‘So, Ralphie,’ I continue, gesturing towards my preferred barber chair. ‘How about you grab a seat and tell me what you’d like done?’
He looks over at Steph, who shrugs in a get-on-with-it kind of way, and then he finally sits down.
‘You’d probably be best taking off your coat,’ I say, upon which he stands up again and removes his green army jacket, followed by a bodywarmer underneath, handing them both to Steph.
‘Good,’ I add. ‘So what are we doing today?’
‘I’m, er, n-not too sure,’ he replies helpfully. ‘Whatever you think really.’
‘It’s pretty long and thick at the moment. Shall I take it quite short and thin it out for you?’
He agrees, which doesn’t count for much, as he’d probably say yes to whatever at this stage, so I go ahead and get on with it. I even throw in a bit of small talk, believe it or not, telling him he has a great head of hair and is unlikely to ever go bald like me.
Meanwhile, Meg makes a brew for the pair, plonks Steph down in the waiting area and puts her at ease with casual talk about the weather and so on.
Unsurprisingly, Ralphie hasn’t washed or brushed his hair for some time, so it’s greasy and matted, but I soon make it look much better. I take the top more or less as short as it will go with the scissors and use the clippers on the back and sides, opting for a number four rather than anything shorter. The reason for this is simple: I don’t want him to be too cold while he’s out on the streets.
There is a slight smell coming off both him and Steph, I must admit, but it’s not as bad as I feared. Plus I opened a couple of windows earlier in anticipation of this, so it’s perfectly manageable.
Once I’m done, I get the hand mirror out to show him the back and ask what he thinks.
‘Aye, that’s g-great,’ he says, visibly more relaxed than he was when he first came in. ‘Brilliant, thanks.’
‘You’re welcome.’
‘You look like a different man,’ Meg says, standing behind the mirror and admiring my handiwork. ‘Very handsome. What do you think, Steph? Maybe he’s boyfriend material after all.’
Steph grimaces.
I did consider the possibility of offering people a shave as well as a haircut when I was first thinking through this idea. But since it’s not something I usually offer and it’s quite time-consuming, I decided not to bother. Ralphie doesn’t have much beard growth anyway. He does have a few straggly bits here and there, though, which look out of place now his hair has been done, so I offer to trim them with the clippers and he accepts.
‘Are you up next?’ I ask Steph.
‘No, no, no,’ she says, shaking her head hard enough to make herself dizzy.
‘Are you sure. Not even a little trim? You’d barely notice the difference in length, but I could cut off any split ends for you.’
There’s no convincing her, even when Meg chips in and says I cut her hair, which isn’t true, but never mind.
‘Yours is short,’ Steph says, ‘so it’s not the same.’
‘No problem at all,’ I tell her. ‘Your hair, your choice, Steph. You know where I am, if you change your mind.’
Once Ralphie’s wrapped up again, the pair say goodbye and head for the door.
‘Great to see you both,’ I say. ‘Thanks for coming.’
‘Be sure to tell everyone you know about this,’ Meg adds. ‘Remember, it’s totally free of charge for anyone homeless; we’ll be here until nine thirty tonight, so there’s still plenty of time to show up.’ Thrusting a wad of my business cards into Steph’s hand, she adds: ‘Feel free to give these out to help spread the word.’
‘Where did you get those cards from?’ I ask her once they’ve gone. ‘I don’t have that many, you know. We can’t be handing them out willy-nilly.’
She frowns at me. ‘What? You said you handed them out when you were speaking to people on the street last week.’
‘I did, in limited amounts. Definitely no more than one per person.’
‘Hmm. And how many people have shown up so far?’
She has a point, which grows in pertinence as the evening progresses and no one else turns up. Soon she apologises for saying it, which only makes me feel worse. She goes out into the street several times to check for people potentially loitering nearby but – like Steph and Ralphie – not daring to make the final steps into the barbershop. However, she doesn’t come across any more.
By 8.55 p.m. I’m feeling really downhearted about the whole thing. At 9.15 p.m. I want to call it a day, having already used the downtime to clear up. But Meg makes me hold on until 9.25 p.m., checking outside twice more in the meantime.
‘Okay,’ she says finally. ‘Let’s close up now. It doesn’t look like anyone else is coming.’
‘You reckon?’ Immediately regretting my snappish tone of voice, I remind myself that Meg’s been nothing but supportive. ‘Sorry, I don’t mean it like that. I just … hoped more people would come. Maybe I should knock the idea on the head. What’s the point if no one is interested?’
Meg holds her arms wide open. ‘Come here and give me a hug. Listen, I’m really proud of you for what you’ve done tonight, Luke. It doesn’t matter a jot that you only cut one person’s hair. One is better than none; you have to start somewhere.’
As we embrace, I exhale and she ruffles what hair there is on the back of my head.
‘You’re not very good at this being positive business, are you, Luke? It’s fantastic that you’re trying, but you need to stick at it rather than falling at the first hurdle and reverting to type. You haven’t got the message out there enough yet, that’s all.’
‘I did speak to several people,’ I say. ‘And I asked them to tell others. I was worried if I told too many, I might be swamped. That clearly wasn’t a problem.’
‘Stay positive and leave it with your cousin. I have an idea I think will help.’
I ask her several times what this idea is, but she won’t tell me. All she’ll say is: ‘Wait and see, Luke. Wait and see.’
CHAPTER 14
There’s a knock on the door of my flat soon after I get home from work the next day.
‘Oh, hello, Liam,’ my neighbour says when I answer. ‘How are you?’
‘Good evening, Doreen,’ I reply, smiling to myself at the continued absurdity of not correcting her about my name. ‘I’m fine. How are you?’
‘Good, thanks. I have a present for you.’
‘Really? That’s, um, very nice of you. It’s not my birthday, though.’
‘Oh, it’s not a birthday present. And don’t get too excited, it’s only … well, I spotted it in a charity sale this afternoon and thought of you, that’s all.’
I’m intrigued. ‘Would you like to come inside?’ I ask without thinking, surprising myself.
‘No, no,’ she replies, remaining on the doorstep, holding one arm behind her back. ‘My tea is on the stove, so it’s only a flying visit. Thanks, though.’
Swinging her arm forward, she hands me a boxed DVD. It’s Edward Scissorhands, the Tim Burton movie from the early nineties. I remember seeing it once when I was younger.
‘Wow,’ I say. ‘Superb.’
‘It was the scissor thing I thought might appeal,’ she explains. ‘You being a barber and all. You haven’t seen it already, have you?’
‘No, no, I don’t think so,’ I lie, also not mentioning the fact my decrepit DVD player, which I really ought to throw out, hasn’t worked in a while. ‘Thank you very much, Doreen. That’s really kind of you.’
‘My Bob used to love watching films,’ she adds. ‘I prefer normal TV myself. What about you?’
‘Oh, I definitely enjoy a good movie. I’ll look forward to watching this. You really shouldn’t have, though. I don’t want you spending your money on me.’
‘It’s nothing. They were basically giving it away. The thing is, you’ve fetched me a couple of items from the shops over the past week or so and I wanted to let you know that I really app
reciate it.’
‘Well, I appreciate this too, Doreen,’ I say, genuinely touched. ‘But don’t you be spending anything else on me, okay? I mean it. Next time, you treat yourself instead.’
Iris visits me in my sleep again that night. I’m having the latest version of my recurring dream when she makes a surprise appearance.
This time the imaginary flat where I’m living is in Corfu, where I’ve been on holiday a couple of times in real life. There’s a huge picture window in the lounge, overlooking a deserted sandy beach and beautiful azure sea.
Having been drawn to enter the hidden extra section of the flat, I’ve found the usual corridor leading to two unoccupied bedrooms, a small kitchen and lounge, and patio doors looking on to the luscious garden.
And it’s while peering through the glass of these doors that I see Iris, standing next to the pool.
The outside area and everything inside the secret annexe look exactly as I expect, based on all the previous versions I’ve had of this dream. But I don’t ever recall encountering someone else here before. Until now, I’ve always been alone in this strange, movable place.
I slide open the patio doors and call out to Iris, who’s looking into the distance. She turns and smiles, beckoning me over.
Based on her surroundings, I’d expect her to be in a swimming costume or perhaps a summer dress. Instead, she looks the same as when I first met her: wrapped up in that canary-yellow raincoat, which seems odd in such warm, sunny weather. At least she doesn’t have the hood up.
‘Hello,’ I say. ‘This is a surprise.’
She nods and smiles, a soothing serenity about her. ‘Hello, Luke. It’s nice here.’
I look around at the emerald-green, neatly mown grass; the thick, tall laurel hedges that enclose the garden; the imposing palm tree in the centre of the lawn and a colourful variety of shrubs, plants and flowers that I won’t even attempt to name.
Then, of course, there’s the immaculate pool next to her: oval-shaped with submerged steps at one end.
‘The water’s lovely and warm,’ Iris says.
‘Right,’ I reply, wondering again why the pool has never held any appeal for me; why I’m never happy to discover anything in this garden or the hidden annexe that leads here. They always feel like dirty secrets. After pacing through, I usually end up returning to the main flat and closing the door to this other section, wishing it didn’t exist. I’ve no idea why, though. The whole thing is a mystery.
‘Aren’t you hot, wearing that big coat?’ I ask Iris.
‘This is a dream, Luke,’ she replies. ‘Your dream, for that matter. Ask yourself why I’m dressed this way. It’s not like we’re really in Corfu, is it? This garden is the same wherever the main flat happens to be, right?’
Hmm. She’s correct on all counts. I suppose the reason she’s wearing that yellow raincoat again is because it’s the only thing I ever saw her wear in person.
‘Can’t you take the coat off?’ I ask her.
‘Well, I could if you desperately wanted me to, but why?’
I realise I’m slipping into thinking that this really is Iris, rather than a creation of my subconscious mind, which is dangerous territory.
She’s not real.
She’s a figment of my imagination.
She squints at me like she can tell what I’m thinking, which she probably can, because she’s also me. Wow, this is getting confusing. I’m probably better not overthinking such things.
‘It’s fine,’ I say. ‘Leave the coat on, if you prefer. It really doesn’t matter, does it?’
‘Exactly,’ she replies. ‘And I do think this colour suits me. I love how bright it is. You could say it promotes positive thinking.’
‘You’ll be glad to know I’ve been working on that and everything we discussed last time.’
She nods. ‘That is good news.’
Do I need to tell her everything or does she already know? I’ve no idea how this works. There must be a reason why I’m seeing her here, but what that might be is anyone’s guess.
I should probably avoid overanalysing the ins and outs of this. Last time Iris appeared to me, I just accepted it and the conversation proved useful. Maybe I can take something from chatting to her again, if I give myself half a chance.
‘I came up with this idea to help the homeless by offering them free haircuts,’ I say. ‘The problem is that only one person turned up. Well, two technically, but only one of them wanted a haircut. It’s made me feel quite demoralised. If I can’t even give away my help, then—’
‘That’s not a very positive way of looking at things, is it?’
I frown. ‘Give me a break, Iris. I’m trying here, but how exactly can it be a good thing that barely anyone turned up?’
‘It’s better than no one turning up, isn’t it?’
‘Hmm.’
‘Don’t be so hard on yourself. You should be proud of the fact you did it at all. Why not consider it a trial run? Think back to when you first started your own business. How did that go initially? I bet it took a while before you started turning a profit.’
She’s quite right. That was a scary time for me, going it alone without Riccardo, who wasn’t even nearby to offer advice. He was still reachable in Sicily by phone, but I didn’t like to bother him, nor to look like I was struggling. I wanted him to be proud of me and to enjoy his well-earned retirement; not to waste time worrying that I couldn’t hack it on my own. And knowing Riccardo, that’s probably what he would have done, given half a chance. He was always such a supportive, caring boss. I couldn’t have wished for a better mentor.
A key difference between then and now was the support structure I once had – namely my parents and my wife – which I’ve had to learn to manage without. I have Meg now, thankfully, who’s amazing, but that’ll never be quite the same.
I often wonder what I’d be like today if things had turned out differently: if Mum and Dad were around and I was still with Helen. That’s the name of my ex-wife, by the way. I’ve deliberately avoided mentioning it until now. I don’t like wasting my time and energy thinking about her after she let me down so spectacularly. However, it’s pertinent while considering how much all of that bad stuff scarred me.
Would I have ended up so guarded and cautious? As I discussed with Iris last time, glass-half-empty thinking is all about having low expectations in a bid not to end up dispirited, like I feel now. It’s a kind of pain-avoidance strategy. I’m pretty sure I haven’t always thought that way. Why would you try to avoid pain if you’d never felt it in the first place?
‘You look pensive,’ Iris says. ‘Why not tell me what’s on your mind rather than stewing alone? I might even be able to help. Here, come and sit with me.’
She plonks herself down on the edge of the pool, removes her black leather shoes and socks, rolls up her dark trouser legs and dips her feet in the water. ‘Mmm, this is nice, Luke. Go on, be a devil, come and join me.’
I hesitate for an instant and then I do it. Why the hell not? I’m already in shorts and sandals. In no time at all, my legs are dangling over the side, my feet and ankles soaking in the lovely warm water alongside hers.
‘So?’ Iris asks. ‘Penny for your thoughts?’
‘I was thinking about why I struggle to be positive; how it’s probably down to past experiences. We are a result of what we’ve been through, right?’
‘Our experiences certainly shape us,’ Iris replies, first staring into the distance and then turning to face me. ‘But we also get to choose how we respond to them. It’s normal to want to close off or harden your heart after having it shattered into a million pieces. But while doing so might protect it from being broken that way again, it also stops it from being able to love and—’
‘Hang on,’ I say. ‘How did we get on to love? I thought we were talking about being positive.’
Iris places her hand on mine and smiles at me with a sudden crashing wave of such incredible kindness and warmth, it catches
me unawares, punching a hole through my defences. I feel a brick-size lump in my throat; I can barely swallow, never mind say anything else. I turn away from her intense gaze as I feel tears forming in my eyes, blinking repeatedly, fighting them back.
‘W-what … is that?’ I ask, still reeling.
‘Love,’ she replies. ‘Powerful, isn’t it? Sorry to shock you like that, but I wanted to emphasise the point I’m about to make. Love’s a big word, you see. It encompasses a lot of things. Much more than being in love with another person or loving a family member, although of course these are important aspects. What do you think of as positivity, Luke?’
‘I suppose it’s, um, looking at things optimistically. It’s seeing the good ahead of the bad in a given situation. It’s—’
‘Love?’
‘How do you mean exactly?’
‘Being positive is opening your heart to the world without being afraid of potentially negative outcomes. It’s choosing hope rather than fear. It’s opting to live in the now, rather than the problems of the past or the fears of the future. It’s accepting life for what it is – with all its ups and downs – and embracing it with enthusiasm, come what may. Choosing love means, quite simply, rejecting all that horrible negative stuff like hate, fear, desperation, bitterness and anxiety.’
‘That’s easier said than done,’ I reply.
‘True. When you choose to love above all else, your heart is unshielded. It’s open to being hurt. And yet love is a great healer: better even than time. If you truly surrender yourself to love, it will always win in the end.
‘Closing yourself off to it might appear to be the safer option, but it’s like if someone in the UK shut themselves alone in an underground bunker during the Cold War, fearing a nuclear attack. They might have survived like that for a long time – years perhaps with the right supplies – and yet that doesn’t mean they made the right decision, because the nukes never came. Choosing love is the key to finding true happiness, Luke, trust me.’
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