Sophie Embraces the Buzz from the New Neighbours

Prologue

The subdued floral pattern of my summer dress represented a poignant expression of my quiet, unchanging life. For three years, Mum and I had carved out a new existence in our modest home, on the outskirts of the town that we knew so well.

The imposing residence set back from the road, surrounded with the huge, manicured garden leading to a private orchard, was a distant memory now. Dad had found a new home and a new life, stereotypically with his young secretary. And he had left us with a painful ache in our hearts and a far smaller, but cosier, abode. Our street was friendly, our neighbourhood was quiet, and the faces had become familiar. It was a safe, predictable, and unchanging environment.

So, when Mr and Mrs Henderson, the sweet elderly couple next door, decided to retire to the seaside, a knot of apprehension tightened in my stomach. Who would move in? Would the new neighbours disrupt our relaxed and peaceful existence?

We met them briefly on their moving day. It was during the summer vacation before my final year of college, behind a blur of boxes and waved greetings. Ben and Bianca Evans looked closer to my age than that of my mum. But they carried themselves with an assurance that shouted a life that had embraced every facet of the city. By contrast, I had spent my whole life in my hometown, and even college was just a short bus ride away. Their easy confidence felt foreign, almost intimidating, and I was curious why they had moved to our little backwater.

During their first week of occupation, we heard the expected moving-home symphony of bangs and thuds. Then, when that faded to a quieter lull, I could focus on researching my looming dissertation for college.

While I had anticipated the return of our peaceful existence, I had not factored Ben and Bianca into my predictions …

Mum’s Sweet Offerings

‘Sophie, darling, these cakes won’t deliver themselves,’ Mum chirped, holding out a tray laden with her delicious lemon drizzle slices. ‘Pop them over to Ben and Bianca. Then ask if they need a hand with anything.’

My stomach fluttered. I preferred the quiet of my room, my textbooks, and even my assignments rather than making idle chit-chat with strangers. But since Dad had let her, Mum had adopted a harder, more assertive nature, and I felt it kinder not to argue.

‘Fine, Mum,’ I agreed. However, I sighed, unfortunately a tad too loudly, which gave Mum a predictable opening.

‘I suppose you don’t have time to do anything with your hair before you go, do you?’ she complained as she studied me critically. I stared back at her defiantly, and she knew to back down. ‘Well, dear, just do not let it catch the breeze and end up with my slices having, er, sticky ends,’ she giggled.

‘Don’t worry, Mum,’ I said brightly, smiling at her modest quip that served to hide my exasperation. ‘The hairband will keep it back from my face.’

My hair had become a battleground with Mum in recent times. It had always been long, and Dad had always called me his little Rapunzel for as long as I could remember. Consequently, there was an unvoiced agreement between my parents that my hair would always remain long.

Personally, I was not too concerned. I would have been fine if Mum had arranged for me to have a shorter and more manageable style. On the other hand, the “little Rapunzel” in me was delighted to keep it long because it kept Dad happy. Nevertheless, while he admired it, it always fell to Mum to help me care for it. As well as washing and drying it, she fashioned the ponytails and braids for school. Although I disliked such styles, I accepted the need for practicality once it had grown past my waist. Out of school, I kept it loose, simply using one of my growing collection of hairbands to gently hold it back neatly from my face.

Once I was no longer within Dad’s day-to-day influence, Mum encouraged me to consider a shorter style. However, by then I was due to start at college, so I was able to wear my long hair loose every day if I wished. And I did, again resorting to my hairbands to provide a nice method of keeping it under control.

‘Aren’t hairbands a bit childish?’ Mum would say, more often than I would have liked.

I always shrugged and shook my head, flicking my hair flamboyantly as a gesture of defiance.

‘Why not come along with me to Priscilla’s salon,’ she cajoled me regularly, ‘and let us see what she can do for you? I will pay!’

I only had to look at Mum’s hair to see what Priscilla could do to my hair. Chopped to fall just below the shoulders, with far too many layers, in a mass of permed waves that always looked tired. A style that dated back to her youth, I surmised. To be fair, I had seen worse on women of my mum’s age, but there was no way I would allow Priscilla to even touch my hair, let alone destroy it.

‘Thanks, Mum, but I’m happy with my hair as it is.’ I always reeled out my stock sentence to end each battle but always knowing that I had not won the war!

So, clutching the tray of cakes, I padded carefully across our lawn in my short summer dress. The ends of my hair, worn loose, tickled the back of my knees. However, my favourite black velvet hairband steered the bulk of my tresses away from the lemon slices. I edged past the overgrown hedge between the properties before stepping on the new neighbours’ driveway. And that is when I saw it. The source of the extended banging that had been disturbing me since they moved in.

They had completely transformed the garage, once a repository for Mr Henderson’s gardening tools. A pair of large, glass sliding doors stared out onto the street in place of the aluminium ones that had previously hung there. One of the doors was open, and I could see movement inside.

Above the transformed frontage of the garage, a freshly painted sign, bold and modern, proclaimed it was now the location of Bianca’s Buzz Shack.

My feet froze!

Bianca’s Buzz Shack

Inside, bathed in the bright light passing through the glass frontage, sat Ben. He was in profile, facing the side wall of the former garage, staring at it intently. A billowing, white cape completely covered his body, leaving just his head poking out the top. And Bianca, a formidable figure dressed in black and purple, also side on to me, stood behind Ben.

My breath hitched. A low, aggressive hum filtered out from the partly open door. I could see that Bianca held a device that resembled an electric shaver. As I watched, mesmerised, she moved the shining metal edge of the shaver over Ben’s scalp, stripping away whatever hair remained on his head, all the way down to his bare skin. Each pass revealed more, a stark, pale expanse that soon began to gleam under the light. Compared with how I remembered him from the day they arrived in the neighbourhood, Ben looked completely transformed.

Bianca was a vision from another world. My only reference for her style was old music videos from way back, featuring goth fashions. There were no goths in our provincial town, not even around college, just women wearing conservative haircuts, casual clothes, and sensible shoes. Bianca wore a corset, black leather and red lace, cinched tight, highlighting her slender waist. A black silk and lace miniskirt, patterned stockings that looked impossibly intricate, and heavy black leather boots with thick laces and metal buckles. Her hair, a cascade of silky black, shimmered down her back, nearly reaching her waist. A blunt fringe sat high on her forehead, framing a face that, even from a distance, was captivating, her bold makeup precise and dramatic.

Even though she was the interloper in our quiet provincial world, I suddenly felt acutely underdressed in my simple yellow floral summer dress. A wildflower adrift in the shadow of an exotic orchid.

I just stood there, rooted to the spot, staring like an idiot from the end of their drive with the tray of cakes in my hand. Bianca, after completing a final pass with the shaver, polished Ben’s gleaming scalp by applying an oil and vigorously rubbing it with a soft cloth.

Without warning, Ben suddenly turned his head. His gaze fell on me, a faint smirk playing on his lips. And then, he winked.

It was too much. The shock, the sudden awareness of him catching me staring, and the knowing wink. My hands spasmed. The tray of lemon slices tilted, then slipped. A soft thud followed as the cakes scattered on the drive, with most ending up on the lawn.

Embarrassed and humiliated, I just wanted to run back home and leave the lemon slices to the birds.

Ben’s Bold Invitation

Drawn by the clatter, Bianca also directed her attention towards me. They both laughed as they saw my predicament. It was a rich, surprisingly warm chorus that cut through my mortification.

Ben, his head a perfect, gleaming dome, had discarded the white cape that had covered him and was out of the former garage in a flash.

‘Whoops!’ he chuckled. ‘Let me help you with those.’ He crouched, his movements fluid and easy, rescuing the remnants of the cakes.

In contrast to Bianca’s theatrical attire, he wore a stylish light grey waistcoat over a crisp white shirt, adorned with a striking purple tie around his neck. He looked like he had stepped out of a high-end catalogue promoting trendy business wear.

‘Sorry,’ I mumbled. ‘Er, thanks …’

‘Don’t worry, it must have been a shock seeing us there,’ he said, his eyes twinkling with amusement. I was unsure if he was referring to the change of use of Mr Henderson’s garage or Bianca polishing his scalp. ‘With the move, my hair had got a bit unruly. Bianca’s just getting me back into shape.’

I could only nod, my gaze fixed on his impossibly smooth, perfect head. In our backwater, I had never once seen a young man who was completely bald. Not voluntarily, anyway. A sad tradition in our unstylish town was for men to comb over pathetic longer strands to hide the inevitable. But Ben? His head was a statement. A bold and confident statement.

‘You like it?’ Ben’s voice, sounding amused, awoke me from my daze. Before I could process his question, and with both of us still crouched down, he reached out. Gently taking my hand, he placed it against his glass-like bald head.

It was not rough like stubble from a missed shave. Nor was it greasy like a shiny forehead. It was utterly, startlingly smooth. And cool too, like polished marble. My thumb instinctively traced the curve of his skull, feeling the bone beneath his soft, supple skin. It was an intimate, shocking sensation, sending a strange jolt through my arm. A shiver, not of distaste, but more like a frisson of something new and unsettling. He continued to loosely hold my hand in place, letting me explore. And I found myself doing just that, my fingers drifting over the perfect, hairless landscape of his crown.

‘Many men in the city are adopting this look,’ he explained, his voice low and casual, as if this was the most normal thing in the world. ‘For a fashionable look, as well as comfort from the summer heat. There are even women who enjoy having their head shaved.’

In our provincial town, where older women considered layers on a shoulder-length bob as daring, this was unfathomable. Yet, my fingers lingered, captivated by the strange sensation and the unusual experience.

Through the large window, I caught Bianca’s eye as she watched us, an amused, knowing smirk on her face. Still crouched on their front lawn, I continued to explore Ben’s smooth dome. Jolted from my examination, a flush crept up my neck, hot and sudden. I snatched my hand away, feeling foolish and exposed, like a child caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

‘Oh! Sorry!’ I stammered, my cheeks burning, as I quickly straightened up, avoiding facing him, holding the tray in my hand.

‘Nothing to be sorry about,’ Ben chuckled behind me as I lurched towards Bianca, who watched my approach from the open doorway. ‘It was rather pleasant.’

Our Artisan Cakes

‘These are from my mum,’ I said, presenting the tray of broken cakes to Bianca when she appeared in the open doorway of the former garage. Not all were beyond salvaging, thankfully. ‘For you.’

‘How lovely,’ Bianca remarked, looking serious as she cast her eyes over the tray. ‘So much more… er… artisan than the uniform and unbroken ones that you find in bakeries.’

I was devastated. What would they think of us? I should have turned around straight away and helped Mum bake a fresh batch. ‘I’m so sorry, I—’

‘Your face!’ Bianca burst out laughing, and I heard Ben joining in behind me. ‘No, I should be sorry for exposing you to my strange sense of humour. It was a lovely thought, so thank you, Alice.’

‘Oh, right,’ I murmured, unsure whether she had been joking or not. ‘And it’s Sophie.’

‘What is? I mean, who is?’ Bianca asked, looking confused. ‘Your mum is called Sophie?’

‘No, her name is Beth. Sophie is my name,’ I clarified.

‘Oh, we’ve been calling you, Alice,’ Ben piped up from behind me.

Not to my face, as I had not spoken to them other than a waved greeting on the day they moved in. So, it came as a surprise that they had found time to discuss me in the brief time they have lived next door.

‘Hey, you know what it is, Ben,’ Bianca remarked, chuckling. ‘It is because of all those cute little Alice bands she uses to hold back her beautiful long hair. She is just like “Alice in Wonderland”.’

‘You’re right, Bianca,’ Ben agreed. He then took it upon himself, uninvited, to adjust the position of my black velvet hairband after it had become dislodged when I retrieved the cakes. ‘There we are, even cuter now, Alice… er, Sophie.’

Although comparisons with “Alice” had been frequent over the years, I was astonished that Bianca and Ben found my hairband a topic to hold their interest. They had even noticed that I possessed a variety of them. I contemplated whether they had noticed them because they were not chic enough for the city. Or was it simply that hairdressers from there simply looked down on them as a modern styling aid?

Irrespective of their opinion, I bristled at Ben’s intrusive adjustment of my hairband. However, I quelled my irritation after recalling what I had recently been doing with his smooth bald head for a protracted period!

‘Anyway, Alice –’ Bianca said, immediately correcting herself when noticing my dramatically arched eyebrow. ‘Sorry, Sophie. Please thank your mum, and we will invite you around when we are straight indoors. We have been focusing on getting my Shack ready since moving in.’

‘Er, what exactly is Bianca’s Buzz Shack?’ I asked, although I believed I had worked it out.

‘Bianca’s a top hair stylist in the city, in demand to work at all the top salons, especially the more alternative ones, given her stunning fashion sense,’ Ben explained lovingly. Given his conservative facade, his gushing praise for his wife heightened the contrast between their widely differing appearances. ‘We decided we’re too old for the city life,’ he said in all seriousness, but I doubted either of them were over thirty. ‘As Bianca wanted to start her own salon, we felt the time was right to move out to the suburbs. We hope the Shack might bring out Bianca’s loyal clientele from the city, as well as attract new customers from around these parts.’

‘And while I do that,’ Bianca went on, ‘Ben will continue working as an accountant in his city firm, although working from home a lot of the time.’

‘And paying all the bills for this place until she gets on her feet,’ Ben laughed, with Bianca placing an arm around him and sharing his amusement.

‘That sounds brilliant,’ I lied, wondering how they hoped to attract the traditional women of our town to such a bizarre place. ‘I hope it’s really successful.’

‘Thanks, A… Sophie, and don’t forget to let all your friends know… well, those who appreciate a good haircut,’ she added, failing to hide a disparaging glance at my knee-length locks.

That felt like a natural end to the bizarre encounter. ‘Bye for now,’ I murmured, turning around after enjoying a final lingering glance at the husband’s gleaming head.

‘Ben’s going to shave mine now,’ Bianca announced gaily, swinging her long, dark hair with a flourish as they moved back inside the former garage. ‘Over the past weeks, my hair has got incredibly messy too.’

Bianca Under Review

When Bianca said that Ben was about to shave her hair, my heart nearly stopped.

I gasped. ‘Shaved?’ Bianca’s hair, while not as long or thick as my own, was still a gloriously impressive mane. The thought of her cutting it, let alone shaving it, was unthinkable.

‘Yes!’ she laughed, her eyes sparkling. With quick, practised movements, she gathered the top half of her hair into a high ponytail. And then I saw it. Underneath, around her nape and the sides of her head, the hair was shockingly short. Only about a couple of centimetres long. I gasped again, a little choked sound.

‘It’s called an undercut, Sophie,’ Ben chuckled, stepping back into the salon. ‘Best of both worlds. All the rage in the city for cool chicks like Bianca.’

‘But it’s so short underneath,’ I said stupidly, redundantly, my mind still trying to process what I had seen. Unbidden, I followed them. ‘I mean, short compared with the top.’

‘It’ll be even more of a contrast when Ben shaves off all the pesky fuzz underneath,’ Bianca chirped, settling into the barber’s chair. ‘Half my head will be as gleaming as his.’

‘Are you a hairdresser too, Ben?’ I murmured, still bewildered.

‘No,’ he laughed, taking a set of clippers from a sterilised tray. ‘Like I said earlier. Accountancy. Paying the bills for this place.’ He looked at me, a mischievous gleam in his eyes. ‘So, Sophie, would you like to watch?’

What a strange thing to ask? Why would I want to watch an odd woman receiving an even stranger haircut? Besides, I had things I should be doing. Important things. Researching my latest college assignment, for example. I had no reason to watch a bald guy shave half his wife’s head.

Yet, as if a puppet master tugged my strings, the words tumbled out. ‘Yes, please.’ I surprised myself more than them. They both laughed, exchanging amused looks, their bond evident.

Like a well-rehearsed act, Bianca had jumped into the barber’s chair, and Ben had draped her in the pristine white cape, her long hair secured above the undercut sections. He lifted heavy-duty hairclippers from a stand next to the mirror on the wall that faced Bianca. He flicked the switch, and a high-pitched whine filled the room.

Space was at a premium in Bianca’s Buzz Shack, so I leaned awkwardly against the wall in the corner. I felt like a naughty schoolchild waiting outside the headteacher’s office, trying not to draw attention to myself.

Ben was raising the buzzing clippers to Bianca’s nape when his phone rang, startling me. I jumped, and they both chuckled.

He glanced at the screen. ‘Oh, bother! Work! Sorry, love, I have got to take this, and I may be a while,’ he complained.

He slipped on the jacket of his suit, pecked Bianca on top of her head, and handed me the still buzzing hairclippers.

My heart pounded with a strange mix of relief and disappointment. Relief because it would break the intense atmosphere that had built up, disappointment because… well, I did not really know why. ‘Are you going into the city?’ I asked, quite reasonably I thought, as he adjusted his tie in the mirror, looking as if he belonged on the top floor of one of the large office buildings.

‘Video conference. Upstairs. In my study,’ he explained, in a staccato fashion, checking his tie again.

‘Ben needs to make himself look presentable to convince his boss he is working productively from home rather than playing amateur hairdresser,’ Bianca elaborated with a chuckle. ‘And doesn’t he look the part? So smart!’ she gushed, which I still found strange given her contrasting goth aesthetic.

‘At least he does not have to worry about tidying his hair,’ I quipped, surprising myself by making an uncharacteristic witty retort, causing them both to chuckle. It suggested I was revelling in their light and carefree attitude.

‘See you later,’ he called out distractedly, pecking his partner on her proffered cheek. Then, without any embarrassment on his part, he pecked me on my cheek too, before opening the internal door into the house.

‘Er, what am I supposed to do with these?’ I asked indignantly, holding up the hairclippers that continued to vibrate noisily in my hand.

‘Oops!’ he chuckled. ‘Well, it looks like you are the lucky person to finish Bianca off. But no need to worry, it is easy enough. Although if you are as clumsy with the hairclippers on my beloved’s head as you are with cakes, then I will mop up the blood later. See you!’ And, like a whirlwind, he was gone.

Undercurrent of Unease

‘But… but…’ I murmured, full of doubt, looking from the buzzing hairclippers to Bianca. ‘Was he joking?’ I ventured.

‘About the blood?’ Bianca asked, a mischievous grin forming on her lips. I slowly shook my head. ‘No, he wasn’t joking about you finishing me off.’ She had turned in the chair, her eyes sparkling with unadulterated enthusiasm. Then she turned back to face the mirror before lowering her chin to expose the overgrown undercut covering her nape. ‘Thanks, Alice,’ she squealed excitedly.

‘It’s Sophie!’ The clippers felt heavy, humming faintly in my hand. They vibrated with a low thrumming power, the sharp blades glinting. ‘But I’ve never –’

‘Oh, please… er, Sophie!’ she cajoled. ‘It is so easy, I promise! Just follow the line here.’ She pointed to the edge of the short section. ‘It just feels so ugly. Just a quick buzz, please, to keep it nice and neat.’ Her excitement was contagious, overriding my fear.

Her confidence, her utter lack of concern for her own head, was disarming. My hand trembled as I lifted the clippers. The buzzing sound filled my ears, louder now. I pressed the cold metal blade against Bianca’s nape, just below her hairline, where the short hair began.

What I was doing felt shockingly intimate. I guided the device, slowly, awkwardly, over her skin. A soft whirring sound, and then, snippets of dark hair floated down, settling on the white cape. I exposed one strip, and then I revealed another. It was surprisingly satisfying and precise. I watched the hair fall away, revealing the smooth, pale skin underneath. The clippers felt less fearsome now, more like a tool, an extension of my hand. Bianca encouraged me, her voice gentle, guiding my movements.

‘That’s right, Sophie,’ she urged, her breath hitching slightly, suggesting she was revelling in my ministrations. ‘No need to rush. Slow but sure… just keep it even!’

Following my initial reservations, I found myself enjoying the task immensely. Relishing the necessary focus and the sense of accomplishment as I peeled back the hair to reveal the pristine skin underneath. I worked carefully and meticulously, undoubtedly taking far longer than I should have.

Once no further bristles were visible, Bianca instructed me to check for any missed areas. ‘Just run your fingers over it, Sophie. You will feel any areas you have missed, although you do seem to have been remarkably thorough.’

My heart thumped. I was sure I had not missed anything, having been so meticulous. But I hesitated. Instructing me to stroke her bare neck sounded so intimate. Yet, Bianca’s eyes were on me in the mirror, holding my gaze expectantly.

Slowly, I extended my hand. My fingertips brushed against the skin I had so diligently buzzed, and I felt a pang of disappointment. ‘Oh,’ I said in alarm, but without meaning to, my breath hitching slightly. ‘Sorry …’

Finishing Off Bianca

‘What is wrong, Sophie? Have you drawn blood?’ Bianca asked with mock seriousness.

‘No, but it does not feel as smooth as Ben’s head,’ I whined, overlooking the fact that voicing that statement would have sounded completely bizarre half an hour earlier.

‘Oh yes, I had forgotten you had had a good feel of my husband’s head,’ she said haughtily, but with her ever-present grin. Still, I blushed. ‘You need to complete your task with the foil shaver to get it that smooth. Given your earlier reluctance, I thought I would ask Ben to do that when he has finished his meeting.’

‘Oh… right…’ I murmured, finding myself unexpectedly sulking, trying to hide the disappointment creeping into my voice. ‘Fine…’

‘Unless, Sophie, you would like to shave my remaining fuzz all the way down to the bone?’ Bianca asked pleasantly but with an unmistakably hopeful edge.

My heart fluttered at Bianca’s use of such emotive language to describe what she wanted me to do. ‘Yes, please,’ I squeaked, trying to contain my unexpected excitement, as I eagerly grabbed the smaller device that I had seen her using on her partner earlier.

The foil shaver hummed in my hand as Bianca bowed her head once more. I applied its metallic surface to the shadow covering Bianca’s nape. I marvelled at how her unblemished skin changed in appearance from a very pale grey to a dazzling whiteness.

Emboldened, I worked the shaver back and forth, side to side, meticulously clearing the whole expanse “down to the bone”. Momentarily, I looked up to check I was doing it correctly and that Bianca had no concerns. Seeing her blissful expression with eyes half closed, I concluded that I was doing simply fine, so I continued with my enjoyable task.

Finally, I had to accept that not a single bristle remained on the back and sides of Bianca’s head. I examined it with my fingers to be certain, and I found it incredibly smooth, just as silken as Ben’s entire head.

As I explored further, Bianca radiated a strange vulnerability. My fingers mapped the contours of her skull, the delicate curve of her neck, and the soft skin behind her ears. It was an intoxicating sensation, a peculiar mix of softness and harshness.

‘That feels wonderful, Sophie. You are a natural,’ Bianca purred, watching in the mirror as my fingers traced the lines of her head. ‘And I do so hope you are enjoying yourself.’

Her words, so simple, yet so knowing, made my cheeks flush once again! A jolt of guilt, like a sudden electric shock, ran through me. Was I enjoying it? More than I should? Quickly snatching away my hand, it felt like I had exposed too much of myself.

‘I… er… should go,’ I stammered. As I began to turn away, she jumped to her feet, snatching the cape from around her as she did so. Reaching out, quick as a flash, she grabbed my hand. She placed it, firmly but gently, on the freshly shaved expanse of her neck. ‘Nice?’ she questioned, her eyes boring into mine, a playful challenge in their depths.

‘Yes,’ I squeaked, unable to tear my gaze from hers or to stop my other hand from joining the first. My fingers explored the incredible smoothness of her scalp, the cool, soft skin that I had exposed to the air, contrasting with the long glossy hair above. It was hypnotic. ‘Yes, very nice,’ I breathed, licking my lips.

Just then, Ben returned, his video call finished, and the sight of my arms around his wife’s neck brought him to a sudden stop. ‘Well, what have you two been up to while I was away?’

Assessing the Heat

I blushed, guiltily pulling my hands away from Bianca’s neck as Ben arched a questioning eyebrow. He stepped forward, closely examining my handiwork with a slow, appreciative nod. ‘Wow, that’s perfect, Sophie. You are a natural.’

‘That’s what she said,’ I giggled nervously, feeling flustered.

He stepped closer, and before I could react, he leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to my cheek. The unexpected contact, hot and fleeting, sent another jolt through me, and I stepped away awkwardly. ‘Thank you,’ he said, although I was not altogether sure why.

Not for the first time that morning, it felt like a suitable time to leave. A sensible time to leave! ‘I should go now…’ I opined.

Bianca, unfazed by her partner’s intimate behaviour or my farewell, swept her eyes over my long, thick hair. It reached my bottom, a veritable mountain of dark, straight hair that I had always considered my best feature.

‘You must be feeling the heat with all that lot, Alice,’ Bianca observed, her voice playful. She had deliberately used the nickname they had coined for me as, uninvited, she plucked the black velvet Alice band from my hair.

I nodded dumbly. The heat was indeed stifling, especially in the confined space of the former garage, but my hair was my comfort blanket. Although I liked to think I was more than just my hair, it was a defining element of my identity.

Before I could protest about the removal of my hairband, both Ben and Bianca were reaching out, running their fingers through my hair. Ben took a handful from one side, Bianca from the other. It was a strange and unfamiliar position to find myself in, and I felt completely out of my depth, sandwiched intimately between them. Although a mostly pleasurable experience, the urge to leave was growing stronger by the second.

‘So long and thick,’ Ben commented, smiling.

‘Heavy as well, and in great condition,’ Bianca noted.

Their touch was light, almost possessive. Bianca had fixed her eyes on my hair, a speculative look on her face, and I could have sworn I saw her tongue dart out, licking her lips in anticipation. A shiver, colder this time, ran down my spine.

‘Let’s see what we can do to cool you down then,’ Bianca said, her voice dripping with invitation, already pulling me toward the antique barber’s chair. It was an ornate, heavy thing, with worn leather and gleaming chrome, a relic of a bygone era, yet looking perfectly at home in the Bianca’s Buzz Shack.

Ben, smiling broadly, had rotated the seat to face me, and he theatrically waved a hand, beckoning me to sit.

Despite every instinct screaming at me to refuse, stupidly and inexplicably, I stepped forward and perched on the edge of the seat. It was like I was in a dream, watching myself.

Making My Decision

‘So, what do you think?’ Bianca asked as she combed through my locks with her fingers.

‘We need to get some of that weight off her,’ Ben asserted, before I could answer.

‘Just a trim will be fine,’ I managed to interject, hovering indecisively on the seat’s rim, but with my voice lost in their confident banter.

They merely exchanged a look, a shared grin, at my unconvincing disruption. Bianca gently eased me back into the chair, its worn leather surprisingly comfortable. She draped the pristine white cape around my shoulders, effectively trapping me in place.

‘Agreed, Ben, so how about an undercut, like mine?’ Bianca suggested, her voice conspiratorial. ‘That reduces the weight for sure.’

He circled me, examining my head. ‘Hmm, I am not so sure. She does not really have the same sense of style as you, preventing her from carrying it off with your panache.’

My stomach clenched. He made it sound like my elegant yellow dress that suited me perfectly well was a costume for a child provided by her mother. I wanted to protest, to tell them my “sense of style” was perfectly fine, thank you very much, but the words stuck in my throat. After all, there was no way I was ever going to invite Bianca to shave half my hair off, simply so that I could look more like her.

‘True enough, Ben,’ Bianca nodded thoughtfully.

They continued to discuss me as if I were not there, as if my opinion were of no consequence. Their constant banter was tiring, wearing me down, and I wanted them to reach a conclusion. One that I could consider myself before they took any action.

‘You’re quite a traditional sort, aren’t you, Sophie,’ Ben remarked, not too unkindly.

I nodded, forcing a smile.

‘Yes, so the only choice to get sufficient weight off that lovely head will be a bob,’ Bianca proposed, her decision sealed with a nod of approval from Ben. ‘We’ll do that for her now.’

I was relieved that the banter had stopped. But what? A bob? And not stated with a view to it being an option for consideration, but with clear intent that she was prepared to cut it straight away. It was my hair, but, already seated and caped in her chair, I felt like she had removed all my choices.

‘Not too short,’ I pleaded, my voice barely a whisper, as Bianca picked up the scissors.

‘Well, you were complaining about the heat,’ Ben said stiffly, despite it being untrue. It was he who had asserted that I must be feeling the heat.

‘Exactly!’ Bianca tutted. ‘So, a fair proportion of it does need to come off, Sophie. Be reasonable.’

‘Me be reasonable?’ I whimpered, but they ignored me.

Sophie’s Choice

I wanted to cry, but before I had the chance, Ben separated out a section of my hair at the side, and he lifted it away from my head. Bianca approached with scissors. She clinically placed the blades around my hair, forcing them together with a flourish.

The first snip felt like a jolt, a physical shock, as a long, heavy section of hair detached itself, hanging from Ben’s hand. He held it up, wearing a smug expression, before lifting the next section. After Bianca had cut that, he gathered it together with the first.

‘I imagine your head feels so much lighter already, Sophie,’ Ben suggested. ‘I know all this hair is starting to feel very heavy in my hand.’

My chest tightened. I could not speak. More snips followed, a rhythmic, unforgiving sound, and in little over a minute Ben had collected all the long hair that was formerly mine. He held it up triumphantly, but I could only observe with detached interest, unable to believe it could be mine.

‘That’s so much better,’ Bianca postulated, as she admired my severed ponytail, before Ben laid it out reverently on a shelf below the mirror, right in front of me. ‘Just where it should be,’ she added, unnecessarily cruelly, I thought.

‘Yes, Sophie, after all your complaining, you will feel so much cooler now,’ Ben grinned, as he lovingly stroked the dormant hair stretched out before me.

After Bianca had finished chopping off the bulk of my hair in great swathes, she meticulously trimmed the ends of what remained. Eventually, the ends of my hair brushed my shoulders, rather than the back of my knees. She had given me a shoulder-length bob, neat and respectable, and so much shorter.

While I was feeling upset, I saw Ben and Bianca exchanging disappointed looks. ‘No,’ Ben snapped, a sigh escaping his lips. ‘It is quite… er, nice… I suppose… but it does not scream “city” or “edgy”, and we need to promote the services offered by the Shack going forward.

My heart sank. ‘It’s fine,’ I whimpered. It was not fine, but they had taken things far enough, and they had taken my hair short enough. I waved my arms around trying to extricate myself from the huge white cape.

‘Calm down, Sophie,’ Bianca chided, placing a hand on my shoulder to suppress my movement as if I were a child. ‘You are quite right, Ben. We can do better,’ Bianca agreed, a new resolve in her eyes.

Before I could even formulate a protest, she leant forward and took the clippers. The buzzing sound, which had felt familiar and fun when I used them on Bianca, was terrifying when they edged towards me, approaching my head.

She was employing a different clippering technique I noticed with almost detached interest. Inverting the hairclippers, with the bare blade on top, they disappeared behind my head. I felt her jab the cold metal against my skin, high up the back of my head. An insistent vibration penetrated my skull.

‘Oh, yes, that’s better,’ Ben judged. ‘Just look at her lovely, unblemished neck that has never before seen the sun.’

A shiver ran down my spine as I tried to imagine how this variation of the use of the clippers would have affected my hair’s appearance. I soon found out when a huge mound of hair fell onto my shoulder, rolled down the front of the cape, bounced in my lap, and tumbled to the floor.

As Bianca swiftly followed the line she had established. The whirring sound sounded loud in my right ear as she clippered away all the hair surrounding it. She did the same on the left, exposing them to the air in a way they had not been since I was a young child. The cool air felt foreign on my scalp as my cherished shield against the world was being systematically dismantled.

A loud hum accompanied by a different sensation pressed against my skin. ‘Oh, goodie, the foil shaver,’ Ben said, clapping his hands together with glee. I knew the impact that the shaver would exert from having used it on Bianca. I had half a mind to tell her to stop and assert a little control over the situation. But forlornly, I realised it was too late to make any significant difference to my hair. ‘Down to the wood, Sophie, down to the wood,’ Ben urged, acting like an overexcited child.

Bianca moved in front of me, taking up the scissors again. With sharp, decisive snips, she cut a ridiculously short fringe, just like hers, high up on my forehead. My face, so long accustomed to my long hair framing and softening it, felt stark, exposed, and vulnerable.

Ben gasped enthusiastically, circling me like a predator. ‘Yes, there we are, Sophie! A flawless bowlcut! Just like the cool chicks in the city are getting. And it suits you perfectly!’

I stared into the mirror, a stranger looking back at me. My long, flowing hair was gone, replaced by a severe, impossibly short glossy cap that hugged my crown. Everything below the perimeter of the bowl, she had shaved to the skin, leaving a dazzling whiteness. My prominent ears, so long disguised under my abundant hair, she had exposed for all to witness. My forehead, bare beneath a ridiculously short, blunt fringe, lent my features an almost childlike appearance. I screwed up my eyes, held them closed, then slowly opened one. I was willing it all to have been a dream, but it had turned into my worst nightmare.

Epilogue

Bianca and Ben were beaming with delight, immensely pleased with themselves as each pointed out details of my haircut. They were utterly oblivious to the quiet despair forming in my chest.

Their excited voices were trying to elicit a favourable response from me. But their words were just a noise. All I could think of was how I was going to explain my transformed appearance to my friends. To my dad, who still referred to me as his little Rapunzel. And, most worryingly of all, to my mum.

I had popped out, Rapunzel-like, less than an hour ago to deliver a tray of freshly baked lemon slices whose constituents Mum would have mixed in a pudding bowl. And I would be returning without cakes and with what remained of my hair in a pudding bowl style. I did not find the irony in the least amusing, and neither, I was sure, would Mum.

Synchronised with my anxious thoughts, Mum suddenly popped her head around the corner of the garage, a questioning expression on her face.

‘Sophie? Darling, what is taking you so long? I-’

Her words died in her throat. Her eyes widened, her jaw slack. For a terrifying second, I thought she might faint. I braced myself for the reprimand and the outrage aimed at the new neighbours. I desperately needed her protective fury, an ally, even though it was far too late for my long hair.

‘Sophie! Oh, my goodness!’ She shrieked as she circled me, tentatively reaching out to examine the glossy cap of hair, caress my smooth skin, and finger a prominent ear. She spun to face Bianca, but, instead of anger, a strange sound escaped her lips. A delighted little squeal. ‘How did you manage to do that, Bianca?’

‘Mum?’ I interjected, feeling a growing sense of her betrayal.

‘I have wanted Sophie to get a proper haircut for years!’ she gushed. ‘But from now on, no more fussing with all that silly long hair! Just look at her now, so delightfully cute!’

My heart sank and shattered into a million pieces. My own mother, complicit in my embarrassment and humiliation.

Mum ran a hand through her overgrown, lacquered waves that rested unflatteringly on her shoulders. ‘Room for another in your chair, Bianca?’ Mum asked, already eyeing the antique barber chair with longing.

Bianca’s smile widened, a triumphant, almost predatory gleam in her eyes. ‘Always,’ she confirmed, exchanging an excited smile with Ben over my head. ‘And don’t forget to tell all your friends about Bianca’s Buzz Shack, our little piece of the city brought to the provinces.’

Disbelieving, I moved to the sliding door, my bowlcut perched neatly on my head, the bare skin of my neck feeling the stark coolness of the breeze. The new neighbours had irrevocably altered my long-held identity and shaken the quiet comfort of my provincial life.

But even those life-shattering changes could not prevent the constant bubbling up of insidious memories in my mind. The exploration of Ben’s smooth head. And the shaving of Bianca’s nape.

The new neighbours had revealed a strange new world, and I was unsure whether I dared to fully embrace it.