Page 5

R ose woke early and showered in the avocado bath, the radio playing through her phone which was propped on the avocado toilet.

She dressed: jeans, faded top, shapeless cardigan.

Simon was sleeping peacefully now, human.

His strong back was smooth again. Rose didn’t think she would ever get used to having to deal with her brother naked.

She unfastened the cage so that he could get out when he woke.

They would put the fake wardrobe doors round it together later.

She put a blanket over him and left him to wake up on his own.

It was a lovely morning, crisp and hopeful. The events of the previous day seemed like a dream but when she looked for the clothes she’d lent to Sky they were gone and her cello was on its side in the sitting room.

Rose took her cup of tea and went to do her hair.

It had been a very, very long time since she had actually looked at herself fully in a mirror.

Today, instead simply making sure her parting was straight and her hair smooth enough to pull back into a knot, she looked into her own eyes and around them, at the little lines and softness, the darkness under them.

She looked at the whole of herself, dreary, long hair hanging limply over her shoulders.

Her mouth set. She could pass for that Hester woman if she really tried.

Enough. Rose got up and whispered round Simon’s door, left him a note in the kitchen and went out. She hoped he’d have long woken before she got back. She detested his breakfast habits after the forty-eight hour fast. It generally involved raw steak.

The road to town wound through five miles of sparsely populated countryside with the river running alongside for a while before veering towards the loch.

Kirkglen felt languorous, as if its buildings were stretching into the sun.

All was quietly cheerful. Rose parked, found a hairdresser’s and peered in as surreptitiously as she could.

If it was too old-fashioned, she might find somewhere else .

It appeared modern, simple and light. Entering, Rose found three customers at various stages of treatment, one waiting for her hair to colour, another for hers to set, a third having a trim.

‘Morning,’ said the woman behind the counter. ‘How can I help?’

‘Hi,’ said Rose, conscious that every ear was primed in her direction, ‘I haven’t got an appointment. I don’t suppose you could cut my hair sometime this morning?’

‘Of course we can,’ said the woman. ‘Mary and Joan have got another half an hour of cooking to do, haven’t you ladies?’ she nodded at the two waiting customers. ‘And Ann’s nearly done. Let’s sit you down and see what you’d like.’

Rose hadn’t any idea. She had lost track of any trends and no longer cared enough about her own appearance.

‘You’re the one who’s just moved in aren’t you?’ the hairdresser said.

‘Yes that’s me,’ answered Rose, bracing herself for the next set of questions. A ren’t you the one with the famous brother? What’s it like to have a famous brother? Isn’t he handsome? When’s his next programme coming out? Why do you share a house with him at your age?

The hairdresser continued, ‘I’m Lena. I’m sorry, I’m not sure I know your name.’

‘Rose.’

‘Your hair’s a lovely colour,’ said Lena, as Rose loosened it.

For the second time in who knows how long, she looked at herself properly.

Her hair was dark brown, wavy and exposing a high forehead.

Her eyes behind thick eyelashes and above dark circles were hazel.

Her eyebrows needed taming. Her ears, as Lena lifted the hair to brush it, had not worn earrings for so long, it was possible the holes had sealed up.

‘Can you make it more flattering? And maybe I could get it coloured. What about red?’

‘Red?’ queried Lena, frowning. ‘What sort of red?’

‘Proper red. Scarlet.’

Reflected in the mirror behind Lena, Rose noticed Mary and Joan flicking glances between her and Lena, their faces expressionless. She realised that Lena was watching the ladies watching her. She could feel her hair being pulled by tension in Lena’s hands.

‘I’m not sure…’ Lena started. ‘It would need bleaching first and anyway, I don’t think I have that tint in at the moment…’

Rose looked at herself and tried to imagine herself with scarlet hair. She suspected it would have a personality of its own that she would be unable to live up to. She sighed.

‘I was only joking,’ she offered, ‘but maybe something to brighten it up a bit.’ Lena dropped her hair and reached round for some magazines.

‘Tell you what,’ she said. ‘Are you in any rush?’

‘No. Not at all.’

‘OK, then have a look through these for some ideas and I’ll get you a cup of tea.’

‘So,’ said Lena as she finished styling Rose’s hair, ‘what made you move here anyway? You’re from the city aren’t you? That must be exciting. I’ve never lived anywhere but here.’

‘We’re from the countryside too, but yes we ended up in the city because of Simon’s work. I somehow ended up being his P.A. I’ve been looking after him since we were kids.’

Shut up shut up , she thought.

‘Och brothers eh. He’s on the telly isn’t he? Animals and wildlife and stuff? Not really my sort of thing. But I bet he’s hard work. My brother’s full of himself and the most famous he’s got is playing fiddle in a band. Dread to think what he’d be like if he was on telly. You the oldest then?’

‘No. But somehow….’

‘Och I know how it is. Brothers. So why here? Oh hang on, wasn’t there that thing in the paper?

’ Lena stopped mid brush stroke. ‘Och I remember now. I’m sorry.

I’m so sorry. About your husband I mean.

And I guess it hit your brother hard. Being there and everything.

PTSD, that sort of thing. I’m sorry, I should have kept my mouth shut. ’

‘No, no really, don’t worry, I mean thanks. We just decided it would be good to be somewhere quiet for a bit.’

‘I’m sorry. I really am. Emmeline did say but I wasn’t paying attention.’

‘Who’s Emmeline?’ asked Rose.

‘Emmeline? She’s the chair of the Ladies’ Guild. I’m surprised she hasn’t been round to get you to join.’

‘Oh Mrs McPherson?’

‘That’s her. Older lady. Quite eh…’

‘Determined?’ Rose could think of a few other adjectives but she’d grown up in a small town. For all she knew Emmeline McPherson was Lena’s mother or some other relation.

‘Aye.’ Lena replied, sipping her tea. Something in her face was closed down.

‘Those other ladies, Joan and Mary… They looked a bit … worried about me having scarlet hair,’ Rose offered. ‘Are the older ladies quite strict round here?’

‘It’s not just the older ones. Some people have quite strict ideas about keeping things mellow. They don’t like change to come too fast. They want us all to be traditional. Whatever that means. It’s all made up isn’t it? Tradition. No one really knows what anyone used to do.’

‘Where would I go to find out about groups and clubs?’ she interrupted Lena’s concentration.

‘Library, I suppose,’ said Lena. ‘It’s down the road a bit, just past the chemist.’

‘Thanks. Do you belong to anything? The Guild for example.’

Lena bent forward to concentrate on the back of Rose’s head. ‘Och the Guild, you know, it’s not really my thing. And anyway, after a day on my feet, chatting all day, I feel like a bit of me time, you know. Not listening to talks and doing crafts and getting new housework tips and so on.’

‘Is that what they do?’

‘Uh-huh. I go to the slimming club. I’ve lost three stone.

There’s a film club if you like stuff with subtitles.

If you want to see the blockbusters, you’ll be best going elsewhere or waiting till you can stream it.

’ Lena snorted. ‘If the internet doesn’t cut out that is.

’ She pulled at the hair on either side of Rose’s face to make sure it was even.

‘Is it really glamorous mixing with all those telly people? I bet you miss them.’

Rose thought of the hours spent doing her hair and face; the agonising over the dress and shoes when no one ever really spoke to her.

‘Not really. It was all a bit Simon-centric. I could do with something for myself really.’

‘Go and ask Sam at the library, she’ll sort you out. Here - what do you think?’

Rose’s hair was still long but lighter. It fell in smooth waves around her shoulder, the darkness of the brown highlighted with the essence of autumn.

Beneath it and behind it, her face was still curved and blotchy and her eyes and mouth emotionless.

Her top was drab. I need to live up to this hair, she thought.

‘Thank you,’ she said ‘that’s really lovely.’

Outside in the street, the day was underway.

It was still hardly frenetic but it was busy enough.

Certainly not the ghost town that everyone warned about.

There were the usual posses of pushchair racing mothers, cutting up the slow older people; there were a few women in running gear and a couple of cyclists; a queue of people waited for the bus, chatting or staring at phones.

Really they were the same set of people as in the city, just in miniature.

The same uniforms even, from the middle class floral hippie chic to the older ladies in sensible shoes.

In the windows of the café, she could see the same sort of people chatting and drinking; the same lone business man sitting over his coffee, reading the paper and watching the world even though he was doubtless claiming expenses for working remotely.

Rose walked along discovering Kirkglen’s geography.

There had not been time on their arrival.

They had driven up with Andrew, eaten a good dinner at the hotel, then taken possession of the bungalow.

There had only just been a week in which to erect the cage and ensure they had all their supplies ready before full-moon.

She bought some cosmetics in the chemist, and chose a cherry red top from a small boutique. In the changing room, she made herself up properly for the first time in a year, replaced her tired old tee-shirt with the top and put her cardigan in the bag. It was nice to feel properly feminine.

The library, when she found it, was bright and cheerful.

A few of the pushchair chariot mothers were in there sitting on squashy beanbags while toddlers read them sticky books.

Behind a glass screen, a few people were online, and in a side-room another group of women were getting animated over something.

Sam turned out to be woman about Rose’s age and as it was fairly quiet, made her a cup of tea and sat down with a folder to go through all the various activities available.

There was no mention of the Guild. But there was a running group, a film society, keep fit, yoga, a camera club and there were two book clubs, one of which was meeting in the library today because they were all going out for lunch later.

‘Which book club are you in?’ asked Rose.

‘Neither.’ Sam answered. Rose, looking round at the women in the side-room. It was hard to imagine anyone getting a word in edgeways with the one who was in full flow at the moment.

‘What are they discussing?’

‘No idea. They have eclectic taste. They’re all Guild members too. So are they ,’ she nodded at the young mothers.

‘Do you belong to anything?’

‘No. I…’ Sam paused, then closed her mouth.

‘What’s the Guild like? Someone called Emmeline McPherson came round to ask my brother to give a talk and suggested I’d like to join’

‘Did she introduce herself as Emmeline?’ Sam’s eyebrows raised.

‘Well no, she introduced herself as Mrs McPherson. She somehow made me feel as if… I’m sorry, she’s not some sort of relation is she? Lena told me her name. ’

‘Relation?’ Sam looked appalled, then dropped her voice. ‘No I’m an incomer. In Emmeline’s eyes, if you haven’t got ten generations of ancestors in the churchyard, you’re fundamentally an alien species. She’s not keen on familiarity.’

‘Presumably she’s familiar with Mr McPherson.’

‘What a thought.’ Sam rose from the chair and took Rose’s empty cup.

‘Och well, tell you what, are you free on Friday? I could meet you for coffee and show you round? It’s a bit daunting moving into a small community.

Here’s my phone number. Up to you.’ She looked beyond Rose, ‘Oh hello, Hester. How are you? Haven’t seen you in here for a while, how can I help you. ’

Rose turned and found Hester directly behind her so close that they could have kissed.

If anything, she looked drabber than the night before, her hair lank and her beige clothes limp.

Rose stood up straighter and smiled brightly.

She wanted to imagine that Hester was looking at her and thinking if only I could look as good as that but Hester simply blinked at her and stood like a tree in a field, her feet planted firmly apart and her toes pointing out.

Her eyes scanned Rose from crown to feet and back to her face and she lifted her nose as if she was sniffing again.

Rose, no longer feeling glamorous and sexy but overdressed and tarty, walked round her and out of the library. She was unsure whether she would feel better or worse that if she turned, she would find Hester was following her progress or ignoring her.