HairApparent
A sequel to Celine and Fleur, Part 1 – We Are Here to Help, and one may enjoy it independently without the need to read the original story, as we begin with a summary of their story so far…
Prologue
After our first year at university, my lifelong friend Fleur and I, Celine, had sought meaningful volunteer work during the summer vacation. We discovered a suitable opportunity in the seaside town of Fleethaven, volunteering with their Community Outreach Initiative, enthusiastically quoting our motto – We Are Here to Help.
On our first morning we adopted their enforced uniform style of a navy-blue jumpsuit and a bowlcut hairstyle, the latter not being our preference, as we had previously both enjoyed having extraordinarily long hair. A mutual love for long hair had been the common thread that bound us together all our lives.
The intimidating owner of Bouleur – a combined bistro, bakery, and barbershop – drastically cut our hair during an unsettling encounter at her premises. However, we put this confusing experience to the back of our minds after engaging with the local community and revelling in the new challenges ahead.
Once we were alone that first evening, relaxing on the decking outside our caravan, we discussed our feelings concerning our hair. The haircuts had become a symbol of something unexpected, stripping away our pretence of friendship, leading us to confront deeper emotions. Mrs Bouleur had inadvertently been the catalyst that made us realise that the strong bond between us goes far beyond platonic affection.
On Monday night, for the first time ever in our young lives, we retired to the same bed…
Tuesday Morning
After a night when neither of us benefitted from a great deal of sleep, but both of us immensely enjoyed a wide variety of other activities, it was inevitable that we would oversleep. We had only half an hour to tumble out of bed, prepare for the day, and head down to the Fleethaven Community Outreach Initiative office, change into our navy-blue jumpsuits, and report to Mrs Jameson to learn of today’s volunteering assignments.
‘No leisurely breakfast for us at Bouleur today,’ I lamented, remembering the vague idea I had proposed when I first set eyes on the premises the previous morning. That was, of course, before we had walked through the bistro, past the bakery, and into Mrs Bouleur’s skilled hands in her traditional barbershop.
‘On the plus side, we have saved more than half an hour this morning by not needing to do something with our long hair,’ Fleur said, shaking her severe haircut and seeing it fall back into perfect glossy bowl shape.
‘True,’ I agreed, handing Fleur a mug of coffee while running a hand up my nape. I revelled in the cool breeze coming off the sea caressing my skin. ‘But that is surprising, my hair has fallen into perfect shape given how much you were mussing it up last night,’ I winked provocatively.
‘Who? Me?’ Fleur said innocently, but her associated pout was anything but innocent!
I stuffed a slice of buttered toast between her offending lips, and we both giggled as we finished our speedy breakfast.
We would shortly be changing our clothes at the FCOI office, so for the short walk to the quayside I elected to stick with my denim skirt but paired it with a white linen shirt tied at my waist. Inevitably, fashion diva Fleur pulled out yet another of her short cotton dresses – this one in yellow with tiny delicate flowers, puffed short sleeves and cinched at her waist like a corset – and she looked ravishing.
Holding each other’s hands, we made our way down the curving path towards the seafront for another day in paradise.
Tuesday Afternoon
Mrs Jameson, the FCOI supervisor, assigned us to the local care and respite centre for the entire day. We had spent Monday there, and the feedback from staff and residents had been very complementary. We even had the opportunity to spend more time with the delightful Beatrice & Benjamin Beaumont during the afternoon. They decided to forego the wheelchair chariot racing along the promenade, but they did take us up on our offer of an ice cream by the seafront.
‘So, things have become a little clearer for you two since yesterday, have they?’ Beatrice questioned as she paused between licks of her raspberry ripple cone with an extra flake.
‘Sorry?’ Fleur said, wiping the remnants of a strange caramel concoction with sprinkles away from her lips. ‘What do you mean?’
Benjamin chucked. ‘Bea and I have been together for seventy years, and we have no regrets –’
‘Well, other than when you take the last coffee cream from a box of chocolates,’ Beatrice grumbled, but with a twinkle in her eye.
‘Fair enough,’ Benjamin conceded with a grin. ‘So, after meeting you two charming lasses yesterday, it was obvious to us that you were destined to be together for as long as we have been. It seemed the only people that did not appreciate that simple fact were you two idiots.’
‘Oh, right… fair enough, I suppose,’ Fleur giggled, putting her sticky paw in mine. ‘It seems, Celine, by the powers of Toni’s Coastal Creamery in Fleethaven that we are to be forever coupled.’
‘I’ll buy a hat,’ Beatrice giggled.
‘Make sure the chief bridesmaid is a blonde, and I’ll be there too,’ Benjamin quipped, before nodding off to sleep in the sunshine.
I squeezed Fleur’s hand, and she responded in kind. Beatrice looked lovingly at her sleepy partner of seventy years and gently rubbed the back of my hand. ‘Don’t waste your time analysing and second-guessing, my loves; just be yourselves and go for it.’
Beatrice’s eyelids fluttered as she nodded off too, contentedly full of ice cream and chocolate flake.
Fleur and I looked at each other, our hands still intertwined. ‘Looks like it is all settled then,’ I chuckled, nodding towards the sleeping couple. ‘That will be us in seventy years.’
Fleur looked worried, and that worried me. ‘Maybe, only if I can have a wheelchair painted in complementary designer colours with a nifty go-faster stripe.’
‘It’s a deal,’ I agreed. ‘I wonder if those two know what they have done?’
Cartoon-like, Beatrice and Benjamin both opened one eye, and it was obvious that they knew full well what they had done.
‘We’re only here to help,’ they sang out in perfect harmony.
Tuesday Evening
After another fun and rewarding day supporting so many wonderful people, we decided to celebrate. We returned to the delightful pub on the quay, The Anchor Blue, where we had spent our first evening in Fleethaven. This time we treated ourselves to a vegetable lasagne in a vain attempt to soak up the alcohol. Eventually we wandered back to the caravan and made love in a less frenzied manner than the night before, but no less intense. Furthermore, we remembered to set an alarm for the following morning so we would not be late for our volunteering activities.
Wednesday and Thursday continued in a similar vein by helping the people in Fleethaven. However, we still had time to enjoy our seaside surroundings and consolidate our rapidly progressing relationship.
However, there was something serious that had crept up on me during the week. Indeed, the matter had increasingly concerned me as each day passed. I decided that I needed to broach the subject with Fleur before the weekend.
Thursday Evening
‘Fleur?’ I murmured, injecting a serious edge to my tone. It was Thursday evening, and we had cuddled up on the bench outside our caravan, sipping red wine. ‘What are we going to do?’ I questioned, injecting a deliberate note of panic in my voice.
A fleeting glimpse of anxiety crossed Fleur’s face before she must have noticed the tell-tale signs that I was teasing her. ‘What, you mean about our bowlcuts growing out?’ she questioned smugly.
How did she know what I was going to say? It was like being half of an old married couple. ‘No, about the rise in interest rates and how that may affect the mortgage rate going forward.’
Fleur just stared pointedly, looking resplendent in a short red dress with white polka dots, putting my tartan skirt and simple red top to shame.
The pause lengthened before I burst out laughing. ‘Yes, you guessed right, what are we going to do about the fast growth of our hair?’ I confirmed. ‘It has only been four days, but it already feels scruffy, especially around the back. It is weird, when you think that we used to trim our hair every four months when it was long… whether it needed it or not!’
‘True enough,’ Fleur agreed. ‘Well, how about we get up early tomorrow morning and treat ourselves to breakfast at Bouleur? We can book an appointment with Mrs Bouleur to trim our hair as soon as she is available and then sample her freshly baked croissants.’
I licked my lips in anticipation. ‘Sorry, it will have to be pain-au-chocolat for me.’
‘I might have one of those as well,’ Fleur giggled.
‘And real coffee,’ I piped up.
‘Exactly so,’ Fleur confirmed, quoting one of Mrs Bouleur’s frequent phrases. ‘Celine, I know that for us to stay here in Fleethaven, we needed to adopt the FCOI uniform style and have our hair cut. But strangely, by doing so, it made us finally come to our senses about each other,’ she summarised, giving me a squeeze. ‘That said, our long hair had been our identity since we were young. So, do you regret sacrificing your locks for what we have now?’
I took a sip of wine to give myself time to think before answering. ‘I did resent it at first, but even by the next day I was comfortable with it. Yes, the length of our hair – longer than anyone else we knew – had always been our unique attribute. Our identity, I suppose. Obviously, it had been that way all through school, but even during the past year since we started university. So, sitting in Bouleur, I thought I would regret the loss of that uniqueness… and worry about being different from you… and be concerned about growing apart from you,’ I blushed.
‘Yes, but fortunately we both have the same haircut,’ Fleur said, her relief palpable. ‘Although, if we did not, I would have been as concerned as you.’
‘That almost makes sense,’ I chuckled, and I got a playful dig in the ribs for my gentle jibe.
‘Now that I have become used to it, I really like how it looks,’ Fleur piped up, ‘especially on you.’ It was her turn to blush.
‘No, it looks far better on you, with your darker hair,’ I countered.
‘No, it doesn’t,’ Fleur giggled.
‘Yes, it does!’ I asserted, intent on having the last word.
‘Anyway, long hair was undoubtedly the fashion choice among the freshers last year, and we stood out by having the longest. But I get the feeling that next year will be different. I noticed there were students appearing on campus with that awful “Wolf Cut” style.’
‘Is that the one where the long hair gets all chopped about like they’ve had an argument with a lawnmower?’ I shivered.
‘Yes, that one. And I was dreading needing to get one of those just to stay fashionable,’ Fleur pouted. ‘Fortunately, no chance of that now, with us having so little hair remaining. So, we just tell people that we are ahead of the fashion curve, and bowlcuts are the stylish choice for the coming season. And I am confident that there will be students that may have succumbed to the “Wolf Cut” who will be grateful to us for promoting a short and neat escape route.’
‘Well, as you know, I’m not such a fashion diva as you,’ I said, noting Fleur sticking her tongue out at me, ‘but I totally agree with you.’
‘I should hope so too,’ Fleur giggled, first kissing me on the cheek before turning into something delightfully more amorous. Eventually Fleur pulled away, but she looked extremely worried.
‘What’s wrong, sweetie?’ I said, genuinely concerned.
Fleur took a deep breath, and that only increased my anxiety. ‘It is all very well and good keeping this hairstyle, but how are we both going to be able to afford to get a haircut every four days?’
Friday Morning
Revelation
With the sun barely up and a distinct chill in the air, Fleur and I got ourselves ready to enjoy leisurely breakfast along the promenade at Bouleur. Although we would be changing into our jumpsuits at the FCOI office later in the morning, it was cool enough for me to slip my leather jacket over my outfit from the evening before. Fleur wore her yellow dress and tossed her denim jacket over her shoulders.
As soon as we sat at a bistro table outside Bouleur, Mrs Bouleur herself popped out to take our order for breakfast.
She welcomed us with a cheerful smile. ‘Good morning, my dears, and what may I do for you this lovely morning?’
‘Coffee, and lots of it,’ Fleur piped up. ‘And croissants.’
‘And pain-au-chocolat,’ I added.
‘Certainly, my dears, with all speed,’ she smiled and pointedly looked down at our hands gripping each other on the table. ‘And something has changed since I last saw you when I cut your hair on Monday. Is that not so?’
‘Yes, that is very true, Mrs Bouleur,’ I uttered sadly, dipping my chin. ‘Although you cut our hair short, it has grown,’ I mourned, with Fleur also adopting a melancholy expression.
‘Oh, but growing is natural,’ she claimed, looking confused. ‘Your hair will grow. And with it now being so short, it will look more obviously longer as it grows. I cannot –’
We could not keep up our act going for any longer… we began giggling.
‘Ah, yes, very funny, my friends,’ she said pointedly, looking suitably annoyed but with a smile tugging at her lips. ‘You are making fun of me, yes?’
‘Yes,’ we chorused, pretending to be suitably chastised but still giggling.
‘Very well, but I think another thing has changed too,’ she said, jerking her head once again to our clasped hands. ‘Yes?’
‘Yes, Mrs Bouleur,’ I admitted, blushing a little. ‘And we have you to thank. Strange as it may seem, after you had cut our hair, we realised –’
‘Pah!’ she interrupted rudely. ‘For sure, everyone but you had realised for a long time how you really felt about each other. I certainly knew you were destined for each other within ten minutes of meeting you,’ she chuckled.
‘Oh!’ we said in unison, bemused, both wondering why we should be the last to know how we really felt about each other. I felt bound to comment. ‘But, if that is true, Mrs Bouelur, then you were the catalyst…’
Mrs Bouleur waved away my heartfelt gratitude with an indulgent smile. ‘If you say so, then fine. Now, I will fetch your breakfast, and once you have enjoyed your coffee and croissants, then we will discuss your comical fluffy heads,’ she said, completely deadpan.
‘Fluffy!’ we cried out in unison, looking at Mrs Bouleur in horror. ‘Do we look that bad!’
Mrs Bouleur pursed her lips, maintaining a serious expression for far longer than we could have ever managed. ‘Gotcha!’ she declared smugly before spinning around and marching away.
Redemption
The strong coffee perked us up immediately, and the pastries were delicious. As we had set out from our caravan so early, we still had forty-five minutes before we needed to report to Mrs Jameson at the FCOI office. So, with time in hand, we decided to order another cup of Bouleur’s delicious coffee before taking a leisurely stroll along the promenade.
As we tidied our table and looked towards the bistro, Mrs Bouleur glided up to our table, right on cue. ‘So, my dear friends, it is time for you to return to my chairs in the Bouleur barbershop so that I can rectify your amusing fluffy heads,’ she commanded, clapping her hands together twice to hurry us along.
Feeling relaxed, we had all but forgotten the original purpose of our mission to Bouleur. We had hoped to discuss with her the predicament we faced with our outgrown bowlcuts. We had then hoped to make appointments for a trim as soon as possible. However, Mrs Bouleur was insisting she rectify our hair immediately.
In addition to galvanising us into action, her clap also summoned her daughter, Sophie, to clear the table.
‘Mother!’ Sophie said in horror, looking pointedly at our hair. ‘While I am happy to clean their table, I do hope that you intend to tidy up these two scruffy women. Their heads, they are so fluffy!’
Initially, distraught at this stranger’s observation, I noticed Sophie wink. She was making it clear that she was joining in with the teasing between us and her mother. ‘We are going straight away, Sophie,’ I said, jumping to my feet, feeling chastised even when she only meant her comment in fun.
As Sophie walked away, I admired how immaculate her bowlcut always appeared, an undoubted benefit of having a mother who is a barber. ‘Sophie will never experience fluffy head syndrome,’ I whispered to Fleur, noting she was following my gaze.
‘Do not pay any attention to that daughter of mine, dear ones,’ Mrs Bouleur apologised. ‘She believes she has a sense of humour.’ Sophie, overhearing, turned around and stuck out her tongue at her mother in mock rebuke. Mrs Bouleur sighed. ‘Please, come with me and let me restore the hair of my Bouleur Belles.’
Renovation
‘Albert, I shall be doing two haircuts,’ Mrs Bouleur called through the door marked “Staff Only” that say behind the patisserie counter. ‘As soon as I finish, I shall need those baguettes for preparing the lunch orders.’
‘Ready!’ may have been the word he uttered. However, it was immediately followed by a loud crash as something heavy hit the floor. ‘Er, fifty minutes,’ he groaned as his wife swished past the door. It appeared the clumsiness that we heard on our previous visit was a regular and accepted occurrence.
‘Sit,’ Mrs Bouleur commanded as we swung into the establishment’s barbershop alcove.
‘You first, Fleur,’ I directed, and she eagerly sat down, more tired of her “fluffiness” than I was.
‘I will take your bowlcut a little higher for better balance now that I can see how your hair falls around your head,’ she explained.
‘Thank you, Mrs Bouleur,’ Fleur said gratefully. The leather of the chair squeaked as, squirming with almost childish delight, she allowed the cape to settle over her. ‘And I… er, well, we wondered if you could take the back and sides closer… so it does not look quite so fluffy, quite so quickly.’
‘For sure, my dear, I will be happy to do so,’ she confirmed, appraising Fleur’s delightful neck with her glinting eyes and a gentle finger. She retrieved the hairclippers from the hook by the mirror. ‘In a moment I will have two practical solutions to offer you,’ she said enigmatically, ‘but first the hairclippers.’
‘Oh, super!’ Fleur chuckled as Mrs Bouleur eased her head down and began shearing her nape. I could not help but laugh at the change in attitude towards clippers in less than one week from the “eternal” long-haired girl.
As I observed Mrs Bouleur’s undoubted skill, I was amazed how quickly the fluffiness improved. The difference between the previous velvet-like hair and the newly bared skin was as striking as it was intoxicating. However, as I was shortly to find out, it was not yet completely bare skin.
Once Mrs Bouleur had addressed everything below the perimeter of the bowl, she edged the blunt line itself with the clipper blade, taking it noticeably higher. She did the same with the fringe, enhancing Fleur’s appearance dramatically, and beautifully. Combing her glossy helmet through, Mrs Bouleur ticked herself off before using fine scissors to chisel out the weight in a couple of places. The bowl shape she fashioned was absolute perfection.
But then Mrs Bouleur surprised us.
She filled a white porcelain bowl with a creamy substance before frothing it up with a brush to create a rich lather. Without a pause or explanation, she smeared it over Fleur’s nape and around her ears, comprehensively covering every millimetre of clippered skin. Reaching into a drawer, she produced a glinting old-fashioned straight razor.
Fleur’s lips twitched, a smile forming, and I reached over and squeezed her hand. A shiver travelled up my arm, and I found my pulse racing from anticipation. Tilting Fleur’s head forward to expose her nape, Mrs Bouleur diligently scraped away the lather, taking with it the almost invisible bristles that remained.
Once she was satisfied, the barber wiped away the excess foam and stood back. ‘Please examine your friend, my dear,’ she invited with a hand gesture, smiling at me. ‘And let me know whether my work is satisfactory.’
I stepped forward and ran a finger up and down Fleur’s nape and, wondrously, felt no friction at all. I could not stop myself leaning in and kissing it. ‘Later…’ Fleur giggled, squirming provocatively in the chair at the touch of my lips.
‘My friends,’ Mrs Bouleur rebuked impatiently, breaking us out of our delightfully crafted world. ‘Eventually I really do need to finish with you this morning, as I have lunch-time baguettes to prepare. So, I propose that you allow me to complete your haircuts,’ she giggled, ‘and then I suggest that you should get a room.’
Only moderately embarrassed, the stirring that Fleur had caused inside me made a trip back to the caravan for an hour sound like an excellent idea. However, we accepted that we should report to Mrs Jameson for volunteering duties.
‘Advice noted,’ I giggled. ‘What you have done for Fleur is absolutely wonderful, Mrs Bouleur,’ I cooed in praise. ‘Can I have exactly the same, please?’
The barber nodded, and Fleur and I quickly swapped places.
Restoration
After Mrs Bouleur had trimmed my bowlcut, I could not believe how fresh my skin felt with the back and sides restored to their previous smooth finish. The bowl itself looked better balanced too, as it perched evenly atop my head. Mrs Bouleur was undoubtedly not only extremely skilled but also a perfectionist. And she proved that with what happened next.
‘Now, for you, my friend, I shall do something different from the razor,’ she explained, and I felt disappointed that I would not be experiencing the scraping of the sharp blade against my skin. ‘No, for you, it is this,’ she said proudly, retrieving a small gold box-like electrical device from the array of hairclippers near the mirror. ‘The foil shaver.’
Fleur and I looked at it curiously, and I recognised it as a machine like the one my dad had once used to shave his face. ‘The blades are so sharp and efficient, and the foil so infinitesimally thin, that the smoothness you can achieve approaches the closeness of the razor. It is also much quicker, easier, and safer to achieve the same result. I shall demonstrate.’
Despite my initial disappointment, I obediently bowed my head, and I immediately felt a delicious vibration against my nape. ‘Oh, my goodness!’ I exclaimed. The feeling was akin to the more brutal clippers, but softer and gentler. That said, as the shaver purred over my skin, it was like a thousand tiny blades meticulously erasing each individual bristle. And furthermore, stimulating every nerve ending. ‘Wow!’ I purred, in harmony with the device.
‘Sounds like I better get that room booked,’ Fleur giggled.
As Mrs Bouleur finished and stood back, Fleur leaned in, her eyes widening. ‘Wow!’ she echoed before kissing my nape.
Mrs Bouleur removed the red silk cape, and I stood next to Fleur. We faced Mrs Bouleur, and both had an arm casually draped over the other’s shoulder, fingering our smooth napes. ‘Thank you so much, Mrs Bouleur. We both look stunning, and it feels so good that I can promise, for sure, that we will return to you every day,’ I said, only half-joking.
‘There is no need,’ she said primly.
Despite not meaning her to take my remark seriously, I felt oddly disappointed by her hasty rejection. Disinterested, I watched as she opened a drawer and took out a small black box. I was surprised when she handed it to me, even more so when I lifted the lid and saw what was inside.
‘This is my spare foil shaver, which you may use as you desire. And, yes, every day if you wish,’ she winked. Then after a theatrical pause, she continued, smiling. ‘And in the privacy of your caravan too.’
I wanted to say something like, “Oh, we can’t possibly, but we appreciate the kind gesture”. Instead, as I held the gold shaver firmly, I said, ‘Wow, thanks, Mrs Bouleur,’ and pecked her on the cheek, and Fleur did the same immediately afterwards.
‘Not a problem, my Bouleur Belles,’ she said briskly, noting the bistro was becoming busy as customers meandered in for breakfast. ‘The device is quick, easy, and safe to use… or, if you prefer, you can use it very slowly…’
‘Oh, does going slowly give a smoother finish?’ I asked innocently, distracted as I coveted the delightful shaver in my hand.
‘No, my dear… not smoother, but you may just enjoy the experience of taking your time,’ Mrs Bouleur winked. ‘Every day, if you wish, and twice on Sundays.’
‘You know us too well,’ Fleur giggled.
‘I am, how you say, knowing more about my lovely Bouleur Belles every day,’ she chuckled. ‘Now, while you remain in Fleethaven, you are able to attend to your napes yourselves but,’ she wagged a finger threateningly, ‘I expect you back here at least once a week so I can maintain the perimeter of the bowl,’ she ordered.
‘We will!’ we chorused, skipping through Bouleur and onto the promenade, feeling the rising warmth of the morning delightfully caressing our freshly shorn napes.
Saturday Morning
After Mrs Bouleur had restored our hair to its former pristine state during the relaxing start to Friday, the rest of the day had proved exhausting. There had been a crisis at the care centre with one of our favourite guests, although we had resolved matters satisfactorily by the evening. Unfortunately, by the time we got back to the caravan, darkness had fallen, and we were far too tired to play with our new toy, the foil shaver kindly presented to us by Mrs Bouleur.
However, when Saturday morning came around, a good rest had reignited our interest in play. Having first enjoyed breakfast on the deck outside the caravan, we took the gold BouleurPro foil shaver from its box. Although our napes had barely grown since the previous morning, we enjoyed running the vibrating device over each other’s skin… just for a little practice, you understand!
When we joined the FCOI programme, we had volunteered our services for at least one day each weekend that we were in Fleethaven. Fortunately, our first Saturday was completely free, allowing us time to relax and explore the town. While I resorted to my favourite denim skirt and white camisole top, Fleur dug out another one of her cute dresses from her never-ending supply. The short white dress with a pastel blue and yellow pattern looked lovely on her as we strolled along the sunny promenade on that Saturday morning.
Predictably, we found ourselves inside Bouleur, not for a haircut but selecting a scrumptious cake to go with our morning coffee. We were surprised to find that behind the counter was an extremely attractive guy, a little older than us, who we had never seen before. If I had not discovered my true path with Fleur, then I would certainly have been interested in finding out a great deal more about him.
Dressed in a black shirt and trousers that hugged his slim body, the most striking thing about him was his hair. Or rather the lack of it. Unusually for a young guy, he was completely bald with a gleaming scalp, which reflected the ceiling lights whenever he leaned over. Once we had made our selection from the patisserie, he tilted his head to one side and carefully appraised us, his eyes settling on our hair.
‘I will bring your cakes out to your table with your coffee, my dears,’ he offered. After a pause, he went on. ‘You are who my mother calls the Bouleur Belles, yes?’
‘Er, yes, we are,’ I answered, wondering how he would know that. But then the mystery resolved itself in my mind. ‘Ah, so you are Charles, Sophie’s brother?’
‘Yes, that is I… Guilty as charged,’ he chuckled melodiously.
‘So, is it your mother who maintains your smooth scalp?’ Fleur suddenly piped up, having been unusually silent. Staring at his bald head as if it were a rare and valuable sculpture, his gleaming dome had clearly captivated her. ‘It looks very fresh,’ she opined, and for a moment I thought she was going to reach out and touch it.
He chuckled merrily once more, running a palm over his smooth, gleaming dome. ‘Yes, every day, my mother or, occasionally, my sister will keep it fresh… and, whenever my boyfriend insists, then I will allow him to shave me… sometimes twice in a day,’ he grinned.
‘Ah,’ we said together with a knowing smile, both of us recognising the aphrodisiacal properties of frequent mutual grooming.
‘Yes, I am sorry to disappoint you, my Bouleur Belles, but I am taken by none other than the rugged and handsome Lucas, one of Fleethaven’s lifeguards,’ he laughed. ‘However, from what I hear, the pair of you are also taken… by each other.’ We nodded. ‘Perfect! So, please take sit at a table on the terrace, and I will bring your order to you very shortly.’
We strolled outside, passing the “Staff Only” door. Predictably, based on our limited experience, we heard an almighty crash. On this occasion, it was immediately followed by a tirade of words from Mrs Bouleur, the other side of the door, chastising her husband once again for his clumsiness. With the number of accidents we had witnessed in a brief period, it was surprising that any baked goods ever made it on display at Bouleur!
We settled at our usual table on the corner of the terrace, overlooking the bay. For five minutes we simply enjoyed the sunshine and the sound of the waves. At the sound of footsteps, we turned to see a family deputation approaching us. Mrs Bouleur strode towards us, flanked by her children. On her left was Charles carrying a tray filled with our coffee and cakes. On her right, Sophie was carrying a large Bouleur box for pastries.
‘Welcome back, my Bouleur Belles,’ the older woman announced grandly, despite only having seen us the previous day. ‘We wished to let you know that we have enjoyed your cheerful arrival in Fleethaven this week. Furthermore, we value all you have done for our community through the FCOI,’ she announced kindly. ‘We look forward to your presence in town for the remainder of the summer. And I to having the honour of maintaining your hair’s pristine appearance.’
‘To prevent it becoming fluffy, you mean?’ Fleur quipped.
‘Exactly so,’ Mrs Bouleur smiled. ‘And we would like to present to you a small token of our admiration,’ she expounded, concluding her delightful speech.
Mrs Bouleur gestured for her daughter to approach us with the Bouleur box she was carrying. We did not need another foil shaver, we hoped the contents would be delicious pastries to accompany our afternoon tea. However, as Sophie lifted the lid, we could not have been more surprised.
Nestled on a red, silk cushion was a beautifully crafted heart made from entirely natural materials. On a card at its centre were the words “Celine & Fleur”, underlined with a cupid arrow. While that was lovely, what instantly brought a lump to our throat was a recognition of the material employed. Forming the heart was an interlaced braid of our former blonde and chestnut ponytails. It was the hair that Mrs Bouleur had relieved us of at the start of our emotional and transformative week.
‘Wonderful!’ we chorused, brimming with emotion. I went on. ‘It has been a roller-coaster of a week for Fleur and me. But you, Mrs Bouleur, have been the welcome catalyst that will ensure our future happiness. Sincerely, we both thank you from the bottom of our hearts!’
Mrs Bouleur, Sophie, and Charles beamed at each other before turning to face us. I even saw a smiling figure peering from a window that I assumed belonged to the elusive Mr Albert Bouleur.
In harmony, the family’s voices rang out. ‘We are here to help!’
To be continued
A Note from the Author
With over fifty images, an Illustrated Edition with Original Artwork Throughout is available for free on my personal archive
