Laceys of Liverpool by Maureen Lee Page A

forty as if they had one foot in the grave. She would help women down to the lavatory in the yard, wait for them outside and help them back again. Even when asked by one woman, admittedly elderly, but resentful at being fussed over, if she was waiting to wipe her arse, it hadn’t prevented Fionnuala from assuming that most of her mother’s customers were helpless invalids. Still, Alice thought, her heart was in the right place.
    Alice went over to a chair facing the mirror and laidher hands on Mrs Evans’s shoulders. ‘What is it you want, luv? Explain to me again.’
    ‘Frosting. Just the tips of me hair bleached. I would have thought you’d have heard of frosting, Mrs Lacey,’ the woman said sniffily, ‘you being a hairdresser, like.’
    ‘Of course I’ve heard of frosting. I get
Vogue
every month to keep up with the latest styles and products, don’t I? I just wasn’t sure if you knew what it was.’ Bleached ends wouldn’t suit someone as dark as Edna Evans. But then, the customer was always right and if she wanted to end up looking dead stupid it was up to her.
    ‘I wouldn’t have asked for it if I didn’t know what it was.’
    ‘Just making sure, luv,’ Alice said serenely. Some customers could be really difficult.
    ‘You’re obviously very busy,’ Edna Evans said grudgingly.
    ‘I’ve had to turn customers away. We’ve been booked solid for weeks, but then Christmas Eve is always busy. Patsy’s only helping today as a special favour.’
    The door opened, the bell chimed sweetly and Bernadette Moynihan came in. ‘Oh, it’s like a little oasis in here,’ she sang. ‘It’s dead gloomy outside. The lights in the window look the gear, Al. Lovely and bright.’
    ‘They actually spell “Lacey’s”. It took me ages to do. Patsy,’ she called, ‘would you comb out Mrs Curran, then put a gown on Bernie and wet her hair.’
    ‘I’m here for a Peter Pan cut, Al. It doesn’t need wetting.’
    ‘I read the other day that hair cuts better if it’s wet. I thought I’d experiment on you.’
    ‘Oh, ta! Friendship can have its limits, Alice Lacey. If you spoil me hair, I’ll never speak to you again.’
    The dryers gradually emptied. Edna Evans went away looking as if she’d been sprinkled with icing sugar,tipping Alice sixpence, so
she
must be pleased. Mrs Glaister seemed reluctant to leave the warm, brightly lit salon with its silver decorations and coloured lights. Feeling sorry for the old woman, knowing that after five years she still missed Myrtle, Alice suggested she stay and have another glass of sherry. The salon would be closing in half an hour.
    ‘And there’s still a few mince pies left, luv. Help yourself. Fion, start cleaning the sinks, there’s a good girl. Patsy, you can go if you want. Thanks for coming.’
    Patsy O’Leary wished everyone Merry Christmas and went home. Mrs Glaister realised her time was up when Alice turned the ‘Open’ sign to ‘Closed’. Fionnuala went to tidy the kitchen and Bernadette examined the Peter Pan cut in the mirror. It was a big step, going from very long to very short in the space of a few minutes. Her neck felt cold, she complained. Alice gave her a towel to keep it warm.
    There were footsteps on the stairs and a stocky young woman with a vivid, smiling face entered the salon. She wore a warm tweed coat and a knitted mohair tam-o’-shanter. ‘I’m off now, Mrs Lacey.’
    ‘Miss Caddick!’ Alice kissed the woman on the cheek. ‘Have a lovely Christmas and I hope the wedding goes really well. Good luck for the future.’
    ‘Same to you, Mrs Lacey. I couldn’t have wished for a nicer landlady. I’ve just given upstairs a good clean, ready for the new tenant.’
    ‘Ta, luv. I wish you were getting married in Bootle. I’d have come to the church for a look.’
    ‘If I was getting married in Bootle, you’d have been invited, Mrs Lacey, but Durham’s a long way to ask someone to come.’ She shouted, ‘’Bye, Fionnuala,’