Rory's Proposal (7 page)

I throw the towels into the washing machine and sigh.

‘Will you be okay?’ Sandy asks, her brow creasing.

‘Of course I will. I’m not going to electrocute myself under the dryer if that’s what you’re thinking.’

‘I hate Rory’s,’ she says with venom.

‘I’m sure it will be fine,’ I say, not feeling it will be fine at all. After all, they are a massive corporation while I’m just a little hairdresser. I’ve spent three years of my life trying to build up my business and Rory’s think they can push me out. I wish I’d never shopped at Rory’s. I can’t believe I’ve given the sods my custom.

‘The petition is great though isn’t it?’ Sandy says proudly, studying the names. ‘We’ve got over thirty already, and that’s just one afternoon.’

Ryan had drawn up the petition and a quick phone call to the printers around the corner had produced our stickers with the salon’s logo and
Save Our Small Businesses from Rory’s
printed on them. Sandy sticks one onto her handbag and admires it for a few moments.

‘The prescription idea is a good one too isn’t it?’

I nod and make a mental note to book a meeting with the surgery practice manager. The doorbell tinkles and Sandy’s face lights up.

‘That will be Jethro. I’ll just get my coat and go to the loo,’ she says.

My heart sinks at the thought of a conversation with Sandy’s boyfriend, Jethro. How Sandy communicates with him is beyond me. Sign language would be easier. When I enter the salon I see him looking at the products on the display shelf.

‘Hi Jethro, Sandy will be out in a sec, she’s just getting her coat.’

He turns, his head cocooned in a bobbly hat.

‘Hey, how you cats doing?’

Seeing as we don’t have cats in the salon one has to presume he means us.

‘Yes, we’re fine. How about you?’

‘Great chick, we’re going to Marty’s tonight; flip it up a bit, it should be dope.’

‘Great,’ I say, translating
flip it up a bit
to mean they are going to eat and listen to a band. I could be completely wrong of course. They could be going to Marty’s to turn the joint over as in
flip it up
and then smoke some dope but I somehow think my interpretation is right.

‘You okay? Sandy said you’re all assed out.’

I’m assed out alright.
The colonic clean out diet has nearly finished off my poor arse. If it wasn’t for the Windeze I’d be totally assed out for sure. But somehow I don’t think Jethro is talking about my gas problem, or the state of my arse.

‘I’m sure it will all be okay,’ I say,
thinking of my wind problem and how I can’t stay on Windeze forever.

‘You want me to get someone to give these Rory cats a chin check?’ He says, pulling out a chair. Oh no, please step away from the chair. I really could not stand more than five minutes of Jethro tonight.

‘A chin check,’ I repeat.

It sounds harmless enough when you say it but I’m sure it isn’t. I sigh with relief as Sandy comes into the salon with her coat on.

‘Hey Jeth, I’m ready.’

‘I was just sayin’ to Flo, she should give those Rory cats a chin check. Or I could get someone to come round with a banger.’

I’m so hoping he means a firework.

‘No it’s fine Jeth. But I’m sure Flora is grateful.’

‘Oh yes, dead grateful thank you. But I don’t think it has reached the banger stage yet.’

What am I saying? It sounds like I’m considering it.

‘You wanna come with us to Marty’s, flip it up a bit?’ he asks.

‘Oh no, I’m really not in the mood for flipping it,’ I say.

‘You sure, it’s going to be dope.’

I shake my head.

‘You getting afro products?’ he asks.

‘Yes, I have a feeling I may well be,’ I say. Well, let’s face it if I end up with a salon in the East End of London I most certainly will be. I’ve got to make a living after all and the thought of working for someone else now sends me into despair. I see them out and decide now is as good as time as any to phone Luke. I dial his direct line and he picks up immediately.

‘Hello, Luke Wright’s phone.’

‘Hello gorgeous, how’s that little cold cock of yours after its Biofreezing? I was thinking we could warm it up later. I could lather it in a nice hot bath and then give you the best shag of your life.’

There is an intake of breath. Maybe Devon is right and this is the right tactic.

‘Well, that sounds great. And do you have a message for Luke? He’s in a meeting at the moment, shall I get him to call you.’

Buggery fuck.

‘Sorry wrong number,’ I mumble before slamming the phone down. Shit, shit, and I mentioned the Biofreeze. I didn’t mention Luke’s name though did I? So hopefully they’ll think it was an obscene caller.
I suppose I was in a way. With a
red face I blow out the candle under Sandy’s oil burner and go to lock up when I see the basin is overflowing.

‘Oh bugger,’ I curse. Not again. This basin is always getting blocked. I quickly turn the water off at the stopcock and search for the mop and wrench. I struggle for five minutes trying to unblock the pipe and finally phone Tim the plumber, and get his voicemail. I go back and try again without success. I phone Tim a second time and leave a message before returning to the wrench and struggling with the pipe.

‘Piss it, stupid wrench.’

I kick the wrench angrily. The knees of my leggings are completely soaked. My phone rings and I dive across the room, slipping on the wet as I do so and almost landing on my bottom.

‘Christ,’ I moan clicking on the phone. ‘Hello, is that the plumber?’

‘Miss Robson?’

‘Yes,’ I say breathlessly.

‘It’s Tim, the plumber. You left a message.’

I’ve left hundreds of messages over the past six months. This basin leaks on a fortnightly basis.

‘Can you come?’ I ask desperation in my voice.

‘I’ve got no one available at this moment in time but I should have in about an hour or so,’ he says. ‘Is it the leaky basin again?’

‘An hour or so, I’d have drowned by then,’ I say dramatically. ‘Don’t you have anyone at all?’

‘Not at this moment in time,’ he says again, ‘but I can send someone directly.’

I try to get my head around this.

‘What moment in time do you think you will have someone?’ I ask quizzically, ‘and how directly will that be?’

Christ, I’m speaking his language and I don’t even understand it.

‘I’m sorry?’

I sigh. It seems he doesn’t understand it either.

‘Just send someone when you can please.’

I hang up and look at the basin, trying to give it my best menacing stare. I imagine the basin is turning into some kind of alien as it seems to hiss at me every time I get close. I turn when I hear the bell above the door tinkle and see him.

‘Oh,’ I say, wondering why Tom is standing in my salon.

I’m thrilled he is of course, but it does seem odd. He is staring at me like I’m the alien. He looks very smart in a white shirt, grey waistcoat, maroon tie and grey trousers. He must be on his way to somewhere posh. He looks good enough to eat, and smells fabulous. In the words of Jethro, he really is one
peng
man.

‘
You’re
Flora Robson,’ he says in a disbelieving tone.

I’m not quite sure how to take that. I don’t think my perms are that famous yet but you never know.

‘Yes, the one and only infamous Flora Robson.’

He seems to quickly recover and smiles at me. My legs go weak and I lean my hand out to grasp the back of a chair.

‘This is your salon?’ he says looking around.

I nod.

‘Right,’ he says looking behind me. ‘Looks like you’ve got a bit of a problem.’

A bit of a problem is, I rather think, an understatement considering I’ve got a mega corporation trying to take over my salon. He’s holding an enormous box of chocolates. Heavens, I’ve never seen one that big before, box of chocolates that is. Even Grant Richards from Rory’s didn’t bring one that size. Just as well because they will go straight in the bin if he does. I won’t be bribed by that Rory corporate piece of scum.

‘Oh yes, the leak, the basin’s blocked. It does this on and off. I need new pipes or new basins one or the other. It’s just there is never enough time or more importantly, never enough money and …’

Jesus, I’m rambling. I wander back into the salon, careful not to slip again. I don’t want to fall arse over tit in front of him do I? I must look a sight. Why is it every time I see him I look like Dot Cotton? I fumble with my hair nervously and lower my eyes to the chocolates and hear myself say,

‘They’re big,’ and could have died from embarrassment. ‘I’m sorry, it’s just I thought the chocolates that Rory’s tried to bribe me with were big’, I add. ‘A bit of an insult to my intelligence really, thinking just because I am a woman I can be bribed with chocolate.’

He looks at the chocolates and then hands them to me.

‘Yes, I nearly forgot. It’s an apology … for the car accident. You said you had a sweet tooth,’ he smiles.

But I thought he said the accident was my fault. Surely I haven’t pulled someone like him? No, that’s impossible. He can’t for one minute fancy me. I’m slightly overweight for a start. Not obese, but certainly overweight compared to the type of model girlfriend he must surely go out with. I’m not in the least glamorous and I’m rubbish with make-up. I always smudge mascara and end up chewing off lipstick in minutes. No, there must be more to this, but what? I feel my mouth water at the thought of the chocolates.

‘Wow, thank you,’ I say, taking the box.

I lift the lid and look inside. Belgian chocolates, ooh my favourites. I’m already thinking of where to stash them.

‘Let me help with the blocked basin,’ he says as he takes off his jacket.

I hand him the wrench.

‘It’s all I’ve got to offer I’m afraid,’ I say apologetically.

He grins mischievously.

‘Oh, I think you’ve got a lot more to offer. I’ll get my toolbox from the car,’ he says.

I feel my face grow hot and I swallow.

‘Right,’ I say. ‘Just give me a shout when you’re back. I need to get my leggings off …’

Oh what am I saying? You see what I mean?
That sounded awful didn’t it? He’ll think I’m anyone’s for a box of chocolates. He looks at me.

‘What I mean is …’

He smiles and turns to the door. I dive into the loo and check my face in the mirror. I look flushed and wild. My hair is sticking up where I ran my hands through it. God, I look like a witch, and the smock makes me look like a mad artist. I pull the smock and leggings off and grab a spare pair. I tidy my top and splash my face with water and look despairingly at my hair before heading back to the salon. He has the pipes off when I reach him.

‘Would you like a coffee or something else?’

Christ, what’s wrong with me, what is the
something else
? He raises his eyebrows and as though reading my mind, says with a smile,

‘What is the something else?’

I come over all hot at the thought.

‘I have some lemonade in the fridge.’

‘That sounds good, and one of those cupcakes would be nice.’

Cheeky bugger, he’s lucky there are any left. I place the cupcake onto a plate.

‘I’ll put them on the counter here,’ I shout over his banging.

‘Great thanks. This is unblocked. Do you have a mop or something?’

I fetch the mop and bucket and hand them to him. He smiles and looks at the lemonade.

‘Looks good,’ he comments.

God, he is good looking.

‘Do you want to try it?’ he asks.

Try what? He’s a bit pushy. He nods to the sink. He’s got my head in a spin.

‘Thank you so much, you’re a good plumber.’

‘Not really,’ he smiles. ‘Anyone can unblock a sink.’

‘What do you do?’

He looks taken aback.

‘I’m a director of a company. It’s a family business.’

‘Sounds grand,’ I say.

‘I heard somewhere that this parade of shops had been sold,’ he says pulling out a chair and sitting down. I feel the hairs on the back of my neck bristle.

‘No, we’re not selling. Everyone else can, but not us. I’m having a rally to show Mr Rory that we won’t be bought. Sodding Rory’s can go and …’

He raises his eyebrows.

‘He wants to buy the salon to build a supermarket would you believe. Well, not while my name is Flora Robson. It’s about time someone stopped these people. There are plenty of supermarkets. We don’t need another one. I’ve started a petition. I can’t believe they tried to bribe me with perfume and chocolates, talk about insulting my intelligence …’