The Barbershop Girl

by Georgina Penney

  They looked at each other for a few seconds, communicating with a series of frowns and raised eyebrows until Watanabe sighed loudly.

  ‘Alright. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but tell us what you want to do and then we’ll decide if we can give you a hand.’

  Realising he only had a small window of time before Amy’s sister untangled herself from whatever hold Watanabe had over her and launched herself across the table at him, Ben talked fast.

  AMY WAVED GOODBYE to her final customer for the day, placed her hands on the small of her back, stretched, then collapsed in a chair, pulling off her shoes to massage her exhausted feet.

  Everything ached – her head possibly the worst of all. It was closing time on a Friday, her staff in the salon had already left and she was ready to drop. The last few weeks had been a continual, emotionally draining blur and right now she’d do anything to turn off the world even for a few seconds.

  The shop bell jingled and she stifled a groan. All she wanted to do was get home, put on her pyjamas and snooze on the couch.

  ‘Amy?’

  She looked up. Her breath caught as her heart tried to beat its way out of her chest.

  Ben was standing in the doorway with one hand shoved into the back pocket of a pair of blue jeans, the other tightly gripping a large brown envelope. The sardonic smile he usually wore was absent; instead his ice-green eyes were shadowed with uncertainty, sucking her in.

  ‘Are you open still?’ he asked, his normally self-assured, clipped accent sounding tentative. ‘I desperately need a shave. I’ve got this incredible woman to impress and I don’t want her thinking I don’t care enough to look my best.’

  ‘We’re closed.’

  ‘Oh.’ Ben’s shoulders slumped a little. ‘Are you sure? Because I’ve really made a hash of things and I need to ask her to forgive me. I wrote some things that were unintentionally unflattering and have tried to apologise both in person and in writing but she simply won’t give me the chance.’

  Amy felt her eyes prickle and looked back down at the foot that she was massaging, slipping her shoe back on.

  ‘I said we’re closed.’ She felt her heart breaking all over again.

  ‘I’m sorry, Amy.’

  ‘So am I.’ She kept her gaze on the floor.

  ‘Did you read my apology?’

  She had read it at least twenty times. ‘Yes.’

  ‘I meant it. Every word. I’m sorry, Amy.’

  ‘Don’t,’ she said, her voice cracking.

  ‘And after trying everything I could think of to convince you that I really am certifiably crazy about you, I’ve decided that I’m going to give you a chance to kill me.’

  ‘What?’ Her eyes snapped to his face, taking in the dark shadows under his eyes.

  ‘A cut-throat shave.’ He walked further into the shop.

  ‘I’m closed,’ she repeated. ‘I don’t want to see you, Ben.’

  ‘I think you do. I think you’d relish the idea of cutting my throat. So come on.’ He sat down in the chair next to hers, placing the envelope he was holding on the ledge in front of the mirror.

  ‘I don’t want to see you.’ It hurt so much right now, there was no way she was going to touch him.

  ‘Well, I’m not going anywhere.’ He regarded himself in the mirror and then gave her a forced smile. ‘And you have to admit it would be pretty bad advertising for you if I walked out of here looking like this.’ He gestured to what had to be five days’ worth of scraggly, overgrown stubble. ‘Think of all the damage you could do without actually killing me.’

  ‘Why are you here? Surely you have better things to write about,’ Amy said, voice flat.

  He turned his chair to face hers, his expression deathly serious. ‘It will never happen again. Somewhere over the past few years I’ve become terribly arrogant and egotistical. It never occurred to me that you’d be upset. I . . . I don’t do declarations or emotions that well. I’m not used to showing people I care. Pathetic really, for a grown man, and terribly clichéd.’ His mouth quirked in an unhumorous smile. ‘You inspired me so much. I wanted to write about you. I wanted to share you with others. You might not know it, but my stage persona is a total bastard who makes fun of other people. It’s something I’ve done my entire life. Believe it or not, I was a shy child. Humour, my kind of humour, worked. Until recently.’ He looked away. ‘Half the reason people come to see me is because they love to hate me. It never occurred to me how that might look to someone who doesn’t have that context.’

  Amy abruptly pushed herself out of her chair and walked over to stare blindly out the window at the congested evening traffic.

  ‘Please, Amy.’

  She squeezed her eyes tightly shut. ‘Just go, Ben. I can’t do this.’

  He sat there behind her for almost five minutes, the feeling of complete dejection in the air palpable, before getting up and walking silently out the door.

  Not wanting to watch his departing back, Amy turned back to tidy the barbershop and saw the envelope he’d been carrying lying on the ledge in front of his abandoned chair. She picked it up, intent on throwing it in the rubbish, but her sister’s unmistakable handwriting scrawled across the front stopped her.

  Amy, read this and give him a chance. Both Scott and I think he really means it when he says he’s sorry.

  Trust yourself.

  Amy’s brow wrinkled. Jo? What would Jo have to do with this? Leaving the thought unfinished, she up-ended the envelope and a heavy block of paper fell out.

  She looked at the first page. It was a manuscript, entitled Laughing at the Dark. She turned the page. The words ‘For Amy, I love you with all my heart,’ were typed and centred, stark and unadorned. For a couple of seconds it felt as if someone had kicked her in the chest. A sob tore through her body. Then another one, her vision blurring.

  Hope, so terribly small and fragile, sparked as she swiped at her eyes. He loved her. He hadn’t said it before but for some reason he’d said it here.

  She knew, in that moment, that she couldn’t let him go without knowing if it was the truth.

  The manuscript dropped from her fingers, pages fluttering as she turned and ran for the door. Ben was walking towards his car, his shoulders bent, truly looking like the devastated man he’d professed to be.

  ‘Ben!’

  Ben turned. If he’d thought it had hurt to walk away just now, it was nothing compared to this. She was crying, tears creating muddy smudges in her make-up. She’d never looked more beautiful.

  ‘Yes?’ He heard the raspiness in his voice, bracing himself for another blow, watching as she rubbed her hands up and down the hot pink pencil skirt she was wearing. They were shaking.

  ‘Come back here. Please.’

  He took a few seconds to process the words. ‘Why?’

  She swiped at her eyes, only smudging her make-up all the more as she drew a shaky breath. ‘Did you mean it? The dedication?’

  ‘Yes, every word.’ He nodded slowly, trying desperately to understand what was going on. Her sister had said that he should put how he felt front and centre but it couldn’t be just that.

  He watched her expression crumple. ‘Why tell me you love me now? Why not before? Why now?’

  Ben cleared his throat, trying to search for words but none came. The sound of heavy traffic on the road behind him intruded but he didn’t give a damn who was watching. This was too important.‘I honestly don’t know.’

  She looked over his shoulder as a bus screeched to a halt at a nearby stop. ‘Come inside.’

  He stared at her, trying to decipher what was happening. He wasn’t stupid enough to hope this was a second chance. ‘Why? Because, honestly—’ He shoved his hands in his pockets, taking the time to force his damn brain to come up with the right words. It had never failed him before but now, nothing was forthcoming but pure honesty. ‘I don’t want to hurt you any more than I already have and—’

  ‘Just shut up and come inside, Ben. I really
don’t want this to be any more public than you’ve already made it.’

  She walked back inside the shop, leaving the door open. He stepped through it, letting it close with a loud click. The bell above it tinkled in the quiet.

  He glanced at his manuscript scattered on the floor, disregarding it. ‘What do you need from me?’

  She leaned against the arm of one of the barber’s chairs, wrapping her arms around her waist. ‘Why didn’t you say this to me earlier? Why did you have to write that horrible thing in the newspaper instead?’

  If Ben had felt small before, it was nothing compared to now. ‘It was the only thing I could think to do. You wouldn’t talk to me. You wouldn’t see me. I was desperate.’

  She turned her head, closing her eyes tightly. ‘Do you love me?’

  ‘You read the dedication in my manuscript, didn’t you?’

  ‘Do you love me? I need to hear you say it out loud.’

  This shouldn’t have been so difficult. He’d already admitted his feelings to her sister, to Alex, to Ross, and he’d typed them on one of the sheets of the manuscript at their feet but that had been different. For some reason, saying the words out loud right now to a woman who held his future in the palm of her hand was too much. He felt more open and exposed than he had since he was a young boy, before he’d learned to cover up his true feelings with wit. He had no wit now, no pithy comment to offer.

  A humiliating prickle started up behind his eyes and he willed it away. ‘I – ah . . . Yes. Yes. I love you.’ The words felt wrenched from his chest. His fists clenched at his sides as he watched tears course down Amy’s cheeks. ‘Amy—’

  ‘What you wrote was horrible, really, really horrible, and that apology in the paper was even worse.’

  ‘I know. I realise that now. If I could take it back I would. I was too stupidly arrogant to consider the fact you didn’t know—’

  ‘You can’t do that, write about me again, ever.’ She looked directly at him, pressing her lips together before speaking again, the tremor in her voice telling him just how close she was to breaking down. ‘If you wanted to apologise, you should have done it to my face.’

  ‘I tried. Believe me I tried.’ Ben injected every bit of the sincerity he felt into his tone, fighting every instinct that told him he was about to be gutted, that he wasn’t safe. ‘And if that’s what you want, I’ll agree to your terms, any terms. Just tell me we’ve got a chance.’

  ‘And you’ll have to apologise to my house. I know it sounds silly, but my house means a lot to me. I work hard for it. It’s mine and I love it. I love the life I’ve built for myself. I love who I am. If you can’t accept me as me, we . . . we can’t do this.’

  Ben felt a wave of hope, so strong it almost crippled him at the knees. ‘This? Are you giving me a second chance?’

  She kept speaking as if she hadn’t heard him. ‘And if you mean it, if you want to be with me, you’ve got to follow through. Words come too easily to you, Ben. You use them to push people away. You used them to push me away. I need to see you trust me enough that you won’t do that again.’

  ‘I mean it.’ Ben tried for his usual sardonic smile but even without looking in the mirror, he knew it was a poor facsimile. ‘Amy, I’d appreciate it if you made this clear for my feeble mind. Have you forgiven me?’

  She looked at him for a long time and he felt every second of silence as a hard thud in his veins. ‘Not yet.’ She paused again and the wait was excruciating. ‘But I will if you behave. You’re on six months’ probation.’

  Ben reeled back, confusion mixing with hope and a hint of elation. ‘Probation?’

  She nodded, heaving in a shaky breath. ‘Six months, living at my house, sharing my life and no complaining, no making fun of anything. Can you do that? I’m going out on a limb here – I need you to meet me halfway.’

  ‘Six months?’ Ben mentally baulked. All the reasons why he couldn’t live in such a small place raced through his mind: the outdoor toilet, the abominable garden, Amy’s lack of decent television or internet. He’d have to temporarily get himself a cheaper car, one that wouldn’t be stolen or ruined. He’d have to find some way of talking her into upgrading her television. He’d have to – what was he thinking? Of course he’d do it. He’d do anything. He spread his arms apart, leaving himself open. ‘When do you want me to move in?’

  He was rewarded with a pint-sized blonde barrelling into him, tears wetting the front of his shirt. His own eyes gave up the fight momentarily as he buried his face in her hair, inhaling apples and bubblegum, the most wonderful woman who’d ever walked into his life, and it looked like she was crazy enough to be his.

  ‘As soon as possible. Now get into the chair. If you’re gonna be my probationary boyfriend, you can’t go around looking like that.’

  Relieved laughter shook Ben’s body as he rubbed his cheek against Amy’s, earning a squeal. ‘I thought you liked me like this.’

  She poked him in the ribs, her voice radiating the relief he could feel shaking through her small frame. ‘I like you better quiet with a razor against your throat. Now sit in the chair and behave.’

  Ben leaned back so he could see her face, taking in every detail.‘I love you, you know.’

  He saw the impact his words had, marvelled at them and then watched with relieved delight as baby-blue eyes, still shimmering with unshed tears, narrowed. ‘You can love me even better when you don’t look like a scruff. Sit.’

  ‘Your wish is my command.’

  ‘It better be.’

  ‘Unless your command shows a severe lack of judgement.’

  ‘It won’t. You’re moving in tonight, by the way.’

  ‘Tonight!’

  ‘Sit in the chair, be a good boy and be quiet.’

  Ben took one look at Amy, hands on her hips, glaring him down, her mouth twitching, and felt pure joy course through him. His laughter echoed around the room.

  ‘Whatever you say, sweetheart. Whatever you say.’

  ‘THIS KIND OF heat should have a warning label on it. Remind me why you decided to traipse us all the way down here mid-week just to make me walk cross-country in an inferno?’ Ben squinted his eyes against the blinding white sunlight and took in the panorama around him. To the left stretched rolling, sun-baked vineyards featuring some large, miscellaneous, chugging machinery, and to the right stood the copse of trees and the gully dam he’d visited with Amy seven months before, looking almost unrecognisable through the heat haze.

  ‘It’s Australia. It’s supposed to be hot. Deal with it.’

  ‘That’s what I said to you when we visited Alex in New York last month.’

  ‘That doesn’t count. It was snowing. If it’s hot you can always take off more clothes or go for a swim. If it’s cold, you die of hypothermia. How are your silly shoes going?’

  Ben looked down at his irreparably ruined Gucci sneakers, still showing signs of trauma from the last time he and Amy had made this trek. At least the ground wasn’t soggy with water. Instead, it was packed hard and dry, the green grass of late winter frizzled away to crackling gold stubble, chewed down by livestock.

  The air was still. Ben felt a continuous trickle of sweat run down his back and his torso and thanked God that he’d worn a baseball cap, otherwise his head would look like a tomato, seventy-plus sunscreen or not.

  The months spent living in Amy’s little sweatbox hadn’t prepared him for this. He could only be thankful they’d be driving straight to his house when they got back to Perth on Sunday night. The six months of his voluntary exile from the modern world was over. Never would he take air conditioning and an indoor toilet for granted again.

  ‘Do you think it’s possible to die of thirst out here?’ he mused, knowing full well there was plenty of water in his backpack.

  Amy stopped abruptly and turned to look at him with an exasperated frown, hands swooshing the skirt of her filmy yellow sundress. ‘Don’t start, mister. I know you’re enjoying yourself. You only complain t
his much when you’re really, really, enjoying yourself.’

  She was right but that wasn’t the point. ‘Care to tell me why we’re doing this in the heat of the day rather than at a more sensible time?’

  ‘Because I promised Jo we’d look after Tiffany. It’ll be the first night she and Stephen have had a breather for ages and I want to spend a bit of quality time with my niece before we leave for your book launch in London.’ She gave him a pointed look, then flicked her ponytail over her shoulder, marching towards the trees and dam in the distance again.

  Ben was momentarily distracted, watching her pert little backside moving from side to side before he snorted and caught up, long strides eating up the ground. ‘Quality time? The child’s seen so much of you, she’s probably confused who her real mother is. Don’t even think of getting any ideas. We discussed this.’

  ‘Hmm?’ Amy’s voice was all too innocent as she paused to open a homemade wire and ring-lock gate, letting Ben through, then deftly closing it again.

  Ben didn’t like the sound of that. ‘I’m not impregnating you until you get off your high and mighty horse and agree to marry me. That damn dog of yours is more than enough for now. One of these days I’m going to break my neck falling over him instead of merely bruising my ego.’

  From the back he caught Amy’s cheeks plumping out as she chuckled and felt the urge to grin back, despite his exasperation. Four times. He’d asked her to marry him four times over the past six months, and every time she’d turned him down, saying he had to do his time in purgatory, living in her house, before she could agree.

  He’d jumped through the hoops, passed the bloody test and she was going to agree to marry him today or he was going to do something unspeakable, which would more than likely result in him getting something Australian stuck in a crevice or two when he got her underneath him until she said yes.

  He was prepared for a long siege. He had the engagement ring he’d picked out six months ago in his back pocket. He’d brought a picnic blanket this time and, unbeknown to Amy, he’d arranged for a gourmet packed lunch and a rather lovely bottle of champagne, currently residing in a compact chiller providing a blessedly cool patch on the otherwise overheated skin of his back.