Christmas Wishes (20 page)

‘Hey, steady on,’ Joy said mildly. ‘Irene and myself aren’t at St Hilda’s, nor we aren’t borin’ brain-boxes like you are, but that doesn’t mean we’re inferior in any way.’

‘I’m inferior because I work in a shop, but I don’t give a tinker’s cuss; the money’s okay and the work’s all right,’ Irene said with assumed placidity, but Joy felt the other girl’s grip on her arm tighten for a moment and was truly annoyed with her twin, knowing that Gillian had hurt Irene’s feelings and knowing also that Gillian wouldn’t care. She got on all right with the older girl but had made it pretty clear that theirs was a working relationship and not a friendly one. Joy, on the other hand, really liked Irene, appreciating her sense of humour and her helpfulness, and enjoyed her stories of shop life.

However, right now was no time to tell Gillian off; if she had done so, she would only have embarrassed Irene, so she changed the subject. ‘I know we’ve just passed St Mary’s, but whereabouts is the Grosvenor? That feller you say you like, your pal Keith what walks you home sometimes, is at school there, isn’t he?’

Gillian gave a little squeak, bounced on her toes and then patted her sister’s cheek with her free hand. ‘Well done, oh you of the mighty intellect,’ she said mockingly. ‘Yes, Keith’s at the Grosvenor and it’s not only him who likes to walk me home and dance attendance; half the boys in the Upper Fifth want me to go out with them, only Keith’s the best looking and has the most money, so I graciously allow him to buy me meals and take me to the flicks.’

‘Gillian Lawrence, you’re the most conceited little pig who ever breathed,’ Joy said indignantly. ‘And it’s all lies anyway. You’ve never had a meal out with any Grosvenor boy, regardless of whether he’s as rich as Croesus or poor as a church mouse. If our daddy could hear you …’

‘Oh, shut up, the pair of you,’ Irene said, and Joy felt her two companions slow down and then turn into what she took to be a doorway. ‘If I’d known you was going to squabble like a couple of four-year-olds, I never would’ve agreed to come along.’ She turned to face Joy and the younger girl felt Irene’s breath on her cheek as she sank her voice to a whisper. ‘There’s a big glass door ahead of us with a desk facing it, and heaps of people just sort of milling around in the foyer. I expect they’ve all come to make appointments or to attend classes, so we’ll go straight to the desk and tell them we’re here. There are no obstacles so far as I can see. In we go!’

Joy sat herself down in the swivel chair to which Gillian guided her and felt her sister turn the chair, Joy presumed, so that it faced the mirror. ‘My sister’s here for a haircut—’ she began, but was immediately interrupted.

‘It’s all right, the lass can tell me if I’m going wrong,’ a voice well above Joy’s head remarked. A hand reached out and took her own. ‘Hello, Miss Lawrence; I’m doing your hair this evening. I’m Francesca, a final year student, which means I’m on what you might call the home stretch. In a few weeks I’ll be working in a salon, having served my time.’ She released Joy’s hand and patted her shoulder. ‘So you see you’re in good hands. Your friend is with Sharon; she’s in my year too. Now if you’ll just bend over the basin, I’ll start by giving your mop a good wash.’

Joy reached out and gripped the edge of the basin. Her hearing was acute and she was rather gratified to realise that Gillian had not thought it worthwhile to warn the hairdresser that her client could not see. As the water began to spray on to her head and Francesca’s fingers to work shampoo into her scalp, she set her imagination to work. Francesca must be tall – her voice had come from well above Joy’s head – and judging by the feel of her fingers she was thin. And I think she’s a brunette, though I don’t know why, Joy mused to herself as the older girl rinsed, squeezed and wrapped Joy’s head into a towel. Yes, a brunette with brown eyes and probably very short hair, or possibly a bun, or even a ponytail. She’s older than me, of course, and she’s not got a local accent. Joy giggled to herself, remembering her sister’s words earlier. Perhaps she really is from St Mary’s, which is why she’s got a nice posh voice.

Her musings were interrupted as the hairdresser began vigorously rubbing her head, keeping up a flow of gentle chat as she did so. She asked Joy which school she attended and immediately Joy knew she was smiling because her voice lightened. ‘Well if that ain’t a lucky coincidence,’ she said. ‘I went to Bold Street too, right up until I got my School Certificate. Do they still have a special top class for the bright ones, so’s you can get qualifications?’ She did not wait for Joy to answer, but prattled merrily on. ‘I were – was, I mean – really happy at Bold Street. Mr Lang taught the top class and my mam still swears that if it wasn’t for him I’d never have got where I am today.’

Joy had expected to feel a degree of apprehension when she felt the scissors against her neck but in fact, because of the hairdresser’s constant chatter, she soon realised that all she had to do was to put her trust in Francesca, and presently the older girl moved away for a moment and then came back.

‘That’s you done; like the back? Is it short enough? If not I can always trim more off, though personally I think it’s just right and suits you.’

Joy thanked her politely, said it was just fine, rose from the chair and put a shilling piece into the girl’s hand, as Gillian had instructed.

She realised she had no idea which way to turn and was wondering whether she would have to tell the hairdresser that she could not see after all when she was saved by Gillian, who must have been hovering nearby and now came across to take her hand. ‘I say, you look really good,’ she said in a low tone as the two wended their way across the foyer. ‘I’ve not been done yet, and nor has Irene, but I’ll sit you down in the foyer and one or other of us will come out to you as soon as we can.’

‘All right; I’ll wait for you here,’ Joy said as Gillian guided her to a low chair. She felt it carefully and then sat down. ‘Are there magazines?’ she asked, suddenly visited by inspiration; if there were magazines and Gillian could hand her a couple, she would pretend to be absorbed and carefully turn the pages, ignoring what was going on around her. She knew there were still people in the foyer, but only three or four, and she assumed they were waiting for their appointments and would not take any notice of her.

‘Magazines?’ Gillian chuckled. ‘Yes, there’s a low table a few feet away from you; you’re sitting about a foot to the right of the glass entrance doors.’ Her voice changed and Joy knew that Gillian was now examining the magazines. ‘There’s
House Beautiful, Ideal Home
, a couple of those hairdressing ones showing different styles and a couple of weeklies. You’d better have
Ideal Home
because that’s a monthly and therefore pretty bulky, and
Woman’s Weekly
. It’s as old as the hills so no one’s likely to ask if they can have it after you.’

Joy felt the magazines land in her lap and knew her sister had turned away, then turned back. ‘Irene was waiting to go under the dryer when I suddenly remembered you’d want someone to take you to a chair.’ She chuckled, a trifle ruefully. ‘I’m glad I’m having your hairdresser and not Sharon; she’s covered Irene’s head with bristly-looking curlers. Since it was my idea to come here, I’ll get the blame if Irene emerges with frizzy hair.’

Joy laughed, but shook her head. ‘What makes you think they’ll do anything but cut and wash your hair?’ she asked. ‘That’s all Francesca did to mine. Does it really look nice?’

‘Yes, she’s cut it into a bouncy, silky bob. But I’d better love you and leave you now,’ Gillian said. ‘Are you sure you’ll be all right by yourself? You won’t move, will you? Only you didn’t bring your white stick or anything.’

‘Oh, really, Gillian, I’m quite capable of sitting in a chair and pretending to read a magazine until you and Irene come out,’ Joy said crossly. ‘Do go away.’ She bent her head over the page before her, pretending an interest she could not possibly feel. ‘Don’t hurry back on my account; remember the ear in the hairdresser’s scissors?’ Both girls laughed and Joy waited until her sister’s footsteps had gone. Then she turned another page, wondering what delights might be before her had she but eyes to see.

It must have been ten minutes later when somebody tapped her on the shoulder and spoke in her ear. ‘Excuse me, miss, I wonder if I could trouble you to give up your chair? Old Mrs Bennett here has come early for her appointment and you’re in the only chair available.’ The speaker sighed gustily. ‘There’s usually others – chairs, I mean – but as you can see, we’re having a refit. There will be new chairs next week, but right now … if you wouldn’t mind …’

Joy rose to her feet and another voice spoke, an elderly voice, wheezy and breathless: ‘Thank you, m’dear. I’m ever so grateful.’

Joy smiled politely and heard the leather creak as the old woman sat down. For a moment she stood very still, wondering what she should do. She could not stand about for perhaps half an hour like a cigar store Indian, getting in people’s way. She hooked her spectacles out of her jacket pocket and perched them on her nose, then realised she was still holding the magazines and laid them in the old lady’s lap. She moved a couple of feet away but she knew there was a low table, laden with magazines, somewhere in her vicinity and did not want to make a fool of herself by tripping over it and sending the table and its contents flying.

She was still wondering what to do when the old lady spoke again. ‘I’m that sorry to have axed you to move, missie,’ she wheezed. ‘But if you goes out through them glass doors, you’ll see a wooden bench … It’s a nice sunny evening, and you could sit there while you wait for your pals.’

‘That’s a really good idea,’ Joy said appreciatively. ‘But I promised my sister and her friend that I wouldn’t wander off. Can you see the bench from here?’

She heard the old lady turn in the chair and then say, in a rather surprised tone: ‘Well bless me, I see it as clear as daylight.’ She must have pointed. ‘See, by that low stone wall, summat green; that’s the bench. Can’t you see it?’

Joy sighed; truth will out, she told herself. ‘I’m extremely short-sighted,’ she said, reflecting that she was not exactly lying, though neither was she telling the complete truth. ‘If I go through the doors and keep going straight, will I reach the seat without tripping over any obstacles?’

‘My, your sight must be poor,’ the old lady said. Joy heard the creak as she turned in the chair again. ‘No, if you go straight through the doors and continue in the same direction, you’ll find yourself at the wooden bench after half a dozen steps. When your sister comes for you she’ll see you through the doors, or she’ll see me sitting in your chair, if I’ve not been called through, and ask where you’ve gone. So if you fancy a bit of a walk, just pop back and tell me and I’ll pass the message on.’

Joy thanked her and stood for a moment, getting her bearings. How she wished she had brought her white stick! But even as the thought crossed her mind, she felt a breeze on her cheek and started forward. Someone had come in and was holding the door for her. Hastily, Joy went through it, nodding her thanks to the person she could not see and heading for the bench, which was nearer than she had imagined; she found it by cracking her knee painfully upon its wooden slats.

Muttering a curse beneath her breath, she was about to sit down when someone took her arm and a girl’s voice spoke in her ear. ‘Miss Lawrence? I’ve a message from your friend. She wants you to go into the tech by the side door – it’s more direct – and sit with her whilst she’s being attended to. Me and my friend will show you where to go.’ As she spoke she took Joy’s left arm and someone, her friend presumably, took hold of the right. ‘All set? Off we go, then.’

‘It’s very kind of you, but don’t walk too quickly,’ Joy said a little breathlessly, for the second girl, who had not yet spoken, was walking rather fast, forcing Joy to do likewise. ‘I take it you meant my friend Irene, or did you mean my sister?’

‘I dunno,’ the girl who had already spoken said. She turned to the one on Joy’s right. ‘Did she say she was Miss Lawrence’s sister?’

The other girl shook her head; Joy heard her hair rustle softly as she did so. ‘No, she just said, “Would you fetch my friend.”’

‘It must have been Irene then, I suppose,’ Joy said as they turned a corner and she felt the cold shadow of the college building sweep across her, cutting her off from the warm sunshine and the sounds of people entering and leaving. ‘Where is this side door then?’

‘It’s not far now,’ the girl on her right volunteered. She had a harsh voice and for the first time Joy felt a prickle of unease. It occurred to her that it was not like either Gillian or Irene to ask total strangers to assist her. ‘We’ll cut through the shrubbery,’ the harsh voice continued. ‘Don’t suppose you’ve ever been round the back here, but don’t fret, we’re nearly there.’

Joy felt herself being hustled between bushes; she smelled lavender and roses, whilst the cool leaves of laurel and azaleas brushed against her. But now the girls who held on to her so tightly did not feel like people anxious to assist, but rather like captors. She began to protest, trying to pull herself free from the grip on her arms, but one of the girls must have stuck her foot out just as the other one gave her an almighty shove, and Joy found herself sprawling on gravel. Someone twisted her on to her back, sat on her chest and began to rub earth and tiny stones into her beautiful new hairdo. She tried to free herself, wriggling and kicking and demanding angrily just what the girls thought they were doing, whereupon a large hand was placed suffocatingly over her mouth.

‘Cut that out!’ one of the girls snapped; the one with the squeaky voice who had held Joy’s left arm. She snatched the spectacles off Joy’s face, ignoring her protestations, and Joy heard, with dismay, a crunching crack as one of her captors deliberately trod on them, giving a hoarse laugh as she did so. ‘Oh, we’re so grand, we have to have sunglasses to protect us from the glare,’ the girl said in a mock posh accent. ‘You came here for a cheap haircut, didn’t you? Well, you’re going to get a good deal more than that if you ever so much as glance at the grammar school lads again, you nasty little flirt.’ She turned to the other girl; Joy knew she had done so by the change in her voice. ‘We’re going to teach you a lesson you won’t forget in a hurry, aren’t we, Ev— I mean, aren’t we?’