“ ’Magine that Mildred taking over the Auxiliary the way she has. No one would run against her. Get on the wrong side of her, and you’ll know it. A little more fluff on the top, please, Sherri. I do like a little height. Makes me look like I got some hair left up there.” I thought the high-pitched, almost girlish voice must be coming from the lady in the styling chair.
I heard Sherri murmur some encouraging words. Another voice cut in, this one deep and gruff, obviously shouting over the sound of the hair dryer on her head. I had a memory of her in the choir at St. Grimbald’s. Vi something . . . I thought. Father Donald’s introductions, laced with extraneous information, made it difficult to get names straight. “Mildred Barkhouse is meaner than a wet cat. Looks like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth, but acts worse ’n weasel. I’ve known that woman for nearly sixty years, and she’s always been the same. How poor Bev can live with her, I’ll never know. Poor girl can’t do anything right. She’s no life of her own. Everyone knows that the only time she looked like getting away from her mother’s clutches, Mildred scared the poor lad right out of town. Isn’t that right, Etta Fay? And all the life Bev has is three afternoons a week stuck in the basement of the Fire Hall. It’s a sin!”
I realized that they were talking about the librarian, a mousy slip of a woman with a whispery voice and persistent post-nasal drip. Now I had a name to match her face: Beverly Barkhouse.
“How’s that?” I heard Sherri ask, no doubt holding up a mirror for her customer’s approval.
“Just as long as it looks good for the bingo. Bert’s calling the numbers tonight. It’s been a year since his wife died. I figure he’s ripe.”
Ripe? I wondered.
“Bert! Oh, in your dreams, Bertha,” the deep voice snorted. “Even if he whispered sweet nothings in your ear, you wouldn’t understand a word. Ever since he got those new teeth, it’s like he’s talking another language. You can’t hardly understand a thing he says.”
I had a moment of pity for the unwitting Bert. Little did he know what awaited him at tonight’s game.
“And then there’s that damn Casino Night! Mildred acts like it was all her own idea, when we all know that it was Phyllis George who brung it back from when she visited her daughter in Ontario.” The gruff voice subsided as I heard the dryer turn off.
“You’re done Bertha. Vi, hop into the chair.” Sherri’s head popped around the door to my little sanctuary. “I’ll be with you in a moment, dear,” she assured me.
“I don’t think there’s a soul likes the woman,” the one they called Bertha continued.
I could hear the styling chair creak and presumed that Vi was taking her place. “Cyril Pye says she shouldabin drowned at birth, and he’s her uncle. He says he knows fine well she snuck into the house after Grannie Pye died and helped herself to all his mother’s good stuff. It’s a wonder somebody ain’t shoved her off the wharf before this. Why, leave a loaded gun on the table, and someone’s gonna pick it up and shoot Mildred Barkhouse for sure.”
“Vi! What a terrible thing to say.” I noticed a decided lack of conviction in Sherri’s voice.
“Come off it, Sherri!” The gruff voice rose. “Everybody knows Mildred’s got you by the short ’n curlies. Owns everything in here, she does, and don’t she let you know it every chance she gets. Told you you shoulda gone to the bank for the money to start up. Better pay interest to them than owe your soul to a woman like Mildred.”
“Oh, now, Vi. Aunt Mildred’s not that bad. It was good of her to lend me the money, and if she gets a little pushy by times, well, that’s just her way.”
Another genealogical piece fell into place. Mildred was not only the aunt of Kevin, but also of Sherri. I tried to imagine charming Sherri and the irascible Kev as brother and sister, but unless one of them had been switched at birth, it seemed more likely that they were cousins.
“She’ll be at the bingo tonight, up to her old tricks,” continued the harsh voice, now in full spate. “Sitting in Uncle Orville’s lucky seat, and helping herself to Bertha’s bingo candy, and jeering at me when I’m set and then don’t win. And don’t the woman have horseshoes up her bum—she always wins something. It just ain’t fair. And when she cast her eye on Roy last week, I thought he’d die. You could hear him clear across the hall. ‘For the love of God, I’ll never win now that she’s looked at me.’ Everyone knows fine well the Fleets all believe they’ll lose their luck if anyone talks to them or looks at them at the bingo. Just plain mean, Mildred is.”
A third voice, thin and papery, which I could barely hear, cut in. “You know, I’d like to teach that Mildred a lesson. My poor Randy was never the same after she run him off. He was that stuck on Bev. Broke my poor boy’s heart, she did. I hardly even hears from him since he ran off to Alberta. I’m lucky if I gets a card on Mother’s Day. And no grandbabies, either. Says no other woman will satisfy him. Says he never wanted no one but Bev. I’d give anything to show Mildred that her sweet little act don’t fool me none.”
“Like what? Bash her with your bingo bag, Etta Fay? Poke her with your knitting needles?” Vi snorted as she laughed at her own joke.
“Well, there’s more than one way to deal with someone like Mildred Barkhouse. What goes around comes around. You just have to know how.” I heard a malicious tone in the voice that caused a shiver to run over me. She sounded like someone I wouldn’t want to meet in a dark alley.
“How’s that look, Vi?” Sherri asked.
“Well, it’s no better than a Brillo pad, I suppose, but that’s not your fault, dear. The Hubleys always was a hairy bunch, but at least my hair don’t need no teasing.” I heard the chair creak again, followed by a flurry of goodbyes and the final slam of the screen door.
An hour later, I, too, left, well satisfied with Sherri’s ministrations. Boris had been right; Sherri could hold her own with any of the stylists at Quentin’s.
Later, as I sat on my patio well fortified with bug spray, a glass of sherry and a warm sweater, with Twinkles ensconced on my knee, I realized that the day had passed without my having written one word. However, I had an excuse. It had been a busy, if not fraught, day. First Kevin and Clarence, then the ladies at the salon. So many new faces. So much to think about.
I glanced at the shed, noting a large new padlock in place on the door. Strange for the Jollimores to be so protective of such an odd pile of belongings. I wondered about the progress of their redecorating project. Where had they stored the rest of the furniture? Something about the incident made me uneasy. I shook off the momentary discomfort and sipped my drink.
Twinkles stood up, stretched, turned around and settled back on my lap. I stroked her soft fur, but it didn’t help. The many events of the day prevented my being lulled by the soothing qualities of my feline companion. I gave up and went inside to make myself a little dinner.
Five
The following day, an unexpected visitor again disturbed my writing time. I must admit that my heart sank when I saw Father Donald’s little blue Toyota pull into the driveway. He had visited several times in the past few weeks, so I had come to know that regardless of the reason for his visit, it would last at least an hour. I resigned myself to setting aside my work in order to play host. Without Dorothy along with him to curb his intake, I could offer him some sustenance of the sweet variety, having laid in a few packages of the puffy chocolate and marshmallow concoctions that he loved.
In the past weeks, I had come to know him quite well. Aside from his proclivity for long-winded explanations and circumlocutions, his boundless enthusiasm for all things, both secular and spiritual, and his boyish good humour made him a popular figure in the community. Shut-ins, who looked forward to his visits, always welcomed him, knowing he was a bottomless well of local news. His bedside manner, although unconventional, seemed to have an uplifting effect on the spirits of those