part0013

Y ou know that saying, feeling like a million dollars? Well that’s how I feel. I’ve been and had my hair done although I didn’t take up Dolph’s offer of a free haircut, I went to Hair by Maurice , just off the precinct, not far from Moppers actually.

It’s all very well having this new body and lovely new clothes to wear but it was topped off with rat bag hair which badly needed something doing to it. I can’t remember the last time a proper hairdresser cut it, usually I’ve just hacked the ends off with Mother’s dressmaking scissors and tried to tidy it up a bit. I wasn’t expecting too much, just a general tidy up as you can only work with what you’ve got or as Mother would say, you can’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear.

A lovely girl called Kerry did it for me; when she called me through to the chair I looked at her and thought; I’m going to feel like a big ungainly lump having my hair done by her because she was so pretty and she had lovely long blonde hair – which is what you’d expect with her being a hairdresser – but I didn’t feel like a lump at all, because I’m not a fatty anymore and she was so nice I think it would have been fine even if I were. I said to her, do what you like to it but I must be able to get it into a ponytail for my running and I need to be able to do it myself, and there’s no point in curling it because it’ll have dropped out by the time I get out of the chair. The most I was hoping for was neat and tidy.

All of these years I’ve thought my hair was mousey and flyaway but it turns out that it’s a hairdresser’s dream; not too thick so that it takes an age to cut and dry, and underneath that good old British mouse is a hint of red, which just needs treating properly to bring it out. I did ask her about having some highlights in it, a bit of colour, but she said absolutely not and why would you want to dye it when you have lovely natural highlights of your own? I really warmed to Kerry when she said that because she could have just done it anyway and charged a lot more.

As for the treating my hair properly she meant not washing it in Foodco’s value shampoo, or, God forbid, washing up liquid (I thought Kerry was going to faint when I told her I use it if I run out of shampoo) and she says I absolutely must condition it every time I wash it.

She sat me in front of the mirror and did lots of fluffing and pulling up of my hair and letting it drop around my face. At one point she knelt down behind me and yanked the back down so hard my head bobbed backwards. She stood up and looked at me in a satisfied way and called for Lacey, the apprentice, who took me over to the basin and put a gown on me and sat me down. I leaned back into that backwards sink and closed my eyes and relaxed while she washed my hair in a gorgeous smelling shampoo. She rinsed it off and then put the conditioner on and gave me a mini head massage. It was divine, I nearly fell asleep. I was then whisked back over to Kerry’s chair and offered coffee and biscuits, which I declined. Kerry didn’t cut very much off but did do lots of shaping and layering and some more fluffing, I have to say it looks and feels amazing, it falls around my face in such a flattering way, completely changes the shape of my face and I can still get it in a pony tail. Kerry has assured me that it’ll be dead easy to look after as long as I use the products she advises and go back for a trim every five to six weeks.

If it’s that easy I thought, why not? I bought the shampoo and conditioner from the stand they have at the desk where you pay, and a new comb and brush too, because apparently, they are so important for looking after your hair. It was nearly a hundred pounds by the time she added it all up but that was fine because I used Mother’s card. I thought I deserved her to treat me after her latest episode and I also gave Kerry a nice big tip for being so nice and helpful.

Okay, so Mother didn’t actually have an episode after the rent discussion but she’s had lots of episodes in the past and they all count, don’t they? All the evenings of Mother screaming at me and not letting me go downstairs to watch my programmes or eat my dinner. Not to mention the clearing up of those thrown dinners; all the scraping of food off the carpet and walls, and then the re-cooking of a meal that Mother graciously decides is acceptable. I’m not forgetting all of the nasty things she’s said and all of the horrible names that she’s called me. No, I think a haircut is very small compensation for all of that and she can pay for the next one too, in five weeks’ time.

I came out of the hairdressers with a definite spring in my step and the sun was shining with that lovely hint of summers-just-around-the-corner feeling. I was wearing a pair of my new skinny jeans and a white vest top with my new lovely mustard coloured sloppy Joe jumper over it, and to complete the look I had on my new soft brown leather ankle boots. As I walked down to the high street I could sense I was being looked at; although actually, I didn’t so much walk as saunter . To be truthful, I think maybe I wanted to be looked at. I have a highly tuned awareness of people looking - I don’t even have to see it, I can feel it. Years of being jumbo sized have equipped me with the knowledge that I’m being stared at without it appearing that I’ve noticed, a quick swivel of the eyes is all it takes. This being looked at was different though. Instead of the Jesus look at the size of her looks, or muffled sniggers or outright guffaws I was aware that a couple of youngish men had turned to look at me as I passed them.

They were looking at me because I looked good.

I strode along and I pushed my shoulders back just a little bit more and I think I might have even attempted a bit of a wiggle. All I needed was a lanyard around my neck, swinging away and I’d really be like Bella. Well, I would if I had a decent job; I certainly don’t want a lanyard with Alison Travis, Cleaner, on it.

I strutted all the way along to the end of the High street where the Brotherton Estate Agents massive shop front stretches right around the corner of the building into Thackeray Street, the windows chock full of properties for sale. I stood outside and pretended to be looking at the houses for sale but really, I was looking between the edges of the house details boards to see if Bella was in there.

I could see the top of her head, the crown of her glossy blonde hair as she had her head bowed over a desk right at the rear of the shop. Even from the window I could see that her desk was the grandest; much bigger and wider and made of solid beechwood, much better than the cheap teak effect ones at the front. Partitioned from the rest of the staff by a bank of filing cabinets, making an office within an office, as befits the Sales Manager. A lot of the cheaper desks at the front were unoccupied; out on house visits probably. They must sell a lot of houses if the number of houses in the windows is anything to go by. I had toyed with the idea of going in and asking them to come out and value Duck Pond Lane but then decided against it as the Sales Manager is hardly going to do a house visit is she? And even if she did that’s not really the way to make a friend is it, by getting them to value your house? Besides, I’d have to get rid of all the ghastly seventies tat and old kitchen and bathroom before I’d let Bella near it.

And Mother. I couldn’t possibly let her meet Mother.

I’ve found out quite a lot from my research on Bella and her emails make for very interesting reading. She has thousands of emails on her account and she never, ever deletes any. And why would she? It’s only her that sees them. Until now of course.

It’s amazing what you can find out from someone’s emails; not mine, of course, because I don’t have any friends and the only emails I get, apart from bills and bank stuff for mother, are special offers and junk mail. But Bella, well she’s a different story altogether. I’ve read every one of her emails and I now have a pretty good idea of her life. Her first job at eighteen was as an admin clerk at Harpers Estate Agents which is now closed down. Nothing exciting about that except that her boss was none other than Simon Harper, also known as the Frogham Throttler, Frogham’s very own serial killer.

Bella may have started as a humble admin clerk but in no time at all she was promoted to assistant sales manager. So maybe she’s really clever, or lucky, but as I found some very flirty emails from Simon Harper to Bella I can’t help thinking that maybe she got promoted so quickly because he liked her. Or more to the point, fancied her.

Now those emails could just be a perfectly innocent bit of office flirtation but if that was the case why did Simon Harper have Bella’s personal email address and she his? The emails he sent her made it plain that he fancied the pants off her and she was very clever in her replies, never actually promising anything but never actually giving him the brush off and always a hint of you never know what might happen in the future . And I reasoned that if it was really so innocent any contact would have been on her office email, not her private one.

So she got promoted on a promise, really. I’ve no way of knowing whether she made good on that promise but that’s definitely how she got on. When I realised how she got promoted so swiftly I was a bit shocked at first but then I realised that we’re quite alike, Bella and I; you have to take your opportunities where you can. And that made me feel a bit closer to her, sort of sisterly. And anyway, a bit of flirtation never hurt anyone and it did the trick because before you know it she was a manager. And it doesn’t mean she slept with him or anything.

Or if she did she never put it in an email and she’s certainly not going to be bragging about it now is she? No one wants to admit that they’ve had sex with a serial killer and a pretty ugly one too. I saw pictures of him in the Frogham Herald and he’s no oil painting that’s for sure, and old too. Yuk.

Another interesting fact I unearthed is that I have more A Levels than Bella – how strange is that? She has one A level in media make-up and her GCSE results don’t look too hot either. Although I did notice that on the CV that she sent for her job at Brotherton’s the GCSE results have somehow improved by several grades.

This was another surprise as I expected her to have a degree of some sort although Justin, on the other hand, has more qualifications than you can shake a stick at. Some of them I’d never even heard of so I had to Google them. A proper clever clogs, as Mother would say.

Other facts that I’ve discovered about Bella are that she’s terrible with money, always massively overdrawn and the bank’s always writing to her to tell her off. All of her credit cards are completely maxed out, too. Bella earns thirty-five thousand pounds a year plus commission from her job at the Estate agents which sounds like an absolute fortune to me but it’s obviously not nearly enough to buy the sort of clothes that are hanging in her wardrobe. Fortunately for her Justin earns a fortune even without his bonus so he pays all of the household bills and the mortgage, even though it’s in both of their names. Her salary is basically just pocket money but it’s still not enough for the designer outfits that she seems to buy every week. When trawling through her bank account I noticed that there are credits every other month or so, coming from an account in the name of G Somerton. I’m guessing that’s one of her parents and they’re either bailing her out on a regular basis or maybe they just like to give her money. Usually around five hundred pounds and on one occasion a thousand pounds.

Can’t imagine Mother ever bailing me out. Not knowingly, anyway.

A thirty something, heavyset man in a shiny grey, cheap looking suit keeps looking up at me from his desk near the window, so I think I’ve loitered long enough pretending to look at houses. I know every aisle in Foodco and I can tell that the suit he’s wearing is from their forty-five-pound value range. The last time he looked up he smiled at me revealing grubby looking teeth and I’m pretty sure he winked. His black hair is slicked back and with so much grease it looks like he’s just been swimming. I stifle a giggle; he must think I’ve been looking at him. I quickly look away and meander a few steps along to the charity shop next door to gaze at the meagre offerings in their window. An assortment of bric-a-brac and framed prints are arranged over a scuffed and battered coffee table positioned in front of a faded, brown velour sofa, the sagging cushions still bearing the imprint of the many bums that sat on them.

I hear the sound of a door opening and turn to see grey suit man emerging from the Estate Agents. He faces outward from the door and pulls the door shut behind him with his hand in a well-practised way and stares at me and grins. I quickly resume my charity shop pondering although I can feel his eyes on me as he’s standing only a foot away. I watch out of the corner of my eye as he fumbles in his pocket for a moment and then pulls out a battered packet of cigarettes.

‘Alright?’ He looks over at me and smiles and I feel forced to look at him as he pops a cigarette in his mouth and lights it with a yellow plastic lighter.

‘Want one?’ He thrusts the battered packet towards me with nicotine stained fingers.

‘Er, no thanks.’

He shoves the packet back into his pocket with a shrug, takes a deep drag and exhales noisily through his nostrils.

‘Looking for a house, are you?’ His head is cocked to one side, appraising me, and that’s when I realise that he’s come outside to talk to me.

‘Haven’t seen you around Frogham.’ He inhales another blast from his cigarette. ‘And I think I know all of the pretty girls around here.’

Well, this is a first; I’m being chatted up.

‘Lived here all my life.’

‘Really? Can’t believe I’ve not noticed you before.’ He makes no secret of looking me up and down. So, this is what I’ve been missing all these years.

‘Fancy coming out for a drink one night? Maybe hit the clubs?’

‘I don’t think my boyfriend would like it.’ I lie quickly.

‘He don’t have to know, do he?’ He smirks, very sure of himself.

‘Thanks, but no thanks. I really don’t think my boyfriend would like it.’

He looks disappointed. And annoyed.

‘Okay.’ He takes a last puff from his cigarette and flicks the butt away and it flies into the road, red sparks jumping from it.

‘Perhaps he wouldn’t like you looking through windows giving other blokes the come on neither.’

Either , I want to correct him, but instead I laugh, I just can’t help it. He really thought I was looking at him , that I fancied him.

‘Don’t know what’s so funny, you were the one staring at me .’ He buttons up his shiny grey jacket and squares his shoulders. ‘You want to watch you don’t send out the wrong signals.’ He moves closer and looms over me and I get a blast of nicotine breath in the face. ‘Could get you in trouble. There’s a name for girls like you.’