Laceys of Liverpool (24 page)

After he’d gone, the midwife came in. It was the same one who’d delivered Lulu five years ago. ‘You’re becoming quite a familiar figure in these parts,’ she said with a grin. ‘I see from your notes this is your fourth.’

‘If you work here long enough you’ll be present at me twenty-fourth,’ Orla said gloomily – it was actually possible to feel happy and gloomy at the same time.

‘Have you considered birth control?’ the midwife said
helpfully. ‘I know it says on your chart that you’re a Catholic, but I hope you don’t mind my saying this, the Pope’s not likely to lend a hand if you have a child a year for the rest of your life.’

‘We’ve tried birth control, but nothing works.’

‘Have you heard of the Dutch cap?’

‘No.’

‘And there’s something new, a birth control pill. It only came out last year, so I don’t know much about it.’

‘We’ll try
anything
,’ Orla said eagerly. ‘Just tell me where to go.’

It was surprising, but the Lacey’s in Marsh Lane was attracting only a very small clientele. Business had been good at first, but had gradually petered off until the salon was doing only half the business of the one in Opal Street.

Whenever she had a spare minute, Alice went round to see if she could recognise what the problem was. She’d had the salon painted in the same warm apricot shade as the other, the same wood effect tiles laid on the floor. There were new lace curtains on the windows and strip lights fitted to the freshly painted ceiling. It looked very different, but the new decoration was a definite improvement on the old. No one could possibly have taken offence.

Yet, as the weeks passed, fewer and fewer women came. Why? Alice wondered.

She got her answer in April when the Marsh Lane Lacey’s had been open for four months and Doreen Morrison handed in her notice. Doreen was in her fifties, unmarried, with platinum-blonde hair, always perfectly made up. She was never without a man friend and, years ago, had gone out with Danny Mitchell more than once. She still worked part-time, afternoons and all day Saturday.

‘It’s not your heart, is it, luv?’ Alice said anxiously.
Doreen was a top-class hairdresser and she’d be more than sad to lose her.

‘My heart’s fine, Alice, it’s . . .’ Doreen paused.

‘It’s what, luv?’

The woman looked embarrassed. ‘I don’t like to tell you.’

‘If something’s wrong, Doreen, I’ve a right to know.’

‘Well . . .’ She still looked reluctant. ‘Well, to tell the truth, Alice, it’s your Fion. She’s impossible to work with. Chrissie’s also talking about handing in her notice.’ Chrissie O’Connell was the junior, a helpful, friendly girl.

‘What does our Fion do that makes her so impossible to work with?’ Alice enquired coolly, torn between wanting to side with her child, yet knowing Doreen wouldn’t leave without good reason.

‘See, I knew you’d be upset. I can tell by the tone of your voice.’ Doreen sounded upset herself. ‘I wish I hadn’t told you.’

‘I’m glad you did.’ Alice nodded encouragingly. ‘Go on.’

‘It’s just that she’s so rude, Alice: to me, to Chrissie, to the customers, except if they’re old and then she gushes over them so much the poor dears can’t stand it. It was all right when she was working alongside you. You probably didn’t notice, but you kept her in line, kept laughing and apologising for her. I tried that a couple of times, but she put me firmly in me place. Told me
she
was the one in charge.’ Doreen warmed to her theme, clearly having been smarting over the situation for a long time. ‘There’s one customer couldn’t stand the dryer too hot, kept switching it down every now’n again. Fion was very short with her, told her off in no uncertain terms, and the woman’s never come back again, yet she’d been coming to Gloria’s for ages. If a customer asks for a one-inch
trim, Fion will take off two or three because she thinks it would look better. Or she’ll argue over the colour of a tint, or insist someone doesn’t suit a fringe when they’ve had a fringe for years. I often feel – you must, too – that I know better than the customer, but you’ve got to be dead tactful if you suggest they try something else.’

‘I see.’ Alice sighed. On her visits to the salon she had noticed Fionnuala was a little brusque, but perhaps she was so used to her daughter’s ways that she hadn’t realised how much it would grate on other people. She had hoped making her manageress would give the girl the confidence she so obviously lacked, but clearly Fion couldn’t be left to run the business into the ground. ‘I’ll have a word with Fion tonight,’ she told Doreen. ‘In the meantime, will you think twice about giving in your notice?’

‘Of course I will, Alice. I never wanted to leave, it was just that Fion . . .’ The woman paused and didn’t continue.

‘I don’t suppose you feel fit enough to work full-time?’ Alice said hopefully. ‘I’ll need someone straight away to manage the place and Katy’s only twenty-one and not long qualified.’ Katy Kelly was Alice’s assistant.

Doreen’s beautifully made-up face flushed with pleasure. ‘Well, actually, Alice, I wouldn’t mind. I was rather hoping you’d ask when the new branch opened. It’s only across the road from where I live and it never gets hectic like it did in town. The customers are nicer too, not so demanding. They don’t mind waiting a few minutes if there’s the occasional rush on. There’s just one thing, though, you won’t be leaving Fion with me, will you? That would be dead unfair on the girl, us swopping places, like. Despite what I said, I’m quite fond of her.
Her heart’s in the right place and she means well. She just doesn’t know how to cope with people.’

‘I’ll let you have Katy. Fion can work with me so I can keep an eye on her.’

‘But it’s not fair!’ Fion raged. ‘Oh, Mam, it’s not fair a bit. Doreen Morrison has never liked me. She’s just making it up.’

Alice’s heart went out to her gauche, bungling daughter, who was on the verge of tears. ‘Fion, luv, Doreen wouldn’t have gone to the extent of handing in her notice if she was just making it up. That would be cutting off her nose to spite her face. And is Chrissie making it up? Because she’s thinking of leaving too. And what about the customers? Every week there’s fewer and fewer. They’re not staying away just to get at you, luv. You’re not old enough for the responsibility yet, that’s all. You make them feel uncomfortable for some reason.’

‘I’m twenty-four.’ Fion sniffed.

‘It’s all my fault.’ Alice decided to put the blame on herself. ‘Managing a hairdresser’s was too much to ask of someone quite so young.’

But this only made things worse, because Fion said tragically, ‘Our Orla’s got four children and Maeve’s a nurse. Running a crappy hairdresser’s isn’t much when compared to them and I can’t even do that properly.’

‘Do you really think it crappy?’

Fion laid her head on her mother’s shoulder and began to cry. ‘No, I loved it. It made me feel grown up and important. Oh, Mam!’ she cried, ‘what’s wrong with me? No one likes me. Everything I say comes out wrong, unnatural, like. I can even hear it meself, this dead false voice.’

‘You don’t sound false to me, luv.’ Alice stroked her daughter’s brown hair. ‘And don’t forget how brilliant
you were with Cora. You really knew how to put her in her place. Me, I was willing to lie down and let her tread all over me.’

‘You were dead annoyed when I got Maurice to steal that agreement.’

‘Well, I must admit I was upset at first, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as what Cora did to me in the first place. I realised that after a while. It’s nice to have all the money to ourselves.’ She’d been so shocked when she heard what Fion had done that she’d actually considered letting Cora continue to have her share, but everyone – her dad and Bernadette, the children – said she was stark, raving mad even to think of such a thing. ‘Anyroad, luv, as from tomorrow you’ll be back in the old Lacey’s with me. It’ll be just like old times, won’t it?’

Fion nodded forlornly. ‘I suppose so.’

Alice told Neil what had happened when he commented on Fion’s return to the salon. It was Thursday night and they were in bed together, having just made very satisfactory love.

‘Poor kid,’ Neil said sadly as he smoothed his hand over the curve of her hip. ‘It must be awful to be so self-conscious.’

‘The thing is, Orla, Maeve and Cormac have always been so sure of themselves, which can’t have helped Fion much. It doesn’t help that she eats like a horse, either. She’s the same height as Orla, but her waist’s at least six inches bigger.’

‘When I heard about Babs, I drank like a fish for months,’ Neil said thoughtfully. ‘I suppose some people do the same thing with food. Fion only eats so much because she’s unhappy.’

‘Then what on earth can I do to make her happy?’ Alice wailed.

‘I’ve no idea.’ Suddenly, Neil pinched her waist and she gave a little scream. ‘The other day I was offered tickets for a dance at Bootle Town Hall. I turned them down,’ he said with an exaggerated sigh, ‘because the only person I wanted to take refuses to be seen in public with me. Why don’t I take Fion? It might cheer her up a bit.’

Alice looked doubtful. ‘Oh, I don’t know, Neil. She might get ideas.’

‘What sort of ideas?’

‘That you’re keen on her. She’s definitely keen on you, I’ve told you so before.’

‘I could say she was just doing me a favour, getting me out of a hole, because the girl I planned to take had let me down and I didn’t want the tickets to go to waste. Actually, I wouldn’t mind going,’ he said in injured tones. ‘I have no social life because of you.’

‘Don’t tell lies, Neil. You’re always off to this and that.’

‘Anyroad, about this dance – did you notice I just said “anyroad”, which means I’ve become a genuine Liverpudlian – shall I ask Fion or not?’

‘It might cheer her up, as you say – I can take her into town and buy her a new frock – but don’t build up her hopes, Neil. She’s miserable enough as it is. I don’t want her heart broken as well.’

Fion had virtually stopped eating altogether. She had a slice of dry toast for breakfast, nothing for dinner and more dry toast for tea, because she was determined to squeeze into a size 40 frock for the dance at Bootle Town Hall instead of the usual 42. Alice had agreed to leave it till the very last minute before buying the dress and was actually closing the salon early on the day of the dance, at two instead of four.

‘I want something black and slinky,’ Fion said excitedly. ‘Or really, really bright red, with straps as thin as shoelaces.’

‘We’ll just have to see,’ Alice said, looking at her sharply. ‘Why are you getting so excited? It’s only a dance.’

‘Yes, but I’m going with Neil,’ Fion replied dreamily.

‘Only as a replacement for the girl he really wanted to take.’ Alice hoped she didn’t sound too cruel, but it seemed her worst suspicions had been confirmed – Fionnuala was behaving as if Neil had proposed marriage.

Fion said, ‘I think that was only a ruse, Mam. I think Neil’s always wanted to ask me out, but didn’t have the nerve.’

‘Neil’s never struck me as being short of nerve. Anyroad, he’s much too old for you.’

‘Oh, Mam, don’t be daft. He’s only ten years older. Grandad’s twenty-one years older than Bernadette and you didn’t turn a hair when they got married.’

Alice wondered if she should ask Neil to withdraw the invitation, but Fion would be bitterly disappointed. But she’d be just as disappointed when she realised Neil had no intention of asking her out again. She supposed that as, either way, Fion was bound to feel let down, she might as well enjoy the dance and feel let down afterwards rather than before.

She pleaded with Neil to be gentle with her daughter and he looked at her, hurt. ‘As if I’d be anything else.’

Fion felt as if she was, quite literally, walking on air. The dance was all she talked about – the clothes she would wear, what sort of shoes and that if she kept on starving herself she might manage to squeeze into a size 38. She persuaded Orla’s Micky to teach her how to foxtrot and
they practised in the parlour of the little house in Pearl Street. She endlessly discussed with her mother exactly how she should do her hair: in one of the new bouffant styles, or the smooth look favoured by Lauren Bacall, or piled on top of her head in little curls. Or dare she risk one of them shaggy Italian cuts like Claudia Cardinale?

‘For goodness sake, Fion,’ her mother said impatiently, ‘it’s only a dance, not a reception at Buckingham Palace.’

Mam just didn’t seem to comprehend the awesome significance of Neil asking her out. Fion had long been convinced that he was attracted to her. He was always so incredibly nice, so warmly understanding. Whenever they spoke, he gave her his undivided attention and asked all sorts of questions. Of course, Neil was nice to everyone, but she could tell she held a special place in his heart. He probably hadn’t asked her before because he thought Mam might disapprove or Fion might turn him down. She didn’t delve too deeply into exactly why he’d asked now, but he’d asked and that was all that mattered.

It was easy to imagine a bright, starry future – marrying Neil in about a year’s time – she’d be down to size 36 by then and would wear one of those wedding dresses with a three-tiered skirt and have a bouquet of white roses with trailing ribbons. Orla could be a matron of honour and Maeve a bridesmaid – gosh, she’d, actually be getting married
before
Maeve! They would live somewhere dead posh like Crosby or Blundellsands, because teachers didn’t normally live in places like Amber Street, except if they were unmarried, like Neil — like Neil was
now
.

The dance was three weeks away, two weeks, then only seven days. Fion continued to starve herself. Mam made her drink a glass of milk night and morning, and said it wouldn’t do her any harm to lose a few pounds,
dance or no dance. Mam positively refused to get into the spirit of things.

Only twenty-four hours to go. Fion lay on the bed in her room, her face covered in a mud pack and her feet on the headboard, which made the blood rush to the head and was good for the hair or the skin or the brain. Something.

Mam shouted up the stairs, ‘I’m just nipping round to the salon for a few minutes. One of the dryers is playing up. I think it needs adjusting.’