HairApparent
Prologue
‘Thanks, Gran, it is very pretty,’ Beth said, dubiously looking down at the hair ornament in the luxurious presentation box she had just handed her.
Beth had dutifully accepted, and sounded grateful, for the cute floral clips and glossy ribbons that Gran had given her in the past to control her hair. Now, into her teens, she preferred either a loose ponytail or just letting her remarkably long hair flow freely, unconstrained and wild.
Yet, as they sat together in her cosy living room, surrounded by afternoon sunshine and the smells of her famous cookies baking in the oven, Beth could hardly tell her grandmother that.
‘You are most welcome, Beth. Try it on,’ Gran urged, her eyes sparkling with excitement, and her voice as eager as a kid on Christmas morning, full of enthusiasm and joy.
Beth groaned inwardly. Despite having exceptionally long hair, she had never been fond of hairbands as they always felt too tight and scratchy. Noticing her reluctance, Gran immediately grabbed the box again and pulled out the bright red plastic Alice band. ‘Just sit still. I will pop it in for you to keep all that annoying hair out of your eyes.’
Unboxing
‘But it is so old-fashioned, Gran,’ Beth pleaded, cringing at the thought of the shiny red band resting on her head and her friends laughing when they saw it.
‘Nonsense, Beth! It is very pretty, and it will suit you perfectly.’ With that, she began manoeuvring the hairband through Beth’s hair, tucking strands behind her ears, and positioning it carefully so that it gripped her hair and nestled into place near her hairline.
‘There!’ Gran announced proudly, stepping back, and clapping her hands together with glee. ‘Very smart! Now you will be able to see where you are going all day long.’
‘It feels strange, Gran. Like it is digging into my head,’ Beth said, puzzled. She had a strange feeling about how it sat in her hair, confirming her dislike of the dated accessory.
‘Yes, well, I imagine there is a comb underneath it. To grip your hair … well, I suppose,’ Gran suggested, though even she sounded unsure. ‘So, it does not slip out.’
‘It is too tight, Gran,’ Beth complained. ‘Are you sure it is not for a five-year-old?’
‘No … er, not really,’ Gran murmured distractedly, looking around her. ‘Can you hear a fly? Or it might be a wasp?’
Beth froze, an uneasy feeling creeping into her stomach. ‘Yes, Gran, a sort of buzzing … and I can feel a vibration around my head. What is it?’ she asked, a note of panic in her voice.
‘I am not sure, Beth. Oh, bother,’ she cried, her brows knitting together. ‘Your band is slipping out already. So much for the built-in comb gripping your hair. Let me adjust it.’
Gran leant in closer, attempting to push the band back into position, but as moments passed, her face shifted from concern to confusion. ‘That is so strange, Beth. I cannot move it. I am going to have a word with the company I ordered it from and get my money back.’
But as Gran’s fingers fumbled futilely with the band, Beth noticed that the insistent buzzing sound was growing louder. A chill swept over her. ‘Gran, take it off, now,’ Beth yelled, her heart racing. ‘It’s freaking me out!’
‘Well, it seems to be slipping backwards of its own accord,’ Gran watched, perplexed, as it slowly moved, ‘so it will be out soon.’
But it was not working that way at all. As Beth stood in the middle of Gran’s cosy living room, something inexplicable happened. She could feel the two ends of the hairband entwine beneath her hair to loop together. The whole band was pivoting backwards, but also shrinking tightly against her scalp as it did so. Beth could feel the pressure mounting, and to her horror, it felt like it was pulling her hair with it.
Beth could hardly breathe. ‘No, no, no!’ she cried, her voice rising in pitch. Panic filled every corner of her mind as the band shrank further, holding her hair hostage in its grip. In moments, the tension reached a peak as the sound dramatically increased in pitch.
Suddenly, the incessant noise stopped, punctuated by a single swish like a sharp knife. An agonizing tug at Beth’s nape followed. With a sickening thud, all her hair fell to the floor at her feet, bound by the shrunken hair band that now resembled the red scrunchie from hell.
‘Gran!’ Beth screamed, all hope evaporating as her hands explored her head, finding just a soft fuzz of hair remaining.
Explaining
Gran turned to Beth, clutching the empty presentation box like a lifeline. Her face drained of colour as she studied the tiny print on the box with frantic urgency.
‘Oh dear, I did not realise …’ Gran whispered vaguely, her voice wavering with shock. ‘I thought it was just a normal Alice band. One that would stop your hair getting in your eyes all the time.’
‘What do you mean?’ Beth gasped, still reeling from the sudden and unexpected loss of her hair.
Wide-eyed, Gran continued. ‘It is a home hair donation kit. It has a collection of tiny little shavers fitted under the band to plough through the hair. And that is the whirring we heard as it trimmed your hair. How fascinating! What will they think of next.’
‘Hopefully, a way of sticking it back on again,’ I grumbled.
Gran laughed at my unintended joke. ‘Oh, look, we can send your hair attached to the band, to the address printed here. They will assess its length, weight and condition and send you an appropriate payment. Not the sort of present I had in mind for you, but I am sure you can find something nice to buy with the cash.’
‘What do you suggest. Shampoo? Conditioner?’ Beth snapped vociferously.
Gran ignored her granddaughter’s sarcasm. ‘Oh, they will also send you a replacement Alana Hair Plough. Free of charge, for you to give to a friend. How nice.’
‘Nice!’ Beth yelled, wanting to disregard the awful prospect of consigning the hair one of her friends to a similar fate.
A cold wave washed over Beth. Just like that, her long hair had vanished, consumed by a ridiculous contraption she had initially shrugged off as a silly gift. She looked down at the coiled rope on the floor that once was her hair. Tears brimmed in her eyes.
‘Beth, I am so sorry!’ Gran exclaimed, picking up her granddaughter’s bound ponytail from the floor. ‘I just thought your hair needed tidying up a bit. I did not mean this to happen,’ she added, merrily swinging Beth’s hair back and forth.
‘Did not mean for this to happen?’ Beth stammered, her voice trembling. ‘My hair is gone, Gran! I am bald!’
‘Well, not exactly bald. More like a crewcut, really,’ Gran explained patiently, attempting to pacify her granddaughter.
Although Beth would never have wanted to believe that her Gran would deliberately deceive her, just for an instant she contemplated if she had known the properties of the Alana Hair Plough beforehand.
Chuckling, Gran continued. ‘And, like it says on the box, your hair will no longer keep getting in your eyes.’
Epilogue
Two days later, a young couple were about to close their hairdressing salon after an extremely busy day. Their last client gleefully had indicated her appreciation through the window of the salon. Admiring her reflection, she giggled with delight as she tossed her newly lengthened hair with carefree enjoyment before continuing along the street.
Clara, the woman stylist eagerly opened a parcel delivered earlier that day. ‘Beautiful!’ she declared, holding up and admiring a glistening remarkably long ponytail, tightly bound with a red clip.
‘The hair came from someone called Beth,’ Alan, the stylist’s husband, stated flatly, after reading the completed form inside the parcel. ‘Her gran was another one who says she mistakenly bought one of our Hair Plough hairbands thinking it was a normal accessory. Poor Beth.’
‘Poor Beth? More like rich us,’ Clara giggled. ‘Alan, we will pay her the going the rate, and hopefully she will have a friend who wants to use the free Hair Plough we send back with the cash. And I have a client who wants extensions this length and exact shade, so we will make a fortune from the transaction.’
‘But should we not make the wording clearer in the website listing and on the presentation box,’ Alan implored, ‘so that people like Beth’s gran don’t buy the wrong thing in error?’
‘Nonsense, Alan,’ Clara scoffed. ‘I need as much high-quality hair as I can source right now, as so many women have appointments booked with Hair Extensions by Clara. If I can get that raw hair cheaply from girls that might not have previously considered cutting their hair, then all the better. For me … er, us.’
‘I wish I had never invented the bloody thing sometimes,’ Alan lamented irritably. ‘All those poor girls …’
‘It was a work of genius, Alan. You are a genius,’ Clara cooed, pandering to his ego. ‘So just keep making them as quickly as you can and let me look after all the marketing.’
‘I suppose …’ Alan accepted, knowing he had no chance of persuading his wife to think or act differently, so it was easier to do as she says.
‘Oh, and when the online orders slow down and we have spare Alana Hair Ploughs,’ Clara said excitedly, ‘I will want you out in the town scouting for girls with long hair. Then persuading them to let you show the fine workings of your wonderful invention. Before bringing me back loads of lovely hair.’
‘Yes, dear,’ Alan agreed glumly, confident in the knowledge that, despite his own reservations, Carla would have him ploughing on regardless.
