by Daisy White
Mary hesitates for a moment, then takes the drink. “It’s okay. I think I’m past the sick stage. Even coffee is starting to smell normal now!” She leans back towards the table to push a lipstick lid back on with her finger. The whole table seems to be buckling under the weight of cosmetics. One accidental touch and the whole thing would go over.
I sneak a glance at Pearl over the rim of my mug. She frowns, checks through her sequin-covered jewellery box and shrugs.
“Honestly, nothing else is gone. There were only a few shillings in the tin, so I suppose there just wasn’t the jewellery and money he was hoping for. All my stuff is just costume, even the bits Mum gave me — precious to me but you wouldn’t get anything for it.”
We sit in silence for a moment. Another group of student nurses clatters past.
“Do you want to speak to the police about this man that seems to be stalking you, Rubes? I’ll tell that sweet night watchman about the cash, but if you want to report this man to the police, I’ll come with you.”
My stomach curls at the thought of speaking to the police, and my palms slip on the mug. I put it down firmly on the lino floor. “No. I mean, I’ll sound like a loony, won’t I? This man who may have been watching me swim, might have been spying on the salon, and then if I say I think he might have broken in here, what can they do?”
“Nothing,” Mary agrees. “I think we should just tell Ted and Kenny and the others what happened, and see what happens next. It might even just be a coincidence. Sorry, Rubes, but I know what you went through with your stepdad, and it makes you look at men differently. You kind of see them as a threat, even when maybe they aren’t.”
Pearl takes our empty mugs. She dumps them in her washing-up basin, and starts to undress for bed. “Do you think Ruby is imagining this man following her?” she asks over her shoulder.
“No. I don’t. But then I feel like every man I meet might knock me around. I expect Ruby feels the same,” Mary says.
Unexpected tears gather in my eyes and I blink hard. “Yes. I suppose I do. I just — well, we can’t do anything until this man actually does something illegal. If we’d seen him break in here that would be different.” I take a deep, calming breath, rubbing my arms out of habit. The faded bruises seem to itch and sting.
I push my tears down and cough to clear the lump in my throat. “I think we should say nothing to the police and try to see the break-in as just a coincidence. Maybe, like Mary says, I’m just putting my own fear onto some random men.” Pleased with this measured and practical approach, I unhook my bra and wriggle into a short nightdress.
It’s only when I turn round that I notice neither of the other girls looks convinced.
Even though I’m exhausted, I can’t sleep. When the sun rises and the room is washed with pale pink and silver, I’m still lying wide awake. My eyes are dry and sore and my heart is beating far too fast. The pink light of early morning streaks my hands with blood, and I sit up, sweating, pushing my hair back and ordering myself to calm down.
* * *
“Dare you!”
“I can’t!” I put a hand protectively to my hair, but he doesn’t give in. Johnnie’s been nagging me since we started work today. Even though I told him about the break-in and the sleepless night, which he adored because it counts as ‘scandalous gossip,’ his mission is currently to make me model for some advertising photos he plans to stick up at the front of the salon, and add to our current style ‘look book.’
“Of course you can. It’ll take your mind off things!” Johnnie is wearing a candy-striped blazer and pink shirt today, and his blond hair flops neatly across his forehead. He looks like a naughty teenager who has sneaked away from one of those toff boarding schools. “I really need to update the styling books. You’ve seen those ancient pictures. I need colour and glamour and gorgeous girls! And believe me, this cut is quick and so easy to do so we’ll get through more customers. Move over Vidal Sassoon!”
Catherine looks up sharply with her eyes narrowed at the things comment, but I meet her gaze innocently enough. She and Eve were furious that we turned up after nine this morning, but when I explained about the break-in, they had to lump it. It’s not as if we’ve ever been late before. As I told Johnnie when we first met, we both need this job.
“I think you’d look great.” Mary, the traitor, chimes in from where she’s snipping at an old lady’s grey bouffant under Catherine’s watchful supervision. Amazingly, even when it’s washed, the woman’s hair sticks up like brittle candyfloss.
“I don’t want to be blonde. I’ll look stupid, like I’m pretending to be Marilyn Monroe or something!”
The old lady turns to look at me, narrowly avoiding losing an eye from Mary’s scissors. “Really dear, you look more like that Liza Taylor girl, but of course your skin is darker.” She smiles graciously, all wrinkles and powder. “Unusual around here, that skin tone. Is your family foreign?”
I roll my eyes, then hastily stop and smile sweetly. “London, actually.” So there, you don’t get much more English than that. Not that I care. Brighton is full of foreigners — there are Italians across the road towards the sea, two Portuguese women living right opposite, and that West Indian family who sell fruit at the market — but I do get the odd comment about my origins here.
“Oh come on, Ruby. Pleeeeease! I’ll help you move into your new place tonight — oh damn, actually I won’t because I have an appointment first — but I’ll pick you up at nine and I’ll order a food hamper from Russell’s for our little picnic up at the Witch Stone later.” Johnnie smiles as charmingly as he can.
Russell’s is an exclusive little place down on North Street, with designs on being the Fortnum & Mason of Brighton. They have things like champagne truffles and French pastries loaded with chocolate and cream. It’s way beyond the means of two hairdressing apprentices and a load of nursing students, but Johnnie shops there regularly with his rich friends.
“I don’t really think . . . can’t you get a real model to do it? Is this because of what that girl Anna said yesterday?” The bride with roses in her hair, who told me I looked like a model and needed a proper haircut.
“I don’t want a pro, darling, I want you!” Johnnie folds his arms.
“Okay! I’ll do it, but if I hate it, you have to dye it back.” I give in, realising how much we rely on him. I can at least help him out this once.
“Excellent!”
After her client has been dispatched into the sunshine and Eve is washing the hair of a skinny woman dressed all in black (who appears to be called Miss Angelica-Rose Bottomside if the appointment book is to be believed), Mary is sent to mix the powder bleach for my transformation.
Catherine looks on disapprovingly. “That powder stuff doesn’t get the same results as ammonia and peroxide,” she mutters, frowning at us all.
Three clients cancel appointments, so it’s a quiet half-morning in the salon. After lunch Johnnie sends Catherine on an extended break to pick up cough mixture for her youngest and then then sits me down in a chair and gets to work. I close my eyes, scrunching up my face and hardly daring to look. He laughs, snipping away.
An hour later, I stare at the new me. My hair is short, almost elfin, with stray tendrils curling across my forehead, and onto the nape of my neck. The brilliant whiteness of the new style highlights my dark blue eyes, my sharp cheekbones and pouty mouth.
“It looks amazing!” I look totally different. It’s like having a new identity. Is it vain to really love my new hair?
“Wow!” Mary claps.
Johnnie looks like he’s going to burst with pride.
“Damn, I knew I was good, but not that good. Especially considering the material I had to work with.”
Mary giggles, but loyally adds, “She’s always been beautiful. Go and get the camera, Johnnie. Mrs Collins-Hayward’s due in at four.”
I stand by the wall as he clicks away with the clunky black camera. “Turn your head this way a bit . . . good! Gorgeo
us, darling! Right, now undo a button or two—”
“Johnnie! She’s supposed to be showing customers the amazing hair they can have, not posing for a pin-up calendar!” Mary clutches her stomach with laughter. I’m giggling too. “Take one of us together, please? So we can put it up in our new room?” We squeeze together while Eve sweeps the floor and starts dusting the cherub mirrors. Catherine rushes back in, out of breath, with a white paper bag under one arm and dark shadows under her eyes.
“You look very pretty, Ruby,” Catherine says generously, as she stashes the medicine onto a back shelf and hangs up her bag. “Johnnie has always had an eye for a new cut. I’m sure we’ll get lots of requests now.”
“Such a shame you’re a bit fat to be a model, because you’re tall enough. Really, you should live on coffee and cigarettes like Anna. Then you could be on the cover of Vogue!” He slips out the back before we can retaliate.
A group of chattering girls bump through the doors. The majestic Mrs Collins-Hayward follows, dressed in a purple-and-pink blouse and a bright orange skirt, but punctual as ever for her four o’clock appointment. The girls all ask for cuts, which means soon we are busy washing and snipping. I do like hairdressing now I’m more used to it, and I manage the professional chatter as I lead the first client to the sinks. I shampoo her long blonde hair and I finish off with a quick head massage as Johnnie taught me. I remember to ask her if the water is too hot or cold several times, before applying the thick conditioner. Finally, I offer her a pink flannel for her face, and she carefully dabs away the drips, without ruining her makeup.
“I was thinking of going shorter with maybe a bonnet cut, but I really love your hair,” she says, eyeing my new cut. “Do you think it would suit me? We’re going to France for a holiday and I want to try something different.”
She has really lovely honey-blonde hair, which hangs almost to her waist, but I’m paid to push Johnnie’s services, and I guess his latest advertising idea is paying off already. I pass her a flannel to dry her face, and agree that we can change her look.
I start to comb out the wet hair, before calling Johnnie over for the cut and style.
As I work, I keep sneaking glances at myself in the mirror. I really don’t recognise myself, and I get a shock every time I catch a glimpse of my reflection. If someone really is following me, this might throw them off the trail.
Despite a late afternoon rush — I must have shampooed at least five women, and carted a hundred dirty towels — we manage to finish up by six. We stop on the way back to the nursing accommodation, and I buy a bunch of carnations from a street seller. My tips from the chattering girls today just about cover the cost. The stems, still wet from the bucket, drip all over my uniform. Pearl’s on a late shift so our plan is to get packed and out, leaving everything spotless, so she can come back in from work tomorrow morning and just enjoy her sleep.
“I’ll wash the dishes if you do the floor,” Mary offers, grabbing the cloth.
We tidy and haul out two bags of stuff to the doorway as quickly as we can. As a finishing touch, I arrange the carnations in a glass on the little corner table, and fold back the bedcovers, while Mary pops a neatly wrapped present on the pillow.
“I got one of the enamel flower pendants from the market in the end. Do you remember the ones she said she liked?”
“Perfect!” I agree.
At the top of the path, Kenny hoots and waves in his little red Austin Seven. Thank God for our lovely friends.
“Is this all your stuff? I thought you’d have loads more!” He focuses on my new look, pretending to do a double take. “Ace hair, Rubes! You look gorgeous. I might even fancy you for myself. How about a date?”
“Thanks, Kenny, you’re such a hunk, I’ll take that as a compliment,” I grin at him, shyly pulling at the sides of my hair. It feels so odd to have short hair. And I’m blonde!
“Thanks so much for helping us out. Are you still coming to Glebe House later?” Mary smooths a proud hand over my ‘do.’ We chuck our bags in the car and settle down for the luxury of being driven down to the hairdressing salon.
“I’m still coming, but what time are we meeting and where? Because I have a story to file just before I leave tonight,” Kenny says, pulling out. “Oh, I forgot to tell you, Ruby, you made an impression on our James. He keeps asking about you. I might have to fight him for you.”
I laugh, but secretly my heart does a little handkerchief flutter, and I feel a smile tugging at my cheeks. “Asking about me in a good way, or a ‘who is Pearl’s crazy cousin?’ way,” I ask carefully. Mary giggles and nudges me.
I can see Kenny roll his eyes in the driving mirror. “James only asks about girls if he likes them. If he doesn’t, they don’t feature on his radar, and they would certainly never get in the way of a good story. Back to business — where and when tonight?”
“Victoria told Johnnie about nine would be best, and that suits us because we need to unpack. Johnnie’s coming back to the salon to drive us up, so we don’t get lost,” Mary says, grinning away at my discomfort.
“And we’re having the picnic actually next to the Witch Stone!” I tell him, still smiling at the thought of James, and hoping my cheeks aren’t flushed bright red. “Johnnie said to tell everyone to park in the usual place,” I remember suddenly.
It feels weird to be arriving at work at this time of the evening, but we retrieve the keys from under one of Johnnie’s fancy plant pots and let ourselves in by the side door. The bedsit is reached by a narrow staircase and when we open the second locked door, Mary bursts into tears.
“Oh wow! Oh look, Ruby!”
I almost feel like crying myself. The room is divided much like Pearl’s bedsit, with a tiny kitchen area and a few mismatched chairs round a Formica table. There are two identical beds against the wall, with bundles of faded but clean linen dumped on them. The chipped mirror from the salon back room has been dusted and hung opposite the beds. The whole place is whitewashed and clean with huge, floor-to-ceiling windows. If I look left I can see the turquoise spread of the sea, and on my right I catch a glimpse of the green hills of the South Downs behind rows of new houses.
But the real reason Mary is sobbing her heart out is that right in the corner there’s a little wooden baby crib, painted white to match the room and dressed with miniature bed linen.
“Oh Johnnie is just the sweetest . . . the most lovely man!” Mary eventually croaks out, blowing her nose hard.
I beam at her. “This is lovely!” I really can’t believe our luck. Did we make this happen by running away?
Mary wraps her arms around me and we do a crazy celebratory dance, right there on the clean, faded wooden boards with the sunlight pouring through the windows, and all our worldly belongings scattered across the beds and floor. We spin round and round until we’re both breathless and dizzy.
“I need to get organised tomorrow. I mean, I know we bought a few mugs and things but we need cleaning stuff, and a few bowls, towels for the baby. That sink needs scrubbing for a start and—” Mary starts a list but I pull her away.
“Tomorrow. Let’s go out and celebrate tonight.”
I spend longer than usual getting ready tonight. Mary is already dressed while I’m still gazing at the sun drifting over the sea. “Try pink lips, and really smoky eyes,” she suggests. “Then you could wear the pink shift dress, and you’ll look like a real live doll!” She giggles and runs her fingers carefully through her fringe, which is stiff with hairspray.
I blow on my pink nails to dry them. “Do you fancy trying that new coffee bar in East Street before we meet the others? What’s it called?”
“The one with all the pink neon lights? Um . . . Baby D’s, I think. I’m not sure if there’s time—”
I stop dipping into makeup pots, and glance at my watch. “Uh-huh. You’re right. We’ve only got ten minutes. Do you want to go down and wait at the front so he knows we’re ready? I’ll lock up, but I must finish my eyes!”
&nb
sp; Mary laughs, “You might want to put some clothes on too. I’ll see you in a minute.”
Good point. I’m still in my bra and knickers, “I’ll be quick, I promise!”
With a last blissful look around our new accommodation, Mary lets herself out of our new front door. Her footsteps echo down the hall and clatter quickly down the stairs.
When I’m sure she’s gone, I pull on the pink shift dress, smudge some more black eyeliner around my lashes, and then slowly pick up my little zip-up bag. I only thought of this as today, but yesterday there were five pairs of white knickers in my pile ready for packing. Today, as I unpacked, there are four. We can’t have mixed them up — Mary hasn’t unpacked her underwear yet.
I really don’t want to keep scaring my best friend. I want her to be as happy as she was today when she saw that crib, so I need to be alone to check. The careful intruder, the one who didn’t move any of our belongings, and neatly screwed the lid back on the tin when he’d stolen the cash, could easily have searched the room. Pearl has a lot of clothes, and a proper jewellery case with tons of cheap stuff, but Mary and I only had a bag each. It wouldn’t take long for a methodical person to find what they were looking for.
My fingers shake as I unzip my little bag and tip out the contents. A few bits of costume jewellery, my daffodil earrings, a little beaded bracelet, one of the only gifts Mum ever gave me, and a cheap brass locket with a photograph of me and two of my sisters. It was only taken last year, but I love it.
George’s signet ring is in with the clutter, and totally at odds with the other pretty, sentimental pieces.
I’m just telling myself to stop being so silly when I touch a heavier piece of jewellery half caught in the lining of the bag. I pull out a man’s heavy gold-coloured signet ring. It is identical to the one thrown into the salon courtyard. I hold it up to the light and even though the room is so warm, I feel as though someone just chucked a bucket of ice over me.
Chapter Seven
This ring is cleaner than its twin, but otherwise identical in every way, with the criss-cross markings and emblem of a lion’s head.