How to Save a Life

by S. D. Robertson

  I don’t disagree with her.

  Helen is staying at a hotel near the train station and, not long after we’ve eaten, she says she could do with heading back there and orders a taxi.

  As we’re saying goodbye, we hug and it’s a nice way to end things: the most amicable it’s ever been between us since she left, reinforcing the sense of closure I already felt from reading her letter.

  ‘Thanks for calling by,’ I say. ‘You didn’t have to, but I appreciate that you did.’

  ‘You’re welcome, Luke. It was the least I could do. I’m only sorry my timing was so off. Nora seemed lovely. I hope I haven’t messed things up for you there.’

  ‘Not to worry. It’s early days. If it’s meant to be, one hiccup shouldn’t ruin it.’ I laugh. ‘Although it was a pretty big hiccup, all things considered, and half of that was down to me dozing off. Never mind. It was good to see you after all this time, whatever the circumstances.’

  ‘You too. Take care. I don’t want to hear about any more near-death experiences.’

  ‘I’ll do my best. Good luck with the job interview. Do let me know if it works out and you end up coming back to Manchester.’

  She shakes her head. ‘Thanks, but I’m pretty sure that’s not going to happen. Even if the interview had gone well, I think this trip was more about me getting away for a couple of days to get things into perspective; to remind myself that I’m my own woman and I have options. It might be nice for me to get away from Adrian, but I don’t honestly think I could do that to Euan and Gwen in the long term. He’s their parent as much as I am. If I moved them here, I’d effectively be severing their relationship with him, which they might grow up to resent me for. And Edinburgh is their home. Mine too, to some extent.’

  She wrinkles her nose before adding, with a wicked glint in her eye: ‘I probably will tell Adrian about the interview when I get back. It won’t do him any harm to know what I could do if I chose to be vindictive.’

  I bet she won’t be afraid to drop in the fact she met her ex-husband either, as that’s bound to wind him up. He might yet come running back to her, full of regret. Would she forgive him and offer him another chance to make their marriage work for the sake of the family? That’s not my place to ask and, luckily, not my concern. I wish her all the best with it, regardless.

  As soon as she’s gone, my thoughts turn to Nora. I’m gutted our date didn’t work out and I’d like to get something else on the calendar as soon as possible, if she’s still interested.

  I call her mobile. It rings twice and then goes to voicemail midway through a third ring, which is sooner than usual, suggesting she rejected my call.

  It’s hard to know the best way to respond to this. I almost hang up so that I can either call again later or send a thoughtfully constructed text message instead. But fearing that not leaving a voice message might give the wrong impression, I make a split-second decision to stay on the line and speak.

  ‘Hi, Nora,’ I say after the beep. ‘It’s Luke. I’m probably the last person you want to hear from at the moment, but I feel so bad. I want to apologise once more about this evening and, if you’re still up for it, to invite you out again as soon as you’re free. No need to call me back. I’ll, um, try you again tomorrow. Sorry. Anyway, have a good night. Toodle-oo.’

  I end the call and then hang my head in shame. Toodle-oo? What was I thinking, using such an archaic expression? When do I ever normally say goodbye like that? What an idiot.

  And why the hell would she have a good night after I ruined it for her by bailing on our date? Another perfectly stupid thing to say.

  Brilliant.

  Just brilliant.

  CHAPTER 37

  It’s getting on for a month later when I brave an April shower to arrive at the barbershop just before closing.

  Rita, who’s already in the process of cleaning up, has her back to me as I enter. ‘Hello, hello,’ I say. ‘Only me. Have you had a good afternoon?’

  ‘Hi, boss.’ She turns around and smiles, winking to acknowledge the fact I’ve told her umpteen times not to call me that. It’s her little joke. ‘Not bad, thanks. Pretty busy for a Monday. Rainy out today, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yep,’ I say, drying myself off and then hanging up my coat and umbrella. ‘But it’s warm too, don’t you think? I was sweating on the way here. Anyway, happy anniversary.’

  She throws me a blank look. ‘Sorry?’

  ‘You’ve been running the place for three weeks now. And doing a fine job of it, I must say. How about I treat you to a drink to celebrate?’

  ‘Go on, then,’ she says. ‘I’m in the car, but a small wine wouldn’t go amiss. I have a couple of things I’d like to discuss with you, anyway.’

  ‘That sounds ominous.’

  ‘Oh, don’t be such a drama queen, Luke. What have you been up to today, anyhow? Anything interesting?’

  ‘Oh, this and that. Nothing to write home about.’

  I’ve actually come from my latest counselling session with Charles but, since I haven’t told Rita I’m seeing him, I don’t mention it. Just because we get along well and she’s currently running my business, I don’t have to share everything with her.

  That’s not to say I’m uncomfortable or ashamed about being in counselling. I would tell Rita if there was a particular reason to do so, but there hasn’t been so far.

  I’m getting used to seeing Charles now and the process is definitely proving helpful. We talked a lot today about the effect on me of my parents’ sudden deaths, in conjunction with my subsequent split from Helen and her recent reappearance.

  He’s asked me to draw up a list at home of the ten things I miss most about each of them, including my ex-wife. He feels it will help me to better understand my current needs, as well as the way I’ve responded to my own two brushes with death.

  Charles still doesn’t offer me much in the way of answers, though. I’ve come to accept that his role is more about guiding me towards working things out for myself, which I think I’m starting to do. Self-knowledge and acceptance are key to finding happiness, he claims.

  ‘So, should I simply accept myself as being a pessimist, rather than trying to change?’ I put to him earlier.

  ‘No, not at all,’ he replied. ‘Optimistic thoughts are great. Mind over matter and all that. It’s far healthier and better for your spiritual wellbeing to be positive than negative. But it would be a big ask for anyone to go from one extreme to the other overnight. Understanding why you’ve traditionally been a pessimistic thinker is important. You can also test out the pros and cons of each approach in real life.’

  ‘How would that work?’ I asked.

  ‘Okay, you live in a flat, right?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, let’s say for the sake of it that you live in a house. Imagine one morning you get up and discover a small leak coming from the ceiling of an upstairs bedroom, so you call out a roofer to look at it. Optimistic Luke would tell himself it was probably a minor issue. Pessimistic Luke, on the other hand, would fear the whole roof might need replacing. How do you think each different version would cope while waiting for the roofer to turn up?’

  I thought for a moment before replying: ‘I reckon the optimist would be fine, forgetting about it and doing other things. The pessimist would be riddled with worry. He’d probably struggle to think of anything else.’

  Charles nodded. ‘Exactly. And if the optimist turned out to be right?’

  ‘The pessimist would have wasted a lot of time being anxious.’

  ‘And vice versa? Would the pessimist be any better off if his worst fears were realised and the whole roof needed replacing?’

  ‘Not really, other than being able to say that he was right to worry. They’d both be in exactly the same situation.’

  ‘But at least the optimist wouldn’t have wasted any time worrying about it beforehand.’

  ‘True,’ I replied. ‘And because he was right, the pessimist would probably be all woe
is me, like he was bearing the weight of the world on his shoulders. Plus the validation of his concerns would almost certainly fuel future fears.’

  ‘What about the optimist?’

  ‘He’d probably take it on the chin and focus on getting the roof fixed, thankful he found the problem before worse leaks or damage occurred.’

  Charles gave me a thumbs-up. ‘Perfect. So the next time you have to choose between positive and negative thinking about something in your real life, try analysing that in the same way.’

  Back in the present, Rita and I have just entered a small but busy pub around the corner from the barbershop. After waiting to get served for several minutes, I order a pint of bitter and a small white wine at the bar before carrying the drinks over to a cosy table in the corner, which Rita grabbed when it came free.

  ‘Thank you,’ she says. ‘Sorry, I should have offered to help you carry them.’

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ I reply. ‘I’m perfectly capable.’

  ‘It’s good to see the bandages have gone from your hands now, Luke. How are they?’

  ‘Still healing,’ I say, flashing her the scabs, ‘but a lot better.’

  A few deeper wounds on my arms are still bandaged up but also improving.

  ‘You’ll be back in no time,’ she says, to which my only response is a smile in her direction. In truth, I still don’t feel remotely ready to return to cutting hair or working alone, but I don’t want to sound negative.

  ‘How are you finding it, three weeks in?’ I ask. ‘No regrets, I hope.’

  After taking a sip from her wine and nodding approvingly, she says: ‘Not at all. I’m loving it.’

  ‘Good. So what are the couple of things you want to discuss with me?’

  ‘Well, for a start, your friend Connor came by today.’

  I grimace. ‘He didn’t cause a fuss, did he?’

  ‘No. He didn’t actually step foot in the barbershop, although he looked badly in need of a trim. But he was outside for quite a while, pacing up and down the pavement and peering in through the window from time to time.’

  ‘Really? That’s a bit weird.’

  I wish it didn’t, but Connor’s behaviour makes me think of Moxie. Connor couldn’t end up doing something stupid, could he? Surely he’s not going to go off the deep end about me not being available to cut his hair. Yes, his manner can be a bit odd, and he’s obviously been hard hit by the death of his mum. But no, I can’t believe that about him. I’ve been cutting his hair for years. Despite everything I’ve experienced lately, I’m convinced he’s not got anything bad like that in him. Rita doesn’t know him like I do, though. She could be intimidated.

  ‘Did it bother you?’ I ask.

  ‘Not especially, no.’

  ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘Yes, but I thought you might want to know about it, with him being a regular. Plus I remember you gave him your mobile number and it was out of service when he tried to call you. Has he used it at all since?’

  ‘No – and it’s been back up and running for more than a fortnight now.’

  ‘Maybe you should try calling him,’ she suggests.

  ‘I would, but I don’t have his number. I only gave him mine. I’ll tell you what, Rita, if you notice him hanging around again, you phone me and I’ll come and speak to him. He’s a good guy at heart, honestly.’

  She seems happy enough with that, even though it still troubles me a little. I hope she’s telling the truth about not being bothered by his actions today. I’d feel awful if she was worried about it. It’s important to me that she feels safe there.

  The next thing she brings up is an idea to introduce a few new services at the barbershop. My heart sinks when I first hear this. But recalling the discussion Charles and I had earlier about positive and negative thinking, I listen to what she has to say with an open mind and try to focus on harnessing her enthusiasm rather than suppressing it with my own obstinacy.

  ‘I’m not talking about huge changes,’ she says, ‘but little tweaks.’

  ‘I’m listening.’ I fight the urge to say something cynical.

  ‘So I couldn’t be bothered with hot towel shaves,’ she adds, to my relief. ‘They’re too time-consuming and messy. But – hear me out – I do think nose and ear waxing could work, as well as eyebrow threading. These things don’t take long, but I reckon they’d be popular with the younger men in particular. They could rake in a few easy extra pounds too.’

  ‘Eyebrow threading? You know how to do that?’

  ‘Absolutely. I’ve done it all before and the costs involved are minimal. I’d be happy to demonstrate on you. I could even teach you how to do it, if you like, once you’re back at work. Meanwhile, it could be on a trial basis. What would be the harm? Nothing ventured, nothing gained.’

  ‘Okay,’ I say quickly, before I have a chance to change my mind. ‘Why not? Let’s give it a try.’

  She flashes me a big toothy grin. ‘Great. You won’t regret it.’

  ‘We’ll see. I don’t mind a few changes, as long as we don’t go down the route of some of those poncey barbershops with their silly prices, exposed brickwork, craft beer and guys in waistcoats. I want to cry when I pass those places.’

  ‘Noted.’ Rita giggles. ‘I’ll leave the waistcoat at home. What’s happening regarding the free cuts for the homeless, by the way? A Big Issue seller – Ivan, I think he said he was called – bobbed in today to ask. I said I wasn’t sure.’

  I shrug. ‘I don’t honestly know, Rita. After the living hell of the whole knife incident, I’m not sure I’ve got it in me to do it again. I can barely think about cutting anyone’s hair at the moment. I did really enjoy giving something back to the community, but—’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Rita says. ‘I totally get what you’re saying. If anyone else asks, I’ll tell them we’ve postponed things for the time being because of the attack. No one’s going to argue with that.’

  ‘I’m not totally ruling it out,’ I add. ‘But no promises.’

  As we leave the pub, pushing our way past two prune-skinned old smokers blocking the entrance, she asks: ‘How are things going with that lovely Nora?’

  Rita already knows about me having to cancel our first date; since then, try as I might, I haven’t been able to tie Nora down. We’ve messaged each other and spoken several times on the phone. But on every occasion that I’ve suggested we meet up, Nora’s claimed to be busy, usually with work.

  She was staying with her sister in Bristol over Easter. Now she’s miraculously found a window in her hectic schedule to jet off on a last-minute holiday to Gran Canaria for a fortnight. It gets better: she’s going with her old schoolfriend Jeff, whose marriage has apparently recently broken up. They’re due to leave later this week.

  I don’t tell Rita any of this. I can’t face it. Instead I say, as casually as I can: ‘Oh, we’ve not had much of a chance to see each other lately, so nothing to report, I’m afraid.’

  ‘That’s a shame.’

  I dream of Iris again that night for the first time in a while. She’s in the barbershop this time – a version of it, at least. But there’s now exposed brickwork on all the walls and a large glass-fronted fridge full of fancy beers next to the till.

  ‘Nice waistcoat,’ she says to me from where she’s sitting in my preferred barber chair, still wearing her yellow raincoat, of course. Looking around, she adds: ‘I like what you’ve done with the place.’

  ‘You’re joking, right? I would definitely never do any of this. It’s pretty much my worst nightmare.’

  I rip off the brown waistcoat, not having noticed it until she commented. Unfortunately, when I look down again, another sits in its place. ‘Great. Someone’s having a laugh at my expense.’

  ‘You have to move with the times,’ she says.

  ‘Hmm. Not like this.’

  It’s nice to see Iris looking like herself again. I’m still haunted by the image of her lying next to me as a decaying corpse in that ea
rlier dream with Moxie and the giant coffin. Luckily, she seems pretty normal this time.

  ‘How do you feel about returning to work?’ she asks.

  ‘You sound like my counsellor.’

  She leans right back in the chair with her lovely curls dangling down over the headrest. ‘Well, I am a trained medical professional. Not much call for my services any more, though, so I’ll take what I can get.’

  ‘You really know how to make a guy feel wanted. Okay, I’ll be honest with you, I’m nervous about it. Apart from the fact I’m afraid that someone else could walk in off the street with a knife at any moment, I’m also anxious about my ability to cut after my injuries. My wounds are healing well, but my hands are still stiff and sore. What if they never fully recover?’

  ‘You know what they say about getting back on a horse as soon as you can after falling off.’

  ‘Hmm.’

  ‘How about you give me a trim now, as a bit of a warm-up?’

  ‘How does that work? This is a dream and, well, women’s haircuts aren’t my forte.’

  ‘Stop making excuses, Luke.’ She leans forward, grabs a nearby gown and starts wrapping it around herself.

  ‘Fine.’ I pick up a pair of scissors and get to it.

  Iris flashes me a smile that reminds me of her aunt. ‘A couple of centimetres off will be perfect, thanks.’

  After I’ve been cutting her hair for a while, she clicks her fingers and ‘Mr Blue Sky’ starts playing from somewhere.

  ‘This again?’ I say.

  ‘What? It’s such an awesome song,’ she replies. ‘And I thought you might need a reminder of where you’re supposed to be heading. I have a feeling now might be the last time we see each other like this.’

  That last part makes me put down my scissors. ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘You didn’t think these were normal dreams, did you?’

  ‘Um, I don’t know. I haven’t really thought about it too hard. What are you saying?’