“Do you want me to finish your hair before you go?”
“Course . . . I mean, yes please! Don’t wanna go out looking like a reject from Pirates of the Caribbean.”
“Okay. Get your shower and I’ll be ready for you.”
I washed up the frying pan, plate, and glass, and dried them too. I stacked everything back in the cupboards as Colleen watched me. “Thank you, Naomi,” she said.
* * *
The local TV news was just finishing its lunchtime shift. Another gangland murking in Crongton. Some fifteen-year-old bruv nicknamed Joe Grine was found punctured in the Crongton stream near Gulley Wood. Monkey on a nail bed, Ashburton is toxic but wouldn’t like to live in Crongton with all that warring going on.
I grabbed the TV remote control and surfed the music channels. Too many commercials. The doorbell rang. Colleen went to answer it.
I heard Louise from the hallway. I thumbed the volume down and pricked up my ears so I could tune in to their convo. “Sorry I’m a bit late,” Louise said. “I had a bit of paperwork to catch up with. Everything all right? Any problems?”
I couldn’t help but bust a giggle. I covered my mouth.
“Er, yes,” Colleen admitted. “We had a bit of an issue about Naomi’s choice of DVDs. She invited Pablo and Sharyna to watch one with her.”
My Mad Killer Driller DVD wasn’t getting much love.
“Oh,” Louise replied. “I should’ve confiscated them from her. Unfortunately, her friends seem to have a liking for them.”
“She got a bit upset when Tony took it away,” said Colleen. “She went off to our room and took a load of our DVDs, but she gave them back this morning and apologized. So it’s all been sorted.”
“Good,” said Louise.
“Coffee?” offered Colleen.
“That’ll be great. Where is she?”
Monkey on bubbles. They’re so fricking polite it’s a wonder they don’t wipe each other’s asses.
“In the front room,” Colleen said.
I switched off the TV, bounced in front of Louise in the hallway, and hot-toed to the kitchen. I clicked on the kettle. “Coffee, Louise?”
Louise didn’t answer. She also forgot to sit down. Instead, she stood very still, hands on hips, and scoped my hair.
“What’s your ratings?” I asked, twirling my thumb and forefinger around a braid.
“It’s . . . nice, Naomi.”
“Colleen did it for me. It diversifies my shoulders neatly.”
“Yes . . . it’s definitely different,” said Louise. She finally parked her butt.
“Biscuits?” offered Colleen.
“Not today,” said Louise. She studied my plaits like Tarzan was swinging through them. “I don’t want to spoil my lunch.”
“TGIs?” I suggested.
I might as well try it, she can only say no.
“Let’s not go there again,” replied Louise. “Too expensive.”
The Duchess of Cheapo strikes again. I’m gonna give her a Duchess of Cheapo hat when it’s her birthday.
“Kim’s social worker took her there.”
“I’m not Kim’s social worker.”
“No, you’re not!” I raised my voice. “She’s not a tight-arse. Her purse gets to come up for air now and again.”
“Hmmm?” said Louise. “I’m not generous?”
“If you were, we’d be scorching rubber to TGIs.”
Dunno what Colleen thinks about our banter. She’s standing there with her arms folded. But hey-de-ho, that’s how Louise and me chit the chat.
“There’s no satisfying you, is there?” Louise went on.
“There would be if you took me to TGIs,” I giggled.
I made Louise her coffee. One sugar and not too much milk. She took a sip and glanced at my hair again. I didn’t think she wanted it to be my passport pic.
“So where’re you taking me then?” I wanted to know. She took a custard cream before giving me an answer.
“Monk’s Orchard.”
“Monk’s Orchard? What you taking me there for? It’s full of foreign nannies, cats with glammed-up collars, and little old ladies with little skinny dogs.”
“There’s a lovely café there,” Louise said. “Friar’s Tuck.”
I pulled a face. “Friar’s Tuck? I’m not having my lunch in a church canteen. Those church bruvs are the numero uno of prick fiddlers. The reason why they wear those long baggy black garms is to hide their erect—”
“Swearing, Naomi,” Colleen blocked my flow.
“Sorry,” I said.
“It’s not in the church, Naomi,” Louise said. “It’s just off High Street. They do nice desserts too.”
I thought about it. Louise snatched another look at my braids. “All right,” I agreed. “But if any of those little graybacks give me a dirty look then don’t blame me if I boot away their walking sticks and make a salami outta their skinny hounds.”
I swear I heard Colleen giggle, but when I looked at her she’d straightened up her face.
“I’m sure they won’t say anything,” said Louise.
* * *
An hour later, we pulled up on a quiet street in Monk’s Orchard and headed for Friar’s Tuck. A fat brown cat lazying on a windowsill scoped me. It was a small café with only eight tables. It was mostly filled by graybacks sinking teas, nibbling cakes, and filling in crosswords. We took our seats by the window and I picked up a menu. I looked at it for five minutes. “I’ll have the chicken and mushroom pie, mushy peas, chips, and an extra-large Coke.”
Louise took her jacket off, placed it on the chair beside her, and studied my hair again. “Whose idea was the new hairstyle?” she wanted to know. “Was it yours?”
“Yeah, Colleen finished it this morning.”
“So neither she nor Tony suggested it?”
“No, it was my idea. Different, innit? Kim’s gonna die with jealousy. She’s always wanted to have her hair done like black chicks. Nats is lucky, she’s black and she can do her own hair. Once, me and Kim skipped school and went to one of those hair salons in Ashburton. You know, the ones where the hairdressers rent a seat for the day. We wanted to get plaits then but Kim pussied out on going inside. I would’ve breezed in though.”
“It looks good on black girls but . . .”
“But what? Doesn’t it look sweet on me? Sharyna loved it to the max. And Pablo. Aren’t you gonna order?”
“Er, yes, but you shouldn’t lose your identity, Naomi.”
“Identity? Didn’t know I had one. What’s my identity then?”
Louise fidgeted in her seat. “Well, er,” she stuttered. “The point is, Naomi,