Byker Books

 

 

 

“It’s just not fair. Someone ought to do something about it.”

 

Joan looked at her daughter’s woebegone expression and wished that she could do something to help. She stirred her cappuccino and looked around at the busy lunch time crowd in the coffee bar.

 

“I’ve saved for a whole year now,” Sharon moaned, “and just when I thought I’d got enough for a deposit we’ve got a credit crunch. That’s just my luck isn’t it?”

Joan really wished they hadn’t got on to the topic of money.

 

“And,” Sharon went on barely pausing for breath, “I really liked those flats off Cambridge Road. They were eco friendly and everything. I can’t put up sharing with Sarah and Jo for much longer.”

 

Sharon’s pretty mouth turned down at the corners and the crease between her eyebrows deepened.

Joan took a sip of her coffee and said reflectively,

 

“Your father and I saved for five years ..”

“Yeah, yeah,” Sharon interrupted sharply “but that was then. I wish I’d got on the housing ladder last year. Everything was easier then.”

 

She gave a mournful sigh.

“Perhaps you could go for a promotion at work. The extra money ....”

 

“Hmmph,” Sharon was dismissive. “I like the office I’m in now. If I was a supervisor, I’d have to move ...”

“But in the same building,” Joan said quickly.

 

“Yeah, but it wouldn’t be the same. And you have to do exams and stuff. Who wants to go on courses?” She groaned theatrically

“But if it means more money,” Joan pressed.

 

“Not worth it,” Sharon said with finality. I mean I’ve got to have a LIFE!” she swung out her arms expansively almost knocking her cup over.

“Oh look at the time,” Joan glanced down at her watch, “You’re going to be late getting back to work and I’m going to be late for the hairdressers.”

 

“Not still going to that rubbish place off the high street, are you Mum?” Sharon asked in exaggerated horror

“It’ not a bad place Sharon and it’s cheap. It’s the sort of place you ought to go for instead of spending half your salary in Roxanna’s.”

 

Sharon gave her ‘a look’.

The outside of Barbara’s certainly wasn’t impressive. The paintwork was peeling and the large front window was running with condensation allowing glimpses of neglected potted plants and elderly clientele drowsing beneath hairdryers.

 

“Good morning Mrs Carter. How are you today?” one of the stylists called over to her brightly. “Hang your coat up love and take a wrap. Sit yourself here. Hasn’t the weather been awful? Going away for the summer, are you?”

Joan smiled realising the automatic conversation didn’t need a reply from her.

 

“Smiley’s doing you today love,” the bright stylist continued.

Joan was a little afraid of Smiley who was fierce and from Lithuania. Smiley’s broad high cheek-boned face suddenly appeared in the mirror above her own. Their eyes met.

 

“How you want me to cut your hair today?” Smiley asked with her machine gun delivery.

“Er, you know, the usual. Not too much off. Just tidy it really.”

 

“You not having shampoo. Shampoo is better for cutting.”

“No just a trim. You know, like you usually do,” Joan said hopefully, smiling encouragingly.

Smiley picked up a plastic bottle and thoroughly sprayed Joan’s head with cold water.

“There,” Smiley smiled triumphantly, “that is better.”

 

She combed Joan’s hair briskly, lifted a section and boldly cut almost two inches off the length. Joan quailed but didn’t say anything. Anyway it was too late now.

“The other Lithuanian girl and me are the best in our English class,”

 

Joan remembered Smiley’s propensity for starting a conversation in the middle..

“That’s good,” she said quietly anxious not to provoke her.

 

“She is young. I am old,”

“Oh no,” Joan murmured.

 

“Yes, old,” Smiley reaffirmed, “but I come to England and take my good chances. I must have qualifications and now I am at college and it is wonderful.”

There was a pause while Joan watched pieces of her hair tumble to the floor.

 

“There is a Ukrainian girl in our class,” Smiley confided with a hardening edge to her voice. “Huh!” she snorted. “All she wants is getting money for babies. She is a cleaner. I ask her what sort of a job is that? But Ukrainians are aggressive, you know. Like Russians. Mothers feed aggression with breast milk. They like guns you know. I tell her get a better job. You don’t come here to be a cleaner. You young, you can do things.”

“Mmmm,” said Joan, hoping she sounded sympathetic and worrying about her hair.

 

“Me, I got two jobs,” Smiley said proudly. “I work with the old people five days and I am a hairdresser two days. I don’t need rest. I make a better life. Send money to my family in Lithuania. It’s good. Yes!”

“Oh yes,” Joan agreed secretly marvelling at Smiley’s energy.

 

“Then when that Ukrainian girl says to me, it isn’t good here we ought to get more money, I say no more of your bleah, bleah, bleah. These people they all the same. They do nothing, they want be given everything and they bleah, bleah, bleah. Always stupid people who go bleah, bleah, bleah.”

She suddenly whipped away Joan’s wrap.

“You look at the back.”

 

Smiley wildly brandished at mirror so that Joan could see her reflection.

Actually, Joan thought, it was a very good cut.

 

That evening Sharon phoned her.

“Mum,” her daughter wailed down the phone, “we’ve just heard that the rent’s going up. They can’t do that can they? It’s not fair. Oh and Mum, there’s a really good concert coming up and I’ve got to be there. Can you lend me some money? Everyone from work’s going. I can’t be the only one missing it. Yeah, I know I still owe you from last month....”

 

From Sharon’s mobile she heard something that sounded like

“Bleah, bleah, bleah”