbled his way down to her belly button as she twisted sideways and picked up his phone.

  ‘Hi, Ben isn’t—’

  ‘It’s about bloody time, you lazy prick!’ A booming
voice that was unmistakeably English echoed around the room. ‘Two fucking weeks and not a by-your-leave. Anyone would think you don’t love me. I’m out a fucking column for this week thanks to you. I had to put in some tripe you wrote last year about touring in Cardiff. Wales, for God’s sake. Bloody awful.’ Amy looked wide-eyed down at Ben, who met her gaze briefly, then went back to ignoring Ross’s rant, preferring to concentrate on her navel instead.

  ‘Ben?’ she whispered.

  ‘Give him another few minutes to calm down.’ He inched himself down even further. She was so soft. He really couldn’t get enough of her.

  ‘Don’t you dare!’ Amy whispered, trying to scrunch her thighs together with a complete lack of success.

  ‘And where is this fucking book you promised me?’ Ross roared over the phone. ‘You get my reading public fired up and then you fuck off without a trace. I was this close, this close, to reporting you missing. If I didn’t know you weren’t more than likely balls-deep in that little blonde barber—’

  Ben snatched the phone out of Amy’s hand. ‘Ross, you ass, put a sock in it. The next time you want to insult me, make sure I’m the one on the other end of the phone,’ he snarled. He was still sprawled over Amy’s lower body. She tried to wriggle away but he was bigger and heavier than she was and he’d be damned if she was going anywhere until he could explain his friend’s hideously rude behaviour.

  ‘Let me up!’ Amy whispered, but he shook his head.

  ‘What do you mean, make sure you’re on the end of the phone?’ Ross demanded.

  ‘Ross, in your sweetest, most dulcet tones, I’d like to hear you apologise to Amy for your absolutely atrocious display of bad manners just now. She heard every word.’ Ben spoke calmly, his tone viciously polite.

  ‘Amy? Who the hell’s Amy?’

  ‘The lady you’ve just crassly insulted. She answered the phone and didn’t quite catch your good side. It’s rather early in the morning here in Perth and we’re still in bed. If you’d bothered to check your bloody watch, you would have worked that out.’