58

Melinda came to Toby’s room on Tuesday evening. She was holding a box.

‘Now,’ she said, sailing past him and towards his bed. ‘Don’t freak out, but I’ve come to sort you out.’

‘Sort me out what?’

She opened the box and pulled out a black contraption with a cord coming out of it. It was about the size of a mobile phone. She looked round the skirting boards to locate an electricity socket, then she plugged the contraption in. ‘Now,’ she said, wheeling his office chair away from his PC and towards his bed, ‘come over here.’ She patted the seat. ‘Sit down.’

‘Er, Melinda, what …?’

‘Trust me Toby. This is for your own good. You will never, ever regret this, not for a minute. Now – sit – down.’

He followed her instructions and glanced at the black contraption in her hand, nervously. He stood up again, sharply, when she switched it on and it started vibrating very, very loudly.

‘Oh, Jesus,’ he said, staring at it in horror, ‘What are you going to do to me?’

‘Just sit down,’ she said, ‘and you’ll see.’

Toby tried to relax. He assumed that the vibrating black thing was some kind of massage device, and prepared himself for a pleasant sensation between his shoulder blades. Instead Melinda started rubbing it against his cheekbones. She brought it back and forth across the left side of his face and, he had to admit, it wasn’t an entirely unpleasant feeling.

‘Is that nice?’ she said.

‘Well, it’s not awful, but …’ He stopped when his gaze fell upon the empty box sitting on his bed. It had a photograph of the contraption on the lid and the words ‘Hair styling kit’ and ‘clippers’. He looked at the floor. Tiny tumbleweeds of his hair lay on the carpet. He slapped his hand against his cheek, where for nearly half his life there had been hair. He felt skin, soft and smooth, like the underbelly of a kitten. ‘Oh, my God! Melinda! No!’

He got to his feet and felt the contraption skidding through his hair.

‘Shit, Toby, will you sit still?’

‘Oh, God,’ he grabbed the side of his head and felt a channel of baldness. ‘Oh, Jesus!’

‘Toby, just sit down.’

‘No! I won’t. Oh, God, what have you done?! What have you done?!’ He raced to the mirror and gazed at his reflection. He had one sideburn and a section of hair missing. He looked like he had a terrible, terrible illness.

‘Toby, don’t panic. Come over here and I’ll sort it out for you.’

‘I can’t believe you’ve shaved my sideburn off.’

‘Well, what did you think I was going to do with a pair of clippers?’

‘I didn’t know they were clippers.’

‘Well, what on earth did you think they were?’

‘I don’t know, some kind of massage device. I thought you were going to give me a massage.’

Melinda slapped her hands over her mouth and let out a snort of laughter. ‘Oh, shit,’ she said. ‘Oh, fuck a duck, Toby. I’m sorry. I thought everyone knew what clippers look like.’

‘Yes, well, apparently not.’ Toby looked at himself in the mirror again. He looked away, in horror. ‘Oh, Christ, Melinda. What are we going to do?’