Side Parting

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER TWO

The Curl of Success“Pardon?” Kit stuck her finger in her left ear and plastered her phone to the right side of her face. The vacuum cleaner burped outside her bedroom as it gobbled up the frayed tendrils of carpet where it ended at her door. Her wall shook as Melinda bumped the poor appliance against the skirting board.

“The Women with Curls Expo, remember?” Debbie’s voice grated in Kit’s ear as the vacuum gave a splutter and went on strike.

“The what?” She dabbed a wad of toilet paper at the green tendril of henna sneaking towards her right eye. Rising from the bed, she walked to the bathroom and stared at herself in the mirror. Smeared henna covered her forehead and dribbled down the side of her face like a ghoul from a horror movie. Kit shuddered. “Can I call you back later? I need to wash this henna off early. It’s too runny.” She pulled her phone away from her ear and dabbed at the goo covering the screen.

Debbie’s voice boomed from the speaker and echoed around the bathroom. “You promised!” Her tone held an accusatory note.

“When?” Henna dripped from Kit’s chin, tapping the front of her dressing gown and plunging to the floor. Jerry had spent two weekends renovating Kit’s ensuite with leftovers from his uncle’s last building contract. Her eyes widened as the drip headed towards the clean grout between the tiles. She dropped to her knees and wiped up the splat, limiting the damage. “b****y hell!” she cursed. In desperation, she stood in the shower and closed the door behind her. He’d also installed a shower dome which encased Kit in a plastic bubble and blocked out the restarting of the vacuum cleaner. She leaned against the wall and stopped fretting about her dripping head. “What did I promise?” She exhaled and waited for Debbie to make up something horrendous.

“You agreed to man our stall at the Expo.” Petulance gave Debbie’s tone an edge. “The international group hired Claudelands Events Centre, and you said you’d do free hair consultations.”

Kit blinked in surprise. She glimpsed her reflection in the mirror to her right, her face oozing henna through the cubicle’s distortion. It summed up how she felt about life. “I don’t remember that.” She didn’t, but then she’d stumbled through the last six committee meetings like a zombie just needing to get to September without collapsing in a heap. “But I’m sure we can work out something between us.” Kit yawned. “Give me the details at the meeting this evening.” She didn’t give Debbie room for comment, killing the call and wiping the screen on the cuff of her dressing gown sleeve.

Showering took a good half an hour, but cleaning up proved easier than Melinda suggested. Experience meant Kit had a dustbin bag ready, and she stuffed into it her dressing gown, underwear, and the tee-shirt-head-cover known as a Plop. Those items had a date with the washing machine. Another bag took the plastic wrap and shower cap layers bound for the household rubbish bin. She used a homemade scrub of hemp oil and brown sugar to wash her hair, massaging her scalp with groans of ecstasy. Then conditioner, flaxseed gel and a helping of purple-willy-shaped-lube completed the process after a few moments of finger curling.

Kit washed and then used the shower head to rinse off the last of the green henna flecks before gathering her collection of eco cleaning sprays into a corner to dry. She emerged into her bathroom with a cloud of steam swirling around her damp body, stopping the escape of more condensation by closing the shower door. Scooping her red hair into a clean tee shirt Plop, Kit heaved a sigh of satisfaction. Jerry’s skill surrounded her, and she paused to admire the neat finish of the tiles butting against the skirting boards and shower tray. A jack-of-all-trades, he’d settled on the most unlikely occupation of all. Priest.

Kit used a wipe to clean her phone and then mopped up the place where the henna had dripped onto the tiles. “Good job, Kit,” she told herself. In a moment of gratitude, she flicked Jerry a quick text to thank him for all his hard work. Her finger paused over the icon, which would send the message. Mentioning Melinda’s presence might serve as a backhander after the compliment. Her lips twisted in thought. But then she sent her message into the ether and decided to forget the insolent cleaner’s existence for the moment.

Clean clothes, hair without faded orange regrowth, and a tidy bedroom and bathroom put Kit in the best of moods. She used her hairdryer and diffuser to dry the ends of her curls and then sat on her bed. Four file folders stacked in the corner evidenced the last six months of study and an exam. A salon wouldn’t employ her on the strength of it, but the Queen of Curl had awarded her with a certificate which merited her capable of cutting curly hair in the approved international method. Kit smiled at the navy velvet case sitting on top of the pile. It contained a coveted set of matte black precision scissors worth over four hundred Australian dollars. Her mother had attended the awards ceremony and watched her daughter presented with the prize for the student with the most flare. Miriam had dabbed her eyes with a tissue and Kit bit her lip at the memory of her mother’s extreme pride. “You’re on your way now, darling,” Miriam had whispered as she hugged Kit afterwards. “The sky’s the limit.”

Her shoulders slumped. Every weekday in her near future involved rising at four in the morning. Then would follow five full days at Mr Rashid’s shop on Gordonton Road. The days merged into the same gruelling pattern, interspersed with alternate weekends. Her feet ached from the hours standing and walking around the store, filling shelves with groceries, serving customers and dealing with miscreant paperboys. She’d left the awards’ night on Friday filled with promise and ended up right back where she started. “When do I fit in hairdressing?” she murmured.

The vacuum cleaner purred downstairs as Melinda continued working. Kit wondered if the boys had employed the cleaner as a one-off gift to mark the end of her half a year of driving herself insane. She shrugged, willing to accept their generosity just this once. She hadn’t been home enough to monitor the rostered jobs, so perhaps it signified a new start and the household would return to its former state of routine now she’d finished studying.

Kit added mascara and lipstick and stared at herself in the mirror. “A new start,” she sighed to herself. Then she picked up the soft case containing her new scissors. She tilted it and lifted the fold so that the scissors slipped forward to display their rounded handles. Without touching them, she closed the flap and pushed the case into her handbag. Tonight’s audience wouldn’t understand the full marvel of such an expensive pair of snips, but Kit did. They signified the start of a winning streak. The beginning of the rest of her life. If she could find the time.