.
‘Hallo, Marie!’ the new customer boomed, gripping the arms of the chair adjacent, her own tanned, flaking ones wobbling as she lowered herself to a sitting position.
Marie’s heart rose. She spoke to Pat Hammet’s reflection. ‘I didn’t know you came here, Pat.’
‘I don’t really. Only when my daughter forces me to. No offence Edwina. The problem is me. I couldn’t care less.’
Edwina laughed. Pat’s hair was still long and her face had become copiously lined but she seemed to be several inches shorter. Colette, Edwina’s apprentice, removed something from
the crown of Pat’s head, and a section of hair gently released. Marie remained bowed to her magazine, lifting her eyes occasionally to this ritual; Pat proud and vulnerable as she came
undone, her face diminished in the mass of hair that seemed, in its free state, not to be her own.
‘How is Sirius Cove?’ Pat asked her.
‘She’s selling,’ said Edwina. ‘Aren’t you, Marie?’
‘You’re not,’ said Pat.
‘Yes, I’m afraid I am.’
‘Dear old Sirius. How I miss it.’
‘It’s too much on your own,’ said Edwina. ‘Those big houses. Did you know the Braithwaites’ went for eight million?’
‘Really?’ said Marie.
‘Oh dear,’ said Pat again. ‘You’re the last one standing, Marie.’
‘It sounds like a war. The last who ...’
‘Who really loves the place. It is a war. Who’s your agent?’
‘I’m not sure yet. Who did you use?’
‘Coustas and Stevens. Absolute sharks. You must come and visit me in my poky little flat near the oval.’
‘I keep meaning to ring you about weeding parties in the National Park but I never seem to find the time.’
‘I’m not getting out as much. I’m too arthritic.’
‘Oh nonsense, Pat,’ said Edwina, wrapping Marie’s head in plastic.
‘I am so.’ Pat stared firmly back at her. She turned to Marie. ‘Where are you moving to?’
‘I don’t know. I’ve been in Surry Hills and Redfern recently. I like it there.’
‘Really?’ said Edwina.
Pat cocked her head and said robustly, ‘I suppose you’re young enough to handle it.’
Edwina said to Colette, ‘I can take over now.’
Pat went docile while Edwina ran the comb through her hair. Marie turned the page of her magazine to find one of Blanche’s advertisements: a tilled field with a row of jocular
judges’ heads planted like potatoes, in the background a farmer wielding a spade. The sky was bulbous with stormclouds. She didn’t know what the ad was for but she loved the image, and
felt a surge of pride. ‘I’d still visit,’ she said to Pat. ‘My daughter’s in Lavender Bay. Maybe it would take a move across the bridge to get me back to
weeding.’
‘You know, you can find information about them on the net.’
‘Are you online, Pat?’ said Edwina, in an impressed, avuncular tone.
‘I’ve been online for years,’ Pat snapped.
‘I’ll look it up,’ said Marie.
‘I’m addicted to email. I have a MacBook.’
‘My son does everything for me on mine. The one good thing about computers,’ said Edwina, ‘is that then they’re not at all interested in television.’
‘What,’ said Pat. ‘The computers or the sons?’
Edwina emitted a tinkle of laughter. ‘I mean as soon as I have a problem, Owen fixes it, and he’s only nine! He was writing music on his computer from the age of three. It’s
amazing. There we go, Pat. I’ll just wrap this up so it sets better.’
Pat watched Edwina walk over to someone on the other side of the room who had slivers of silver foil stuck at odd angles all over her head. ‘Oh, I’m dreadful,’ she moaned.
‘She really does mean well. Honestly, Marie. Just give me a good kick, will you?’
They sat there for a while in companionable silence. Edwina could be seen in the mirror, plucking foil from the woman’s head like petals from a flower. Marie had been coming to this salon
for fifteen years and all of them — Dr Cayley, Edwina,
‘Hallo, Marie!’ the new customer boomed, gripping the arms of the chair adjacent, her own tanned, flaking ones wobbling as she lowered herself to a sitting position.
Marie’s heart rose. She spoke to Pat Hammet’s reflection. ‘I didn’t know you came here, Pat.’
‘I don’t really. Only when my daughter forces me to. No offence Edwina. The problem is me. I couldn’t care less.’
Edwina laughed. Pat’s hair was still long and her face had become copiously lined but she seemed to be several inches shorter. Colette, Edwina’s apprentice, removed something from
the crown of Pat’s head, and a section of hair gently released. Marie remained bowed to her magazine, lifting her eyes occasionally to this ritual; Pat proud and vulnerable as she came
undone, her face diminished in the mass of hair that seemed, in its free state, not to be her own.
‘How is Sirius Cove?’ Pat asked her.
‘She’s selling,’ said Edwina. ‘Aren’t you, Marie?’
‘You’re not,’ said Pat.
‘Yes, I’m afraid I am.’
‘Dear old Sirius. How I miss it.’
‘It’s too much on your own,’ said Edwina. ‘Those big houses. Did you know the Braithwaites’ went for eight million?’
‘Really?’ said Marie.
‘Oh dear,’ said Pat again. ‘You’re the last one standing, Marie.’
‘It sounds like a war. The last who ...’
‘Who really loves the place. It is a war. Who’s your agent?’
‘I’m not sure yet. Who did you use?’
‘Coustas and Stevens. Absolute sharks. You must come and visit me in my poky little flat near the oval.’
‘I keep meaning to ring you about weeding parties in the National Park but I never seem to find the time.’
‘I’m not getting out as much. I’m too arthritic.’
‘Oh nonsense, Pat,’ said Edwina, wrapping Marie’s head in plastic.
‘I am so.’ Pat stared firmly back at her. She turned to Marie. ‘Where are you moving to?’
‘I don’t know. I’ve been in Surry Hills and Redfern recently. I like it there.’
‘Really?’ said Edwina.
Pat cocked her head and said robustly, ‘I suppose you’re young enough to handle it.’
Edwina said to Colette, ‘I can take over now.’
Pat went docile while Edwina ran the comb through her hair. Marie turned the page of her magazine to find one of Blanche’s advertisements: a tilled field with a row of jocular
judges’ heads planted like potatoes, in the background a farmer wielding a spade. The sky was bulbous with stormclouds. She didn’t know what the ad was for but she loved the image, and
felt a surge of pride. ‘I’d still visit,’ she said to Pat. ‘My daughter’s in Lavender Bay. Maybe it would take a move across the bridge to get me back to
weeding.’
‘You know, you can find information about them on the net.’
‘Are you online, Pat?’ said Edwina, in an impressed, avuncular tone.
‘I’ve been online for years,’ Pat snapped.
‘I’ll look it up,’ said Marie.
‘I’m addicted to email. I have a MacBook.’
‘My son does everything for me on mine. The one good thing about computers,’ said Edwina, ‘is that then they’re not at all interested in television.’
‘What,’ said Pat. ‘The computers or the sons?’
Edwina emitted a tinkle of laughter. ‘I mean as soon as I have a problem, Owen fixes it, and he’s only nine! He was writing music on his computer from the age of three. It’s
amazing. There we go, Pat. I’ll just wrap this up so it sets better.’
Pat watched Edwina walk over to someone on the other side of the room who had slivers of silver foil stuck at odd angles all over her head. ‘Oh, I’m dreadful,’ she moaned.
‘She really does mean well. Honestly, Marie. Just give me a good kick, will you?’
They sat there for a while in companionable silence. Edwina could be seen in the mirror, plucking foil from the woman’s head like petals from a flower. Marie had been coming to this salon
for fifteen years and all of them — Dr Cayley, Edwina,
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