Time for another totally random snippet of a work in progress – because there always in a work in progress even if the progress is sometimes veerrrryyy veeerrrryyy sloooooow.
Here’s a bit – rough as a badger’s – of Close Shave, book 2 of the Pemberland series, in which barber Terry plies his trade:
Market day in Pemberland was always a crush. The market hall, echoing abode of pigeons on most days, was cleared out and stalls set up. Cars lined the streets, many of them genuine off road jobs with mud to the hubcaps and dog hair, binder twine and sheep shit on the back seats. If the farmers, their kids and spouses only came to town once a week they had a lot to fit in and hair-cuts were popular.
Typical of bloody Kevin, Terry thought. Why did he have to pick now to play the family card.
Not that Kevin was family – not any more. Julie had fled their grim little flat in Pemberland and had returned to the family home with her kids and just what they had stood up in. Terry and his Dad had to go to the flat to collect her clothes and the kids’ things and Rob had come along to, as he put it, provide some muscle. The state the place had got into, just in the week since Julie had left it, had been shocking. Kevin just didn’t seem to be able to see that being a layabout might hurt his family but the final straw for Julie was when he’d forgotten, again, to pick them up from school and their six year old twins had been found trying to walk home in the rain. Terry could have killed Kevin for that alone, but Julie had admitted that was the least of it.
“I don’t mind working,” she said, “and I don’t mind being the responsible one, but he drinks every penny and his friends – oh dear lord, his friends make me sick and that Wiggy… He’s just not normal and Kevin thinks the sun shines out of his arse. I don’t think Kev’s normal either, not when he’s on the cider.”
“Like father like son,” Dad said. “Though I guess you wouldn’t have had this trouble with Rob.”
Terry thought wistfully of Kevin’s brother who had led the tweedy little museum curator astray and seemed to have moved into in the flat upstairs. Not that Terry and Rob had ever… Not really each other’s type. And not that Mal was little – everyone seemed a bit on the small side to Terry – but their blissful domesticity sounded so nice.
He made one last sweep of the razor across Gary’s gleaming scalp and wiped the blade with a towel.
“You’re done,” he said. “If you could settle up with Lil on the way out?”
They all drew back as Gary called Morris and the mountain of fur got up and padded after him to the door. “Rugby practice Monday?” Gary asked.
“Usual time, usual place,” Terry said. “Next.”
“That’d be me.” Kevin began to get up.
“No it wouldn’t.” The heavy set farmer next to him nodded to the other room. “It’s that young bloke in there, then me, then Alwyn, THEN you.”
Terry, who knew exactly who was where in the queue but had been giving Kevin a chance to do the decent thing, leaned into the doorway of the ladies’ salon. “Mal, your turn.”
Mal was perched on a stool by Lydia Garth and seemed to be showing her photos on his phone. He grinned at Terry, murmured to Lydia, making her laugh again then got up and hurried in.
“Lydia’s going to London to see Kinky Boots,” he said as he got into the chair. “Lucky lady. She’s offered me a lift to Hereford.”
“Meeting at County Hall again?” Alwyn Derry looked up from his copy of the Chronicle. “What’s it about this time?”
“Budget cuts, as usual.”
“What do we need a museum for anyway?” Kevin muttered, levelling a poisonous look at Mal. “It’s shameful the way they’re wasting our tax money and cutting benefits to people who need ’em.”
“Since when did you need them?” Alwyn turned a page in the paper. “When I was in Rowbottom’s he said he’d given you a job clearin’ out those old garages.”
“Yeah? So? That’s why my back’s bad now, isn’t it?” Kevin rolled his eyes then went back to glaring at Mal. Terry caught his eye in the mirror and Kevin flushed and turned away.
“Now Mal,” Terry ran his fingers through the fine brown hair still holding its shape well from the last cut but a little shaggy around the ears. “Just a trim is it or do you have something more ambitious in mind.”
“Oh God no, just a trim please.” Mal grimaced. “Got to look smart and professional if I’m going to beg, haven’t I?”
Terry snipped away at the fine brown strands until he felt Mal passed muster – smart but not too traditional – then rubbed some product into the hair and combed it into a rather racier shape than, he knew, Mal could be bothered to achieve on his own.
“There,” he said. “Knock ’em dead.”
“I’ll try.” Mal grinned his thanks as he got out of the chair. “I’ll go keep Lydia company, she must be almost done.”
“Cool, and can you send Adrian in to sweep up?” Terry waved him out of the way. “Next.”
Lovely to see them all again.
😀 thank you.