The Blue Horse (10 page)

Mam was kept in hospital for an extra few days as she had a bit of a setback. Da visited her twice a day and in between tried to make a few contacts around the area to see about odd jobs and collecting scrap. Katie took over the cooking and running the house.

The day that Mam came home from hospital Katie watched her get out of the car. She seemed to stop on the pathway, unsure if she wanted to cross the front door. She was so pale, and seemed almost to tremble. It was Da who urged and coaxed her inside and settled her upstairs in bed.

‘I should be getting back to school,’ Katie said to Da.

‘Nothing wrong with staying at home for a while and giving your Mam a hand,’ her father tried to persuade her.

She felt torn in two. Maybe staying at home wouldn’t be so bad, school wasn’t that hot after all.

Her whole mind was in a whirl. She wanted things to change and yet she didn’t. If the truth be told, she didn’t know what she wanted, she was like a piece of cork floating on the river, going any way it was brought, bobbing up and down, a silly useless thing. She hated her face,
she hated the pimples on her forehead, she hated her clothes, she hated her hair. There was nothing she could do about most of it, but there was one thing she could change – her hair.

One Saturday morning Katie went up the town and stood in the main street. The weekends were always busy, people with lots of money busily spending it. Da had given her a bit of money for herself.

Music blared out from some of the shops, all the sounds pushing at each other, competing for custom. Women struggled in and out of the supermarket, many tugging enough bags of groceries to break an arm. Young children were already whingeing and wanting to be home …

Jonathan’s was the first hair stylist’s she spotted. She read the prices on the list in the window. Yeah, she definitely had enough money, so she pushed in the door.

A tape of soft music played in the background. Two women were sitting with their heads leaning backwards at washbasins getting their hair washed. A girl, her hair a mass of bleached white-blond waves, was cutting a middle-aged woman’s hair.

A tanned man with a moustache and a crisp white shirt tucked into tight-fitting jeans came towards Katie.

‘Yes, may I help you?’

‘I want to get my hair cut,’ she said.

‘Well!’ he stopped and stared at her, taking in every inch of her, from her runners right up to
her sweatshirt.

‘We are very exclusive, our prices are steep, especially on a Saturday.’

‘I have the money,’ she patted the pocket of her jeans.

‘Well, it’s not just that, actually we have a problem with your type of hair. I’d advise leave well enough alone.’ He seemed embarrassed and fumbled over his words.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, it might just frizz up on you. No, I wouldn’t cut it.’

Katie stared at him. ‘But I want to get it cut, it’s too long and it needs –’

‘I’ve given you my professional opinion. I’m sorry, but no.’ He turned on his heel and went back to a chair where a girl of about nineteen was sitting with a towel around her neck. He lifted up the hairdrier and turned it on full blast and began to blow-dry her hair.

Standing there on her own, Katie had no option but to step out of the shop.

About ten doors down from there was another hairdresser’s called Clip ‘n’ Cut. It was a lot bigger than the last one and seemed much busier. There were about eight basins and each one was occupied. In front of a row of mirrors, women stared at their reflections. There was hair in every stage of mess – wet, greased, hair with bits of paper stuck on it and hair poking out of a sort of bathing cap in a frenzy of madness. Katie
couldn’t believe it. She had never seen anything like it.

The woman in charge came over to her. She wore a well-cut suit and giant dangly silver earrings and looked friendly enough.

‘Yes, what is it?’

Katie flushed. ‘I want to get my hair cut a bit.’

The woman seemed surprised.

‘Humph!’ She waved back towards the busy shop. ‘As you can see, I’m full up.’

As she spoke two women came in, nodded at her and went and sat down in a small row of chairs. They began to flick through glossy magazines.

‘Will I wait then?’ enquired Katie, starting to take a step towards them.

‘No!’ The woman replied sharply ‘Those customers have already made appointments. You might end up waiting hours. Why don’t you try somewhere else or come another day.’

As she spoke she managed somehow or other to walk Katie to the open door.

Katie felt deflated. She blinked and looked up and down the street. There were bound to be a few more hairdressers in a town this size. She had to walk for about ten minutes before she discovered another one. It was up a narrow stairs, over a florist’s. Inside, Michelle’s was busy enough. The women were older and sat studying their newspapers and magazines under big, old-fashioned hairdriers. There was a circle of
cotton wool wound around most of the heat-reddened faces. One or two looked up as she came in. Obviously it was Michelle herself who, all of a fluster, came over to her. She was like a big pink marshmallow – her skin was pale and she was squashed into vivid pink leggings and a pink-and-white polka-dot top. She wobbled over to Katie.

‘Yes, dearie?’

‘I’d like to get my hair cut.’ Maybe it would be a case of third time lucky.

‘Oh, I don’t know!’ The woman walked around her.

Two or three of the customers lowered their voices and were semi-listening.

‘Come over here and sit down a second.’ She called Katie to a plastic seat near a silver cash register, opened a kind of glass box, took out a long-handled comb and using the long tip of it lifted up one or two sections of the thick reddish hair.

‘I don’t like messing around with coloured hair,’ she muttered.

‘It’s not coloured, I’ve always been a redhead.’ Katie lifted a hand to her head.

‘No, I would prefer not to …’ Her face was pulled into a prissy look which she directed towards the women.

‘My hair is clean, honest! It was washed two days ago,’ Katie pleaded.

‘No. I think it’s best to leave it,’ the owner
added firmly.

Stunned and conscious of the glances of the middle-aged women, Katie went bright red and stood up and left. She felt totally humiliated. It wasn’t fair. She hadn’t got two heads. She wasn’t a criminal. Did they think she’d steal or break up their shops?

She stood outside, staring in at them.

‘Tinkers, they’re everywhere,’ she heard the owner joke.

How could it be? She stumbled back down the stairs. The sunlight outside made her squint. She tried two more places. One just shouted that they didn’t want the likes of her, and the last wouldn’t even open the door to her.

She felt sick to her heart as she stood at the bus stop. Certainly she couldn’t go home straight away. It began to rain. Tears slid down her face and rain soaked her hair. Wet and heavy, it hung around her as she hopped on the number 26 bus. Maybe Sally would be home. She skipped the stop for her own road and went on another, to Sally’s house. She rang the bell. Inside, a gang of children played on the couch.

‘Hiya, Katie, come on in. They’re driving me crazy. Mam and Dad are gone down to Wexford for the day to a funeral. Why is it always wet when I’ve to mind them?’

Katie followed her friend into the untidy, cramped kitchen.

‘Jeepers, Katie, you look awful. What’s wrong?’

Katie hung her head. She was ashamed to tell her friend what had happened.

‘I thought I was going to get my hair done,’ she said sadly.

Sally seemed puzzled. ‘Changed your mind?’

Katie shook her head. ‘Had it changed for me, more like.’ She began to pull at the wet ends of her hair. ‘I hate it, I hate it,’ she cried.

‘Your hair? But you’ve lovely hair, look at my old mop.’

‘No, it’s not my hair, it’s everything, just being different!’ Like floodgates bursting open, the whole story tumbled out. Sally was almost as upset as Katie and every time one of the younger ones stuck their head in the door she screamed ‘Out!’ at them.

‘Look, Katie, just say “Sod them”.’

‘Sod them,’ Katie muttered.

‘Go on, louder.
SOD
them!’

Within five minutes Sally had her laughing till the tears ran down her face. Then Sally got out her mother’s big kitchen scissors.

‘Would you like a snip, Madame?’ she asked prancing around the floor. She took a mirror down from over the sink and made Katie hold it.

‘Now keep her steady. Didn’t I tell you that if I didn’t become a film star my next choice of career would be a hairdresser? So you’ll have the privilege of being my first customer.’

Katie didn’t know whether she was serious or not, but within a few minutes had agreed to let
Sally shampoo her hair and give it a trim.

She closed her eyes to stop the mountain of bubbles Sally had lathered up getting in her eyes and she kept them closed while the older girl dragged the comb through the thick jungle of hair. She dared not open them as she felt the scissors move across the edge of her hair. Her head began to feel lighter. She was half-afraid to look for fear of what she might see.

‘All finished,’ announced Sally.

Katie partially opened her closed eyes. Long wet strips of hair littered the kitchen floor. She looked up. Her hair no longer fanned out like a cape. It hung neatly in an almost straight line to the level of the breast bone. She shook her head and felt the new lightness as her hair swung freely from side to side.

‘Sally, it’s great!’

‘I’m not sure if it’s really straight, but I’ll see better when it’s dry.’

Just being with the other girl and sipping mug after mug of tea and talking about funny things that had happened on the road seemed to pass the time. After a short while Katie’s hair was dry. It fell softly around her face. She peered in the mirror. She looked older and maybe even wiser.

Sally was using the brush and pan to remove every trace of hair from the floor. Thirteen years of growth was flung into the kitchen bin.

Walking home from Sally’s, Katie felt more
confident. She smiled at one or two people she passed and they even smiled back at her.

Mam was downstairs in the kitchen, folding a pile of clothes.

‘Well, what do you think?’

Mam didn’t look up for a minute. Then she ran her fingers softly over Katie’s head.

‘It suits you real well, pet. You’re growing up to be a fine girl. I’m right proud of you.’

‘I’ve still got the money,’ Katie declared.

Her mother frowned.

‘Nah, don’t worry about it, Mam. Sally ended up cutting it for me. I’ll explain later.’ It was such a relief to see Mam back on her feet.

Wait till she got back to school. Natalie wouldn’t be able to grab her so easily again.

First class was home economics. Cookery! I might as well have stayed home, thought Katie. She had no white coat, but she tied her hair back.

There were nineteen other girls and four boys in the class. The large, tiled, home economics room was set up with six cookers and six sinks, large work tables and stacks of cookery equipment.

Everybody had a partner already, so she was on her own. But she knew she was a better cook than the lot of them put together. Mrs Kelly began to write recipes for basic brown bread and pancakes on the blackboard. The rest of the class were busy taking down the recipes.

‘Miss Connors, I suggest you write down the recipe like the others as you’ll need the ingredients next week. Today I will demonstrate,’ Miss Kelly told her.

Katie took up her pad and jotted them down reluctantly. When the teacher was busy showing them step-by-step what to do, Katie found herself day-dreaming.

A boy from fifth year stuck his head in the door. ‘Mrs Quinlan wants to see Kathleen Connors in her office.’ Having delivered the message, he disappeared straight away.

Every head turned to look at Katie. What had
she done now? Gathering up her books she got off the stool and headed straight for the Principal’s office.

Mrs Quinlan was sitting at her desk reading a book and drinking a cup of coffee.

‘Come in, come in and sit down, Katie.’

Katie was wary.

‘I just wanted to find out why you stayed out an extra week over the suspension period.’

Katie just shrugged. Family problems were not any of this woman’s business.

‘I’m not poking my nose in, Katie, I do care and I am concerned about you …’ she trailed off.

‘My Mam was sick and had to go to hospital. I had to mind the rest of them,’ she stated.

The Principal put down her book. ‘It’s important not to miss school. Pupils who are absent for whatever reason tend to fall behind. They end up putting a lot of pressure on themselves and, let’s face it, there are enough pressures on you without loading on more.’

‘I’m sorry, but Mam needed me.’

Mrs Quinlan just nodded. ‘Now you’re back I hope you will settle back to the school routine. You know I’m here if you need me.’ Katie sensed that the woman was sincere. She guided Katie to the door.

‘Now back to class!’

Katie looked at the clock, there were about fifteen minutes of home economics left. She went the long way round to the classroom, ambling
along, taking her time. It was unusual not to have everyone else bashing into her. She was about to pass an open door when she spotted a few of the boys from her class engrossed in work inside.

It was the woodwork room, and she could hear the whirr of a saw. She stood watching for a few minutes. The teacher was going from bench to bench, and a scatter of woodshavings littered the floor. They were all so absorbed, no one seemed to notice her.

Totally out of impulse she turned back the way she had come and soon found herself outside the Principal’s door again.

‘Come in!’ Mrs Quinlan called. ‘Did you forget something, Kathleen?’

‘No, it’ s not that, Mrs Quinlan. I was wondering, can I change subjects?’

‘When?’

‘Today. Now!’ she blurted out.

‘But you have home economics now. I really don’t think it would be possible for you to join the French class at this late stage. Some of the students have done two years of French in primary school before coming on here, you’d just be lost.’

‘No, Mrs Quinlan, I’m not interested in French. I want to change to woodwork,’ she pleaded.

The surprised woman took out a file from her drawer. ‘Woodwork, well, it’s not exactly what one expects of a girl. Don’t you think that
studying home economics and learning about nutrition and how to budget and plan meals and so on would be far more beneficial to you and your family?’

‘We do some of that in science, Mrs Quinlan. It’s cooking! I like cooking but I get enough of it at home. No, I fancy the woodwork, it looks interesting. That is, if they’ll have me.’

‘Well!’ Mrs Quinlan laughed softly to herself. ‘I suppose there’s no reason to stop you changing. I’ll talk to both teachers at lunchbreak.’

Katie held her head high as she left the Principal’s office. Her eyes were dancing in her head when she flounced into class and got back to her place. They were all mad with curiosity to see if she’d got into more trouble.

She said nothing, but a week later she headed for the woodwork room instead of the home economics class.

‘Go and sit with your partners,’ Mr McKeown instructed them as they filed into class.

Partners again! Katie couldn’t believe it. She scanned the room. There were only two girls in the group and they were sitting together at the back of the class. One was Brona Dowling. She winked over at Katie.

There was only one boy sitting on his own. His name was Rory. She had heard the others jeer him sometimes and Natalie always said he was a
bit simple. Katie went and sat opposite him at the large woodwork desk. There was a little locker full of tools beside her. Everyone else seemed to know what they were doing and a gentle hum of conversation filtered around the room as they started work.

Rory spread a long plank of wood across his side and began to plane it. He whistled as he worked. She hoped the teacher would remember her and come over.

While she waited she looked around the room. It was large and airy and long windows reached to the floor. There were two huge wooden cupboards at the very back, with wooden shapes stacked on top of them. Diagrams were sketched out on the blackboard. On one wall hung a poster. Katie went over to look at it. It showed different kinds of trees from all over Ireland. She recognised every one of them. They had camped in woods, forests and meadows, by the sides of roads, in the grounds of big old houses – looking at this poster was like seeing a lot of old friends. Under each tree was a cross-section showing its wood-grain.

‘Interested in wood, are you?’ Katie spun around. Mr McKeown had come up behind her. She nodded.

‘Well, I’m always glad to get more pupils interested in craftwork.’ The teacher looked closely at her.

‘I always loved trees. I used to hide in them
when I was little. My Da used to have to send my big brother Tom to search for me. No matter where we were I’d find a tree.’

‘You moved from place to place then?’ He smiled.

‘Yes, sir. I’m a traveller. Life on the road was hard, but, well, it was grand.’

‘Never boring, I’d say. Now, Katie, a simple shape to cut out is a good start. The rules of this room are that no one touches that saw,’ he pointed to a large circular saw fixed in the middle of the room, ‘that is totally off-limits. I’ll show you how to use the small fret-saws – and watch carefully. I don’t want people chopping off fingers, I have no intention of spending my time putting on bandages and plasters.’

Katie had already noticed the large white first-aid box with its red cross in the corner over the sink.

‘First off, I want you to leave your books outside.’ She ran out with the small pile of books.

When Katie went back in he was standing at a noisy machine helping two boys to sharpen some tools. Sparks flew around them. When he’d finished he came back to her. ‘Now, little lady, let’s get you started.’

He arrived over with a rectangular piece of wood ‘Now I want you to square this off.’ He passed her a piece of chalk and a large wooden T-square and left her to it. She couldn’t decide what size square to make and had to keep
rubbing out the chalk with spittle.

‘Do it fairly big, it’s much easier,’ Rory advised her across the desk they shared. ‘We did them and then when they were sanded and polished we put our initial on them. Painted it on. It’s only an exercise. Next week or so you’ll make a rabbit.’

‘What are you making?’

‘It’s a tray, a wooden tray for my mother. Later on I’m going to make a toybox for my brother Richard and if I’m able, a kind of doll’s house for my two sisters. That’ll be all the Christmas presents taken care of.’

Katie stared at him. This boy was very different from the Rory who stumbled around the school and whom the teachers gave out to constantly for not doing his work. He must have read her mind because he blushed. ‘Woodwork’s my best subject.’

Katie settled herself and soon became engrossed. She drew a ‘K’ on the wood too which helped dictate the size. Mr McKeown showed her how to use the small fret-saw. It was pretty difficult and the lines were jagged when she’d finished.

‘Now, sandpaper all the edges until they’re smooth.’

She loved the smell in this room. The scent of woodshavings and glue blended with the sweet smell of different sorts of timber. She just couldn’t believe it when the teacher told them to tidy up as the bell would go in ten minutes. Katie
was given one of the brushes and swept one half of the room. All the sawdust and shavings were put in a big bin. Then each of them had to make sure that every tool listed inside the door of the workbench lockers had been put back. As she walked out of class and Mr McKeown locked the door after them she knew she could hardly wait until Thursday and their next lesson.