Monday evening has come around already and Meg’s arrived to help out. I’ve had a busier than usual afternoon, which is typical of course, but at least it’s kept my mind away from fretting about how this is going to go.
‘What’s that?’ I ask my cousin, pointing to a cardboard tube she has tucked under one arm.
She grins and hands it to me. ‘A present for you.’
‘Really. How come? If anyone should be giving a present to someone, it’s me to you, to thank you for helping me this evening.’
‘Just open it, will you?’
I do as she asks and inside the tube is a rolled-up FREE HAIRCUTS FOR THE HOMELESS banner, with white lettering on a red background.
I lean over to give my cousin a hug and a kiss. ‘Wow. That’s amazing, Meg. You really shouldn’t have, but thanks so much. It looks brilliant. How are we best to put it up in the window?’
She reaches into her coat pocket and pulls out some window suckers. ‘With these. See, I’ve thought of everything. This way, we can put it up and take it down as often as we like. I’m assuming you’ll only want it up at the times you’re doing a free session, right?’
‘Um, yeah, I guess so. I haven’t given it any thought. I didn’t even—’
‘Consider the idea of a banner? No, I thought not. I did wonder about checking with you first, in case you’d already arranged something, but I took a gamble based on everything I know about you and it looks like it paid off. Shall we put it up, then?’
We spend the next few minutes doing this, after which the pair of us walk outside to see how it looks from in front of the shop. It’s dark and drizzly, but the area is still fairly lively, well illuminated by street lights and the glow of the various nearby bars and restaurants.
‘I’m not sure it’s totally straight,’ Meg says. ‘What do you think?’
‘It’s perfect,’ I reply. ‘Let’s leave it as it is. Thanks a million. I really hope someone turns up now or I’ll feel stupid. Where did you get it from?’
‘Wouldn’t you like to know.’ She wags one finger playfully in the air and saunters back inside the barbershop. Of course, that immediately makes me desperate to know and, after several minutes of questions, she finally caves in and tells me.
‘Do you remember that girl, Ciara, who I went out with for a bit this time last year?’
‘The bunny-boiler, you mean?’
‘She was not a bunny-boiler. She was a bit possessive, that’s all.’
‘She cut up two of your favourite dresses with a pair of scissors, Meg. I’d say that was more than a bit possessive.’
‘Only because she thought I was cheating on her. And I was, at the end of the day, so she was justified to an extent.’
‘You’ve changed your tune. Last time I heard you mention her, you said she was a psycho and you never wanted to see her again. What about Ciara, anyway?’
‘She’s a graphic designer with excellent printing contacts and a soft spot for good causes.’
I plonk myself down on one of the barber chairs, looking in the mirror at Meg, who’s standing behind me. ‘You’re unbelievable. You’re not seeing her again, are you?’
‘Um.’
‘Tell me.’
‘I might have agreed to go for one small drink with her next week, Luke, but that’s it. I won’t let things progress any further, although she was looking particularly sexy when she gave me this.’
‘You’ll regret it,’ I say. ‘Don’t come crying to me when she starts attacking your wardrobe again.’
‘Hey, enough of that. If it wasn’t for Ciara, you wouldn’t have that amazing new banner in the window.’
Before I can reply, I notice my cousin walking towards the glass and peering out.
I ask her what she’s looking at, but she signals for me to be quiet and then darts out of the door without explanation. Intrigued, I get up from the chair and look outside in a bid to discover what caught her eye. I can’t see Meg or anything interesting, though, so I let out a tired sigh and put on the kettle to make us a brew.
By this point, I’m seriously doubting anyone is going to turn up. Clearly my chatting to people on the street and handing out business cards wasn’t enough. I’m racking my brains for better methods of promotion that will actually reach people on the street, such as contacting one of the homeless shelters or local charities, when Meg bursts back through the door with two people in tow. I immediately recognise one of them as the homeless woman I spoke to last week, who said she wouldn’t feel right about getting her hair cut by a barber. She didn’t tell me her name then, but I beam at her and greet her like an old friend.
‘Hello there. Great to see you again. Welcome to my barbershop.’
Sounding so chipper doesn’t come naturally to me, especially here; I feel like a fraud, with my painted-on smile and awkward hospitality.
Her cheeks flush and she looks down at the ground.
‘This is Steph and Ralphie,’ Meg chips in. ‘I spotted them walking past on the other side of the street, looking over. I had a feeling they were checking out what was going on here, so I caught up with them before they disappeared and persuaded them to come on in.’ She turns to look at the pair, both avoiding eye contact, and adds: ‘See, I told you we don’t bite. Luke might look a bit grumpy, but he’s okay, I promise. We’re cousins. We go back a long way. What about you two? Are you, er, together?’
Steph shakes her head vigorously at this suggestion. ‘We’re just friends. I told Ralphie he could do with a haircut and then I brought him here.’
‘It is a bit on the, er, wild side,’ I tell him, eyeing his bonce. ‘No offence, but I’d be very happy to smarten it up for you, Ralphie, however you like it.’
As these words leave my mouth, I wonder if he can see through my friendly façade to the jaded soul beneath. Who on earth would call themselves Ralphie? It reminds me of Rowlf, the piano-playing dog from The Muppet Show, but even he didn’t feel the need to add an ie to the end of his name.
‘I d-don’t have any money to pay you,’ he stutters.
‘I told you, it’s free,’ Steph snaps. ‘Like it says on the sign. Don’t make an idiot of yourself.’
‘She’s right,’ I say. ‘Not, um, about the last bit. No one’s making an idiot of themselves here. But it is totally free of charge for you.’
‘How come?’ Ralphie asks. ‘Is there a catch?’
I almost reply that the only catch is he has to listen to my bad jokes. But that comment is so not the real me, I can’t bring myself to say it. Besides, I don’t have any jokes to tell him – good or bad. Instead, I simply shake my head and tell him there’s no catch.
‘Luke’s decided to give something back to our community,’ Meg says, to my surprise. ‘So he’s offering his services for free today as a gesture of goodwill and support to people like yourselves, who might not otherwise be able to spare the money for a haircut. But don’t think that means it’ll be a rush job. Yes, he’s my cousin, so I am a bit biased, but Luke really is an excellent barber. He’s Italian-trained, isn’t that right?’
She’s looking at me now, awaiting an answer, which in my surprise takes me a moment to form. ‘Um, yes. That’s right. Thanks, Meg.’ I flash her a look – eyebrows raised and lips pursed – that I hope conveys both my appreciation and a subtle signal to tone it down a bit.
‘So, Ralphie,’ I continue, gesturing towards my preferred barber chair. ‘How about you grab a seat and tell me what you’d like done?’
He looks over at Steph, who shrugs in a get-on-with-it kind of way, and then he finally sits down.
‘You’d probably be best taking off your coat,’ I say, upon which he stands up again and removes his green army jacket, followed by a bodywarmer underneath, handing them both to Steph.
‘Good,’ I add. ‘So what are we doing today?’
‘I’m, er, n-not too sure,’ he replies helpfully. ‘Whatever you think really.’
‘It’s pretty long and thick at the moment. Shall I take it quite short and thin it out for you?’
He agrees, which doesn’t count for much, as he’d probably say yes to whatever at this stage, so I go ahead and get on with it. I even throw in a bit of small talk, believe it or not, telling him he has a great head of hair and is unlikely to ever go bald like me.
Meanwhile, Meg makes a brew for the pair, plonks Steph down in the waiting area and puts her at ease with casual talk about the weather and so on.
Unsurprisingly, Ralphie hasn’t washed or brushed his hair for some time, so it’s greasy and matted, but I soon make it look much better. I take the top more or less as short as it will go with the scissors and use the clippers on the back and sides, opting for a number four rather than anything shorter. The reason for this is simple: I don’t want him to be too cold while he’s out on the streets.
There is a slight smell coming off both him and Steph, I must admit, but it’s not as bad as I feared. Plus I opened a couple of windows earlier in anticipation of this, so it’s perfectly manageable.
Once I’m done, I get the hand mirror out to show him the back and ask what he thinks.
‘Aye, that’s g-great,’ he says, visibly more relaxed than he was when he first came in. ‘Brilliant, thanks.’
‘You’re welcome.’
‘You look like a different man,’ Meg says, standing behind the mirror and admiring my handiwork. ‘Very handsome. What do you think, Steph? Maybe he’s boyfriend material after all.’
Steph grimaces.
I did consider the possibility of offering people a shave as well as a haircut when I was first thinking through this idea. But since it’s not something I usually offer and it’s quite time-consuming, I decided not to bother. Ralphie doesn’t have much beard growth anyway. He does have a few straggly bits here and there, though, which look out of place now his hair has been done, so I offer to trim them with the clippers and he accepts.
‘Are you up next?’ I ask Steph.
‘No, no, no,’ she says, shaking her head hard enough to make herself dizzy.
‘Are you sure. Not even a little trim? You’d barely notice the difference in length, but I could cut off any split ends for you.’
There’s no convincing her, even when Meg chips in and says I cut her hair, which isn’t true, but never mind.
‘Yours is short,’ Steph says, ‘so it’s not the same.’
‘No problem at all,’ I tell her. ‘Your hair, your choice, Steph. You know where I am, if you change your mind.’
Once Ralphie’s wrapped up again, the pair say goodbye and head for the door.
‘Great to see you both,’ I say. ‘Thanks for coming.’
‘Be sure to tell everyone you know about this,’ Meg adds. ‘Remember, it’s totally free of charge for anyone homeless; we’ll be here until nine thirty tonight, so there’s still plenty of time to show up.’ Thrusting a wad of my business cards into Steph’s hand, she adds: ‘Feel free to give these out to help spread the word.’
‘Where did you get those cards from?’ I ask her once they’ve gone. ‘I don’t have that many, you know. We can’t be handing them out willy-nilly.’
She frowns at me. ‘What? You said you handed them out when you were speaking to people on the street last week.’
‘I did, in limited amounts. Definitely no more than one per person.’
‘Hmm. And how many people have shown up so far?’
She has a point, which grows in pertinence as the evening progresses and no one else turns up. Soon she apologises for saying it, which only makes me feel worse. She goes out into the street several times to check for people potentially loitering nearby but – like Steph and Ralphie – not daring to make the final steps into the barbershop. However, she doesn’t come across any more.
By 8.55 p.m. I’m feeling really downhearted about the whole thing. At 9.15 p.m. I want to call it a day, having already used the downtime to clear up. But Meg makes me hold on until 9.25 p.m., checking outside twice more in the meantime.
‘Okay,’ she says finally. ‘Let’s close up now. It doesn’t look like anyone else is coming.’
‘You reckon?’ Immediately regretting my snappish tone of voice, I remind myself that Meg’s been nothing but supportive. ‘Sorry, I don’t mean it like that. I just … hoped more people would come. Maybe I should knock the idea on the head. What’s the point if no one is interested?’
Meg holds her arms wide open. ‘Come here and give me a hug. Listen, I’m really proud of you for what you’ve done tonight, Luke. It doesn’t matter a jot that you only cut one person’s hair. One is better than none; you have to start somewhere.’
As we embrace, I exhale and she ruffles what hair there is on the back of my head.
‘You’re not very good at this being positive business, are you, Luke? It’s fantastic that you’re trying, but you need to stick at it rather than falling at the first hurdle and reverting to type. You haven’t got the message out there enough yet, that’s all.’
‘I did speak to several people,’ I say. ‘And I asked them to tell others. I was worried if I told too many, I might be swamped. That clearly wasn’t a problem.’
‘Stay positive and leave it with your cousin. I have an idea I think will help.’
I ask her several times what this idea is, but she won’t tell me. All she’ll say is: ‘Wait and see, Luke. Wait and see.’