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The friends sat in astonished silence.
Maxine glowered in the direction of the door. ‘Did that really just happen?’
‘If you mean did the curator act out the perfect egomaniac performance and give Eloise as much of a kick as she gave us, then yes, it did,’ Nancy seethed. ‘Eloise just doesn’t get it. She doesn’t see that the curator doesn’t see her in any way superior to us, does she? I don’t know why the curator puts up with it. This place is too small for egos to clash, for us to be looked down on. Eloise needs putting in her place, snotty bitch. I used to think she was okay and looked after us in life.’
Hector sighed, the difficulty of his day whooshing out of his lungs in one long breath. ‘It’s not sunk in yet that my lady has passed away.’
Nancy gasped. ‘I’m so sorry, Hector. I didn’t mean to be insensitive.’
‘It’s okay, Nancy, it really is. I just wish I could somehow find out where she has gone to.’ He looked up at the largest screen to avoid making eye contact with any of the others. There was some silence again, but not the tension-filled kind of few minutes earlier when the curator and Eloise had been in the room with them. With a sigh, he continued. ‘For what it is worth, I agree with you, Nancy. Eloise needs a punishment, and I think that might help reign the curator in a bit. We know about the vicar now.’ A cunning shine returned to his eyes. ‘There can only be one punishment for her. We must put her in solitary confinement, but in the middle of the village and not hidden away from everyone else in the forbidden zone.’
A sly smile crept over Maxine’s face. ‘Remember when we were talking about revenge before? We went to pay your mate a visit.’ She fixed Damien with a glare that made him laugh nervously. ‘But we didn’t get round to carrying out the punishment of cutting Eloise’s hair.’
Damien shook his head and shuddered. ‘Hell, guys, I do love the idea, but...’
‘But what, love?’ asked Nancy, nuzzling her face in next to her husband’s.
‘This is not the time to be a chicken.’ The intensity of Maxine’s glare could have fractured the ice caps of Antarctica.
Damien looked away and gazed at the floor. ‘Alright. I guess.’ He glanced over at Hector. ‘Do you remember that song from way back when?’
His friend looked back at him blankly. ‘What song?’
Tunelessly, Damien belted out, ‘The female of the species is more deadly than the male!’
Hector spluttered. ‘Ja, I think we should let Maxine and Nancy organise this punishment. Nancy has got nothing to lose, and Maxine gives no shits.’
The feel-good factor swept back around the room. No plans were made firm, but they had drawn the red line. There was no going back.
***
THE AIR IN THE VILLAGE that evening was much warmer than the cold, breezy days of late. Mel lit a small bonfire in the centre of the village and sat on a camp chair, with a beer in one hand and a strangely fragrant cigarette in the other. He wore sunglasses, apparently because it was a full moon. A small old-fashioned transistor radio played old rock songs, and ‘Sweet Home Alabama’ blared out across the village. He looked up when he sensed Damien and the others arriving, and watched in confusion as Nancy placed an uncomfortable looking dining chair next to where he was sitting. What the fuck are they doing? They should be bringing camp chairs, not old hard shit like that. Must be a woman thing.
Mel took a deep drag of his smoke and puffed out a series of rings that drifted nonchalantly into the night sky. He sat up straight and squished his cigarette under his foot. ‘Ma’am,’ he said in greeting, trying to sound sober but not really succeeding.
The curator stood next to Mel with an unreadable expression on her face. She folded her arms and tapped her left foot.
Maxine and Nancy looked at each other. No going back now. I knew Damien couldn’t argue.
The ladies didn’t speak. They simply walked away from the curator and went into Eloise’s hut without knocking first. A loud voice erupted from inside the dwelling. ‘No way am I listening to any instruction from you!’
The men looked nervously at each other, the air filled with uncertainty. Most of the other villagers had come out of their huts, intrigued to see what was happening. They were rewarded with the sight of Eloise being escorted from her hut, Nancy and Maxine grasping an arm each as they dragged her to the dining chair in a half stumble, half walk motion.
‘Do something!’ Eloise shrieked at the curator, who hadn’t moved from her position next to Mel.
The curator smiled enigmatically. ‘No. You are in their peer group, and as such, whatever happens is nothing to do with me.’
Eloise fixed her boss with an icy glare. ‘You damn bitch!’ She spat at the curator’s feet with venom. ‘These people are not my peer group; they are inferior to me. I am closer to you than them in superiority.’
The curator cackled and took one of Mel’s beers. She popped the ring pull and nodded to Maxine, who didn’t need a second invitation and bound Eloise to the chair with cable ties. Nancy and Damien helped to restrain the struggling woman while Hector looked on from a safe distance. He didn’t join in, partly because he was afraid of hurting the copper-haired woman and partly because he was reluctant to dominate a member of the opposite sex, however irritating she might be.
The villagers chattered excitedly amongst themselves; a watershed moment in their relationship with Eloise had arrived. It was the first time that rebellion had ever taken place on this island. No one had ever dared to even think of questioning the senior members of the island before, nor had anyone made it to the hallowed ranks of the SMG.
Eloise tried to struggle out of the cable ties, but Maxine had done an expert job of tightening them. Grimacing, Maxine said, ‘I’d stop struggling if I were you, Eloise. You’ll only end up hurting yourself.’ Silence reigned in the village as everyone waited to see what would happen next. It transfixed even the people who were seemingly wasted on the island in their limbo state.
The fight eventually drained from Eloise, for a moment at least. But then she spotted what Nancy now grasped in her feminine hands. The scissors sparked a new fight, and Eloise started to thrash her body back and forth in desperation. The ties held fast. Exhausted, she slumped in the chair and dipped her head, hiding her face behind a curtain of hair cascading over her shoulders.
Nancy stepped closer to Eloise and clenched her fist around Eloise’s dark red hair. As she pulled it back, the hair became taut and tugged at Eloise’s scalp, giving the appearance of an impromptu facelift. With a smirk, the curator nodded her approval, and Nancy proceeded to chop a hefty clump out of Eloise’s hair. Damien watched on with an expression of shock. I would never have thought Nancy would ever do anything like that! I am proud but scared!
A few gasps sounded around the clearing, but the majority simply sat and watched as if mesmerised by a horror show. Nancy yanked at a new segment of Eloise’s hair, but this time she passed the scissors to Maxine. The raven-haired woman held the scissors high and surprised the gathered people by speaking.
‘It gives me no pleasure to crop another woman’s crowning glory. This is symbolic; we are not afraid and will not tolerate another person trying to exercise control over us, especially when they do not have the power or authority to do so. Eloise has tried to bully and overpower us since our promotion to the SMG, so this act is a symbol of our rebellious empowerment.’
Maxine lowered the scissors and hacked out a chunk of Eloise’s hair. As the cropped locks blew away in the breeze, Eloise sat in despair. Her power over the other villagers had just been cut, along with her hair.
Mel opened another can of beer. The crack and hiss of the ring pull fractured the silence and chatter filled the air once more. Maxine sliced the ties, and Eloise began to rub at her wrists, trying to get the blood flow going again. She shook her head, clearly knocked off of her high horse. Without saying another word, Eloise skulked over to her hut and vanished inside.