by Linda Coles
Exclaiming and covering her mouth at the same time, she said, “My goodness – your hair! What have you done to it?”
Taylor felt herself go numb. She stared emptily at her mother’s horrified expression; vaguely, she felt tears forming of their own free will and trickling down her face. Her mother ventured forward and wrapped her arms around her daughter’s shoulders, as a strangled howl burst from her chest. Taylor flung her arms around her mother and pulled her tight, her chin resting on her shoulder as violent sobs wracked her body.
Her mother’s shock gave way to concern for her daughter, and she stroked the top of Taylor’s head just as Taylor’s father appeared in the doorway carrying a wicker basket. Knowing immediately that something was wrong, he silently entered the room, closed the door behind him, and joined in with his arms around them both as best he could.
Finally, Taylor’s sobs subsided. She pulled slowly out of her parents’ embrace and looked at each of them in turn. Leonard and Judy Palmer stared back at her, dumbfounded. They couldn’t even begin to imagine what had actually happened.
Taylor swiped a hand across her eyes. “I’d better tell you both what has happened, then we can decide what to do about it. Though I suspect it might be too late to do anything.”
Her parents took Taylor’s cue and sat down with her in the small sitting room area. When she’d gathered the energy, she told them both what had happened.
As best she could remember.
Chapter Twenty-Two
It’s a common reaction for the mothers of most species: protect their young from harm at all costs. Judy Palmer was like a tiger keeping her cub safe after an intruder had been in the vicinity. She was on edge now, alert, and pacing the room. Leonard had hardly said a word; his wife had done enough talking for the both of them.
Taylor, on the other hand, had calmed right down after she had finished telling her story and almost fallen asleep with sheer exhaustion after too little sleep and too many tears. Through heavy lids, she glanced at her father for encouragement. While she loved her mother dearly, it was her father whom she took after the most in terms of her emotions and mannerisms. They had the same shade of green eyes, though his hair was fair rather than red. And she accentuated the colour at the salon to make it even richer. She absentmindedly reached back now to find a few strands to play with, and then realized there was nothing there. How could you miss your hair so much? Her father brought her back to the present by finally speaking.
“If Taylor doesn’t want to report it, then I think we have to honour her wishes, Jude. She’s not a child anymore, and if she feels unsure about the threat, as I would, I don’t blame her. We don’t know quite what she may have been mixed up in.” His calming overtones seemed to make the room sag a little and relax from the recent tension.
“And I don’t agree at all,” his wife shouted from where she was stood looking down at the street below. The sky was autumn grey, and she watched as people below scurried on their way before the threatening rain started in earnest. She turned back into the room.
“Goodness only knows what could have happened in that room – drugged, for heaven’s sake! That’s serious cause for concern, Leonard.”
“I agree, Jude, but apart from her hair, nothing else has been stolen. She hasn’t been harmed, thankfully. Maybe we should let it rest and help her get over it. Reporting it will only make her relive it and drag the whole thing out for heaven knows how long. Maybe it’s best to start the healing process now rather than in a week or two.”
Taylor listened as her parents bantered back and forth like a badminton match. The shuttlecock was now in her mother’s court. She picked it up and whacked it hard across the net.
“Trust you to be the one for an easy route, Leonard Palmer. No balls –that’s you.”
“There’s no need for swiping, Mum. Calm down. We can only cope with one person ready to chop heads off, and that’s you. Dad is just balancing the situation with calmness like he does when you get so excited.”
“I’m not excited, I’m livid!” Judy Palmer screamed at them both and they jumped slightly.
“Mum. Please, try and calm down a bit, will you? It’s not getting us anywhere. I’ve no idea what they meant by ‘it wouldn’t be wise,’ but I sure as hell don’t want to find out, either. Let it go, would you?”
Taylor’s energy was severely depleted and her nerves were vibrating like banjo strings. Her mother’s anger was making matters worse, not better. Taylor moved over to her father and sat on the floor between his legs for comfort. Instinctively he stroked the top of her head, something he’d done all her life when she’d been upset and needed calming. It didn’t bother her that, even at 25 years old, she still found it a comfort. Judy relented.
“And what’s that about the debt being repaid? What’s all that about?”
“I’ve really no clue, Mum, I’ve not thought of much else since I got home last night. Nothing makes any sense. You’re about as wise to the answers as I am. But I’m not reporting it, Mum. Really, I’m not. And that’s the end of it.”
“Well, if you’ve made up your mind, I’ll support your decision. I might not agree with it, but there you go.” She sounded almost petulant but at least she’d stopped yelling. “I could do with a drink. Leonard, open that bottle we brought in the basket, would you, dear?” Turning to Taylor, she added, “We brought you a plated roast dinner from earlier, in case you felt like it later. Now I understand why you didn’t want to come round.” Her deep sigh could be heard in each corner of the room, the sound of frustration tinged with disappointment.
“I’ll put the plate in the oven to warm through. Then it’ll be ready for when you want it,” her dad said as he walked to the kitchen for glasses. A moment later, he was pouring three goblets of red, one for each of them.
“Look, I appreciate your concern, really I do, and the roast dinner. But I’m a bit scared of any repercussions and I want to move on and put it behind me. You can understand that, can’t you, Mum?” The room stayed silent for a few seconds; not an awkward silence, but the silence of relenting.
“Of course, my darling, of course. But let me do something for you.” Finally, she was speaking calmly to her daughter. Normality was resuming.
“What, Mum?”
“Let me see if Jeremy could make a house call and wave his magic wand on the hair you have left. You’d feel better, I’m sure, if you didn’t have the constant reminder each time you see your reflection. I’m sure he’d do me a favour and pay a visit. I’ve been going to his salon for long enough.” Taylor knew what her mum was saying was right. She would feel better if her hair was styled nicely rather than the jagged look she currently sported. And if it kept the peace and calmed her mum down, then she could oblige her that.
“I’ll call him now and see when he can do it. The sooner the better, I think.”
At least now that a semi-unanimous decision had been made not to report the incident, Taylor could get on with the business of forgetting. And having her hair sorted.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“I can’t believe how soon the date has come around, hun. It doesn’t feel like five minutes since you told me.” Jeremy was trimming Amanda’s already short hair as he chatted.
“I know. Time passes so quickly these days. I’ve no idea where it goes, but I certainly seem to miss it when it passes through. But yes, six whole weeks and we will be bride and bride.” The smile on Amanda’s face said it all. When Ruth had proposed some months ago, they hadn’t seen any reason to wait like many engaged couples did. What was the point? And even now, it was only because the venue they wanted was fully booked that they’d decided to wait. If it had been Amanda’s decision only, they’d be doing it in the back garden and having takeaway afterwards, but it wasn’t just her decision. And if Ruth wanted a bigger affair, then she’d give it to her. Amanda was just pleased to be making their relationship official in the company of their family and friends.
“I’m so plea
sed for you, hun. I wish I was the one settling down, to tell you the truth. But alas, still too much of a playboy, I think.” He gave Amanda a flirtatious wink. “While I’m still young, that is.”
With mock annoyance, she retorted, “Cheeky sod! I’m not old. But I know what you mean.”
Jeremy was pumping styling mousse into his hand when he exclaimed, “Oh, I nearly forgot to tell you. I’ve got gossip.” He rubbed mousse into her hair, then wiped his sticky hands on a nearby towel.
“What, you? Jeremy the hairdresser nearly forgetting gossip? Are you feeling unwell, by chance?” Sarcastic. She caught an affectionate slap on her arm for her tone.
“I don’t gossip! I’ve no idea what you’re talking about. I’ve never spoken ill of anyone.” Then he added, “But I’ve thought it,” winking at Amanda’s reflection in the mirror, and they both burst out laughing. He grabbed the hairdryer.
“But seriously,” he went on, “I had to make a house call last weekend, on a Sunday no less. To attend to an urgent matter,” he said in a more sinister voice.
“What was so urgent that someone needed a hairdresser on a Sunday?”
“Are you ready for this?” he said, leaning in to her ear so he couldn’t be overheard, giving an extra frisson of theatre and intrigue to the coming story. Jeremy had missed his calling; he should have been an actor.
“The daughter of a client had apparently had her hair chopped off. Severed completely. In a prank, apparently. What do you make of that, then?” He stood fully upright behind her, a look of pure incredulity on his face in the mirror as he watched for Amanda’s reaction.
She opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out.
“My thoughts exactly,” he said in a satisfied tone. “It looked to me like they’d taken her ponytail, from what was left. Tied her hair up high to get the most hair, and then ‘chop!’” he added, sweeping his hand down like a guillotine blade. “What kind of friends does this girl have, I asked myself? And she had such gorgeous red hair, too – it would have been spectacular in all its glory. And now it’s gone.”
“That’s meanness on the grandest scale. Who would do such a thing?”
“I know, right? I said she should have reported it to the police.” He turned on the hairdryer and it whirred into action. He began to run his fingers running expertly through her hair, tousling it dry. Amanda raised her voice to be heard over its din.
“So why didn’t she?”
“Didn’t want the fuss, I suppose. And really, what could the police do – slap them on the wrist?”
Amanda had to agree there. An assault charge would be all, and, really, who would bother?
“Well, I hope she’ll make some nicer friends and ditch the culprits who did it. Was she bullied, do you know? Is that why these ‘friends’ did it?”
“Not from what I could see. She was a very beautiful and confident young woman, just home from working in New York. I don’t know her myself; only her mother, the one who called me. But who would know?”
He turned the hairdryer off. Amanda’s short hair took only moments to dry. They began to speak normally again as Jeremy rubbed hair putty onto his hands. Running his fingers through her hair once more, he teased it into shape, fiddling with the hair around her face. When he was satisfied, he stood back and smiled.
“You look gorgeous. Amanda Lacey, as always. Your hairdresser has done a fine job once again,” he said, and beamed at her through the mirror. Amanda rolled her eyes at him and smiled her appreciation.
“Not really sure about the gorgeous part, but you do a great job. Thanks, Jeremy.” He pulled her chair back as she stood.
“And only one more visit before the big day,” Jeremy said as Amanda paid. He added thoughtfully, “I think I’ll open some bubbles at your next appointment to celebrate. What do you say?”
“I say maybe when you’ve finished my hair, not while you’re working on it. I don’t want to end up pink.”
“Now there’s an idea! Pink would so suit you. You should give it some thought – a nice baby pink.” Jeremy was seriously thinking about it now. He struck a pose, his bent forefinger resting between his lips and his hips thrust forward.
“I don’t think so. We’ll stick to blonde.”
He leaned in to peck her cheek. “Well, enjoy your day, and I’ll see you in five weeks, hun. Bridal hair, here we come!”
Leaving the salon with his astonishing gossip still ringing in her ears, Amanda’s thoughts were with the poor woman who had had her hair hacked off by her so-called friends. What a truly nasty thing to do.
What had the girl done that was bad enough to deserve that?
Chapter Twenty-Four
In his secret room, Terrance sat transfixed, perusing his acquisitions in tranquillity and privacy. No one knew he was there; no one could disturb him, and he took his time to appreciate his collection. He marvelled at how large it had become over the years, and yet with each addition, it still excited him to think how many more he could gather to feed his desire. The last cabinet to have been utilized now glowed with the others. Inside it, a long, beautiful piece of red hair was positioned perfectly to catch the light and show itself to him. A smile played on his lips at the recent memory of meeting the young woman who herself had worn it so well. That was why he had been drawn to her. The colour had glowed like a beacon to him, spoken to him out loud, and he had known at once that he had to have it. He hoped the woman hadn’t been too distraught when she’d awoken.
There had been nothing in the press; she’d been the sensible type and, as instructed, had left the ‘incident’ unreported. He silently thanked her for that. Not that it would have come back to his doorstep. Oh, no; the service he paid so handsomely would have seen to that. After all, that’s what he paid their steep fee for. Idly, he wondered what was in her past that they had on her to keep her from telling. Yes, he knew just how they operated. He’d seen the evidence, not from his own personal dealings with them, but via others who frequented the very specialized group. And that reminded him he still had a task to complete now he’d had his initial fun.
His smile widened as he thought back to that night – had that only been a few days ago? He’d taken the box and carried it carefully upstairs to his bedroom and placed it on his bed. Then he’d stripped and slid between the sheets, feeling the coolness of fresh cotton on his naked skin. He’d lain down, the box alongside his long lean body, and relished the knowledge that the best was yet to come. How long could he control himself before he stroked it? How long could he bear it so close to him, protected by its casing? His pulse had raced, throbbing in his neck like a second heart, and as his breath had caught in desire, he had known he couldn’t stand the wait any longer.
The lid had slipped back silently under his fingers and the fingers of his right hand had dared themselves to touch the contents. As the initial jolt of both satisfaction and desire shocked his body, he’d whimpered. To his touch it had felt like Mulberry silk, the softest silk in the world, and he’d dared himself to place his whole hand into the box and stoke it fully. He’d whimpered again, feeling himself harden, his heart beating hard with anticipation. When he could stand the sensation no longer, he’d pulled the hairpiece from its confines and brought it to his face. Taking a deep breath in, he’d held it. It smelled just as he’d hoped it would, of apples and pears and orchards gone by. With a long, satisfied sigh, he’d let his breath go and drunk its perfume in again, then again, and then again. With his eyes firmly closed, he’d reminisced about his boyhood nanny leaning forward to kiss him good night, her hair falling away from her face and touching his as she did so. It had smelled of orchards. He’d held the piece in one hand, running the fingers of the other through the softest of strands just like he had with Prudence’s hair. She’d liked it. And so had he. And it had soon become part of their evening routine together as she sat on the edge of his bed. She’d held her head still for him after each good-night kiss, and he’d taken as much of her hair as he could, slow
ly, relishing the feel of its softness between his fingers, stroking, enjoying. Her face was as clear in his mind as if she’d been sat there on the bed with him, gazing down at him with her own enjoyment in her eyes. He had smelled the apples and pears of Prudence’s shampoo, and, still stroking the cognac locks, had found his release.
Taylor Palmer’s glorious hair had been a delight to experience all on his own, to take his time with, but now he had one last task to do to complete the transaction at his end. He pulled his camera out of the secret compartment of the plinth and went towards the cabinet to retrieve the hair. The effect on him was instant as the softness once again touched his skin, sending a frizzle to his groin. He laid the hair down on the table, gently, carefully, as if it were alive, making sure it was well displayed in all its glory. Standing back to admire it again, he snapped several shots of it, allowing the light in the room to show it off from various angles. When he was satisfied he had what he needed, he carefully placed the piece back into the security of its own cabinet and let out the breath caught in his chest. With one last look at the room’s contents in their entirety, he slipped the memory card out of the camera and put it in his pocket, then left the room, the lights dimming slowly as he did so. Now all he had to do was log on and share his prize with others who appreciated his collection.