heaven,’ Ness hesitated. ‘Think I’d rather believe in the power of love. Dickon loved her, didn’t he? Perhaps his love was good – decent. That would be enough for me, if I were in Ursula’s shoes.’
‘Loving and being loved makes all things right? It’s a theory. But I can say, hand on heart, that all I know of the nun is folklore. I haven’t seen her, nor have I met anyone who is prepared to say they have. I’m sorry, but until she crosses my path then I’m a disbeliever.’
‘But tell me,’ Ness urged, ‘those women who told Martha they’d seen her – were they women in love?’
‘That I don’t know. Seems they must have been, but you wouldn’t get their names out of Martha for love nor money. Said people would lose faith in her and her powers if she blabbed all over the village.’
‘So any of them could have been married, even?’
‘They could have, I suppose. Mind, I don’t think any of the women in question came from the village – or so Martha said. Perhaps they lived in Meltonby.’
‘Ar. Martha admitted to me that she reads palms, though she doesn’t like doin’ the cards. Martha’s got the gift, you know. You were right about her being a medium, even though she doesn’t hold seances. Maybe it’s her aura that Ursula uses when she wants to do a spot of haunting – zooms in on Martha’s vibrations.’
‘If what my grandpa told me is true, then Ursula was doing her spot of haunting long before Martha Hugwitty came to the village. So don’t get too carried away, Ness. Ghosts are fun. You’ve got to treat them as fun. Part of the local folklore.’
‘Ar. Like you say – fun. Till you see one, that is!’
‘When I’ve seen Ursula you’ll be the first one to know, I promise you,’ Lorna smiled complacently. ‘And what are you looking at me like that for – like I’ve got a smut on my nose. Have I?’
‘As a matter of fact, I was looking at your hair.’
‘A mess, I know. I just washed it this afternoon. Hurts like mad to get the brush through it.’
‘I know. I’ve dealt with more frizzy heads of curls than you’ve had hot dinners, girl. I’m a hairdresser – or was.’
‘It follows. Your own hair is so beautiful that it doesn’t surprise me. I should have realized.’
‘Hmm. Your hair is a lovely colour; ash blonde it would be if you was gettin’ it out of a bottle. Women would kill for natural curls like yours, Lorna. But you’ve got too much hair if you don’t mind me saying so – professional opinion, like. It needs shaping and thinning. If ever you want it seeing to, just let me know.’
‘Well, I do find it a nuisance. And I agree my hair must look like a bush on top of my head. But William doesn’t ever want me to cut it. He likes it long.’
‘And you like it long, too?’
‘No. I’d like it shorter, but William –’
‘Must be obeyed. Even though you have to drag a wire brush through it and do it no end of harm, William knows best, does he? Anyway, whose hair is it?’
‘You’re right, Ness!’ And because William had been dogmatic and dictatorial and had no right to tell her whom she should and should not have in her house, she walked into the hall and gazed into the mirror. Then she turned and smiling said,
‘OK, Ness. Let’s give it a go! Thin it out a bit.’
‘You’re sure? Mind, I know what it’ll look like when I’ve finished, but once it’s off there’ll be nothing you can do about it, till it grows again.’
‘I’m sure. And you must let me pay you.’
‘I don’t want paying. All I want is to get some order into that mass of frizz and for you to throw that dratted brush away – OK?’
‘OK! Shall we get on with it, then?’ Why was her heart thudding so?
‘If you’re absolutely sure, I’ll nip upstairs for my scissors and get a towel from the bathroom.’
She would enjoy doing Lorna’s hair because for one thing it looked quite ridiculous on one so young, and for another, because she was indirectly, she supposed, taking a swipe at William who didn’t like land girls!
‘Tell me how long it takes to be a hairdresser?’ Lorna wasn’t really interested, but Ness was trying to part her hair and pin it into sections, which hurt, and talking about anything at all took her mind off the sharp, tugging pains.
‘Am I hurting you?’
‘A little, but it’s all right …’
‘Well never mind, queen, when I’ve sorted this lot you’ll be able to comb it with your fingers, I guarantee it. You’ll wash it and leave it to dry naturally, then you’ll run your fingers through it and flick the curls whichever way you want. You’ll like it – honest. It took me a long time gettin’ to be a good hairdresser, because I am good. I was the best cutter in the salon and I had an improver working under me, and two apprentices to teach.’
‘What’s an improver?’
‘It’s when you’ve done two years; when you’ve been lackey and shampoo girl and sweeper-upper of hair. God! Those first few months, I hated hair! And for the first two years an apprentice doesn’t get a penny piece in wages – not where I worked, they didn’t. Had to rely on tips from ladies you’d shampooed. And I used to cut kids’ hair at home in Ruth Street. Charged sixpence for it. Big money, sixpence was, to an apprentice!’
‘But how did you manage for two years without pay?’ Lorna heard the first crisp snip and closed her eyes again.
‘I managed because Auntie Agnes paid my tram fares into work for two years. She paid my premium, an’ all. To get into a good salon there had to be a hefty fifty quid, up front. But Dale’s was the best in town and I’ve got to admit that the tips there were good – thank God!’
‘Called after your Auntie Agnes, weren’t you?’ Another snip, and a shower of fine hair falling to the floor. ‘Fond of her?’
‘Oh, ar. I was her favourite. She never had kids of her own, so I was the lucky one. She paid my premium without so much as a quibble and I said she would never want for a free hairdo, once I’d learned enough. Oh, it was lovely when I got to be an improver. I could have my own regular customers, then, though I had to do my own shampooing. Fifteen shillings a week I got. Plus tips. I felt real rich and Auntie Agnes and Mam and Nan got theirs done free. I even cut me Da’s hair. I liked cuttin’. Still do.’
‘I can see you do.’ Lorna gazed, fascinated, at the growing pile of fair hair. ‘Will you be long?’
‘Just thinin’ it first, then I’ll shape it; take each strand and cut it between my fingers so it lays just right. A Maria cut, it’ll be.’
‘I – I see.’ Lorna had never heard of a Maria cut. ‘And it’ll look all right? You’re sure?’
‘When I’ve finished with you, Modom, your hair’ll look so good you’ll wish you’d had a Maria years ago. Now shurrup, will you? You’re distractin’ me. Just trust me, eh?’
Famous last words. Lorna closed her eyes and counted the snips.
‘There now! All done! Took me longer than I thought,’ Ness beamed, half an hour later. ‘But you can’t hurry good cuttin’. Now, you washed it this afternoon, you said, so I’ll just rinse it through and show you how to dry it. Hair’s got to be treated gentle, not tugged and pulled and dried in front of a hot fire! Now, pop over to the sink and I’ll get a jug of rainwater from the tub. And keep your hands off it!’
But too late came the warning. To a cry of,
‘You – you’ve scalped