Dicecake 123
Malcolm Wolf-Biscuit was fifty-four, divorced, and sold laminated noticeboards to schools, leisure centres and men’s prisons.
His friend Geoff helped him set up an online dating profile.
“Don’t mention scissors,” Geoff said.
“I wasn’t going to.”
“You’ve already mentioned them twice.”
Malcolm deleted a sentence about owning professional hairdressing equipment.
His biography read:
MALCOLM, 53.
DIVORCED.
LIKES WATERWAYS, COLD MEATS AND WOMEN WHO KNOW WHAT THEY WANT.
I OWN SCISSORS BUT THIS IS NOT MY WHOLE PERSONALITY.
Three days later he matched with Hillary.
She was fifty-two, wore red-framed glasses and had very long, straight, mousy-brown hair.
Malcolm enlarged her photograph.
“Crikey.”
–
Their first date was at The Wellington Arms.
Hillary arrived in a green coat with her hair loose almost to her waist.
Malcolm stood up.
“Hello.”
“Hi.”
He looked at her hair.
“You’re looking at my hair.”
“I was looking behind you.”
“There’s a fruit machine behind me.”
“Yes. I like those.”
“You were looking at my hair.”
Malcolm gave in.
“It’s very healthy.”
Hillary laughed.
Somehow, the evening recovered.
Hillary sat down opposite him.
“So,” she said. “Malcolm Wolf-Biscuit.”
“Yes.”
“That’s an unusual surname.”
“It’s hyphenated culturally but not legally.”
“What does that mean?”
“My father was a Wolf and my mother came from the Biscuits.”
Hillary studied him.
“Is that true?”
“No.”
She laughed.
Malcolm liked that.
They talked about work, bad pubs and disappointing holidays. Malcolm was odd but entertaining, and after a couple of drinks Hillary asked about his divorce.
“My wife Anne left me for my South African cousin.”
“Seriously?”
“Rudi.”
“What was Rudi like?”
“Very South African.”
“That tells me almost nothing.”
“He was always cooking meat outside.”
Malcolm explained that Anne wore glasses and had long mousy-brown hair, rather like Hillary’s.
“She had lovely hair,” he said. “Very long.”
“And she left you for Rudi?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Apparently they connected.”
Malcolm took a drink.
“I still think the hair situation contributed.”
Hillary looked at him.
“What hair situation?”
“I suggested cutting it.”
“She didn’t want you to?”
“She was extremely firm.”
“What did she say?”
“‘Don’t touch my hair, Malcolm.’”
“That seems fairly clear.”
“There was a lot of emotion in the room.”
Hillary laughed.
They had another drink.
Then another date.
And another.
Malcolm was peculiar, but Hillary found him to be endearing.
–
On their fifth date, Hillary cooked dinner at her house.
Afterwards she took her hair down.
Malcolm watched it fall over her shoulders.
Hillary caught him looking.
“Go on.”
“What?”
“You want to say something.”
Malcolm hesitated.
“Would you ever let me cut it?”
Her smile disappeared.
“No.”
“Just a trim.”
“No.”
“I’m very steady.”
“Malcolm.”
“Fine.”
He left it alone.
Mostly.
–
A couple of weeks later Hillary suggested a weekend on a canal boat.
The boat was called Mavis Endeavour.
It was dark green, slightly damp inside and smelled faintly of diesel and toast.
Malcolm took the safety briefing extremely seriously.
“If you enter a lock, slow right down,” the owner said.
“Reduce propulsion.”
“Yes.”
“Centre the boat.”
“Yes.”
“And don’t panic.”
“I don’t panic around waterways.”
Hillary looked at him.
“You panicked at crazy golf.”
“The windmill cheated.”
The first day was pleasant.
Hillary steered while Malcolm worked the locks in gardening gloves he had brought from home.
That evening they moored beside a quiet towpath and opened a bottle of wine.
Hillary wore her hair loose.
Malcolm was making a heroic effort not to look at it.
“You can look,” she said.
“I’m fine.”
“You’ve been staring at the ceiling.”
“I like plywood.”
She laughed.
Then she gathered her hair over one shoulder.
“Still want to cut it?”
Malcolm turned.
“I thought that subject was closed.”
“Maybe I’d let you take a couple of inches off.”
He stared at her.
“Really?”
“Maybe.”
“Two inches?”
“Yes.”
Malcolm stood.
“Where are you going?”
“To get something.”
He returned with a small leather case.
Hillary looked at it.
“You brought hairdressing scissors on a canal holiday?”
“They’re useful.”
“For what?”
“Rope.”
“They’re tiny.”
“Fine rope.”
She shook her head.
“You are an incredibly strange man.”
“But I can cut it?”
“Two inches.”
Malcolm sat her on a chair and combed her hair down her back.
She let him gather it into a ponytail, then shook it loose again.
He was plainly delighted.
Hillary watched him in silence.
“Happy?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“You really do like this, don’t you?”
“I appreciate hair.”
She turned back around.
“Get on with it.”
Malcolm combed the ends straight and raised the scissors.
Then Hillary said:
“Wait.”
He stopped.
“What?”
“I need to show you something.”
She put both hands against her forehead, caught the edge of her hairline and pulled.
The entire head of long mousy-brown hair came away.
Malcolm made a small squeaking noise.
Hillary sat in front of him completely bald.
Malcolm stared at her.
Then at the wig.
Then back at her.
“What’s happened?”
“Nothing.”
“Your hair’s come off.”
“It’s a wig.”
Malcolm sat down.
“You’re bald.”
“Yes.”
“Completely?”
Hillary pointed at her scalp.
“What do you think?”
Malcolm looked at the wig lying on the table. It looked like a Boarder Terrier.
“But the ponytail.”
“Wig.”
“The curls?”
“Wig.”
“That plait you had?”
“Malcolm, it was always the wig.”
He looked genuinely shaken.
“So I’ve been discussing hairstyles with a bald woman.”
“You’ve been obsessing over the hair of a woman you barely knew.”
“You encouraged me tonight.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I wanted to see what you’d do.”
Malcolm frowned.
“That feels like entrapment.”
“This isn’t a police operation.”
Hillary folded her arms.
“You’re an absolute bastard, Malcolm.”
“That seems strong.”
“No, you’re actually a massive creepy shit.”
He looked hurt.
“That’s even stronger.”
“You brought scissors on holiday because you hoped I’d let you cut my hair.”
“For rope.”
“Stop saying fucking rope.”
Malcolm put the scissors down.
Then Hillary said:
“You know, I’ve spoke to Anne.”
He froze.
“My Anne?”
“Your ex-wife.”
“How?”
“I found her online.”
“You what?”
“On Facebook.”
“You found Anne on Facebook?”
“It wasn’t difficult. There aren’t many Anne Wolf-Biscuits.”
“She kept the name?”
“No. I searched Rudi first.”
Malcolm looked worried.
“What did she say?”
“She didn’t leave you for Rudi.”
“Yes she did.”
“No. She went to stay with him because she was frightened of you.”
Malcolm laughed nervously.
“Frightened?”
“You tried to cut her hair.”
“I offered.”
“You cornered her in the kitchen with scissors.”
“I approached her.”
“She locked herself in the downstairs toilet.”
“She overreacted.”
“You stood outside asking her to let you ‘take the weight out of the back.’”
Malcolm went quiet.
“She thought you were going to cut it while she was asleep,” Hillary said. “Rudi gave her somewhere to stay.”
Malcolm looked offended.
“He also cooked steaks for her.”
“Malcolm. That’s not relevant.”
“I’m just saying.”
Hillary stood.
“You prey on women with long hair and then act like you’re doing them a favour.”
“I don’t prey.”
“You’re a massive creepy shit.”
“You’ve said that already.”
“It still applies.”
They went out onto the back of the boat.
It was moving slowly along the canal.
Hillary had put the wig back on.
Malcolm stood beside the tiller looking miserable.
“I think this weekend has gone wrong,” he said.
“You think?”
“I still believe Rudi behaved suspiciously.”
“Rudi helped your wife.”
“He cooked for her.”
“Enough you freak.”
Hillary stepped towards him.
Malcolm frowned.
“What?”
She shoved him in the chest.
He stumbled backwards.
“Hillary—”
Splash.
A few seconds later Malcolm surfaced in the canal.
“HILLARY!”
The boat kept moving.
Hillary stood at the stern, furious.
“You pushed me in!”
“Yes!”
“This water could have diseases!”
“Good!”
Malcolm began splashing after the boat.
“Hillary!”
“What?”
“I’m sorry!”
“For what?”
Malcolm thought about it.
“That’s not a good sign!” she shouted.
“The scissors!”
“And?”
“Anne!”
“And?”
Malcolm stopped swimming.
“For being a massive creepy shit!”
“Too late!”
The boat carried on down the canal.
Malcolm stood chest-deep in the water watching it disappear.
Hillary looked back at him.
For a second he thought she might wave.
Instead, she gave him the finger.
An elderly man on the towpath stopped.
“You all right?”
Malcolm looked at him.
“No.”
“Fall in?”
Malcolm watched Mavis Endeavour vanish around the bend.
“No.”
He sighed.
“Hairdressing dispute.”
