After a brief dash to check that the rest of the Barn activities – more glass painting, wood-whittling and a sing-along toLes Mis– were all finishing off on time, I popped back to the library just as the two women before the Vincent sisters were finishing their treatments.
‘You look exquisite,’ I said, delighted at how Enid couldn’t stop patting her new layers, a look of absolute wonder on her significantly less angular face, thanks to her new cut. Madeline simply cried.
May, who came across as the dark cloud of tetchiness, balancing out her sister’s sunshine, helped Madeline to her frail feet and then wrapped her scrawny arms around her, one hand pressed against the back of Madeline’s head like a mother cradling her child. After seeing me hovering with Madeline’s walker, May sternly informed me that she would need another few minutes.
While Enid handed the mirror back to Ada and sashayed off, May held Madeline, gently stroking her head.
‘Same time next week?’ she asked, after eventually moving away and handing her client a tissue that appeared out of thin air.
‘Um, actually…’ I started, aware of the potential uproar that overriding the booking system could cause.
‘Same time next week,’ May said, not a hint of question in her tone as she gave Madeline’s hand one last squeeze before turning to prepare for the final client of the day.
Who was I to argue? Madeline was ninety-three. Was anyone really going to kick up a fuss about her skipping the queue a few times?
‘Ah, the indomitable Vs,’ Ada said, clacking her scissors at Veronica and Vivienne, who were still finishing their cappuccinos and coffee cake. ‘Your transformation awaits.’
I would have stayed to watch, only Dad asked if I could help some of the less-steady Outlaws safely into their transport. I was on my way back, three steps from the library door when my pleasant thoughts about another good day were interrupted by a chilling scream.
Bursting into the library, I saw Veronica holding Ada’s mirror up, face contorted with horror. I say Veronica – that was something of a guess considering how different this woman looked to the one who’d sat in the chair forty-five minutes earlier. The other Vincent sister – recognisable by her dress alone – snatched the mirror and thrust it in front of her own, wretched face.
‘What have you done?’ Vivienne shrieked. Veronica appeared to be rendered temporarily mute, her mouth sagging open in shock.
‘You pair of absolute witches!’ Vivienne continued. ‘I told Veronica we’d be fools to trust you! Put our hair, our faces, ourdignityin your evil, arthritic hands. We’ll sue you for this!’ She turned and pointed a trembling finger at me. ‘The lot of you! Everyone knows your Pollyanna parents couldn’t keep control of a pre-school, let alone manage these vicious old bats, and now we’ve paid the price. Well.You’regoing to pay for whatever it costs to put this right, plus emotional distress. Look at Veronica! I wouldn’t be surprised if you’ve given her a stroke, you spiteful crones.’
It was hard not to look at Veronica. Where under an hour ago there’d been shoulder length, silver hair, there were now bile-green spikes. Her eyebrows had been dyed the same colour.
Vivienne’s roughly hacked mess was scarlet with blue splodges. The same colour as her cheeks, vibrating with rage. One eyebrow was blue, the other red.
‘This is assault!’ Veronica managed to splutter. ‘Forget suing. I’m calling the police!’
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake,’ Ada retorted. ‘It’s not permanent. Be grateful it’s not a tattoo.’
Veronica was right, though. This surely could be classed as assault. Not wanting to leave the room in case either of the victims decided to retaliate, I called Dad. Receiving no answer, I fired off a frantic text telling him that there was an emergency in the library.
‘Why would you do this?’ Vivienne wailed, grabbing the mirror back. ‘Why?’
Ada and May made a point of forbidding their clients to see themselves until the transformation was complete. In this case, they’d also moved the chairs so that the sisters couldn’t have seen each other.
‘Since when did these two need a reason to act like cruel bullies?’ Veronica spat. ‘Thinking they’re so much better than everyone else. Well, this time you can explain yourselves to a judge and jury!’
‘A minor assault charge would be seen by a magistrate,’ May said, calmly packing up. ‘We’d have had to snip off your ear for a jury trial.’
‘Do feel free to have us arrested, though,’ Ada added, not even bothering to hide her smugness. ‘May and I would be delighted to explain to an officer of the law precisely why those particular hairstyles suit you perfectly. And you have no grounds on which to sue. You read the small print, signed the form. “I agree to give the Lavender Mobile Beauty Parlour complete creative control”.’
‘We never agreed to that!’ Vivienne was about ready to commit an assault of her own.
May held out the form that every client had to sign. I’d scanned it earlier but took it off her now and re-read the page asking about allergies, basic skin and hair care routines and, in tiny writing that even the best pair of bifocals would struggle to make clear, handing over absolute creative control.
I had no idea how to handle this, apart from trying to stop the situation deteriorating any further until my parents arrived. I sent another, more urgent message to both of them.
‘Perhaps it would help if you did explain why you chose such bold styles?’ I asked, a tiny part of me still hoping that Ada and May had suffered a momentary lapse in taste, rather than this being a premeditated act of aggression. Thinking about all the others who had waltzed out of the library throughout the day, I was doubtful.
‘I already said, because we tailor our work to suit each individual client.’ Ada offered a sweet smile, but behind it I caught a glint of steel. ‘We went to school with Veronica and Vivienne, so we know them extremely well.’
Glancing over at the sisters, I detected a sudden change in body language. The bristling anger was now tinged with wariness.
‘The vomit-green shade reminded Ada of when Veronica repeatedly stuck her head in the school toilet, causing my sister to throw up her lovely lunch,’ May said, eyes wide with innocence.
