Her new hairstyle giving her a little more confidence, she took a deep breath and walked into one of the new boutiques.
Back in her flat, Helen straightened the tweed mini-skirt and pulled the black polo-neck sweater down over her hips. She turned to the side and surveyed herself in the mirror. Okay, she wasn’t Twiggy, but her concerted attempt to look after her body in the past ten days was beginning to show some dividends. In her black tights and dark patent boots, Helen’s legs looked shapely. Plus, the make-up routine she’d practised obsessively definitely gave her features definition.
She grabbed her new leather three-quarter-length jacket and put it on, then picked up her schoolbag. There was no doubt about it. For the first time in her life, Helen was proud of what she saw in the mirror. Unthinkingly, she blew her reflection a kiss, opened the door to her flat and closed it behind her.
As she had hoped he would, Tony kept her back after class.
‘Helen, I wanted to enquire how things are going with Dr Allen.’
‘Oh, very well, thank you.’ She nodded. ‘I’ve really been working hard and I think my reading and writing are getting better. Dr Allen said he was very pleased with me at my last appointment.’
‘Good! I’m sure I’ll start to notice an improvement in your work very soon.’
‘Thank you, Mr Bryant. For everything,’ she said shyly as she began to walk towards the door.
‘Oh, and, Helen?’
‘Yes, Mr Bryant?’
‘I think your new hairdo looks smashing.’
Helen almost skipped home. The time, money and effort she’d put in over ten days...it was all worthwhile to hear those few simple words from the mouth of the man she loved.
13
‘Bye, sweetheart. I’ll meet you tonight at the Victoria. I might be a little late as the dragon’s called a floor meeting.’ Sorcha kissed Con on the cheek.
He grabbed her and pulled her down on top of him.
‘Con! Let me go! It took me hours to style my hair!’
‘Be off with you then to your myriad of smells,’ he said, releasing her. She smiled down at him as she straightened her hair.
‘Don’t forget to buy some milk. I’m late. I’ll have to run all the way down Fitzjohns Avenue.’
‘It’ll keep you fit, Sorcha-porcha.’
‘The cheek from a man still lazing in bed!’ Sorcha headed for the door and opened it. ‘Bye-bye.’
‘Bye, sweetheart.’
The door shut behind Sorcha and Con sat up, crossed his arms behind his head and gazed out of the window. It was a lovely, bright March morning. All around the city daffodils were starting to peep through hedgerows, forcing their golden heads through the dead detritus of winter.
Con reached for his old guitar, which lay on the chair next to the bed. Sitting further upright, he began to strum it.
‘And I have loved you more than...’
He played a loud discord and put the guitar back on the chair.
There was no doubt about it, his days with the Blackspots were coming to an end. Sorcha had been right. With Todd Bradley in charge, there was no way he was ever going to get a look-in. He’d presented the man with a number of songs he thought might be suitable for the band to try.
‘Great, Con, I’ll look at them,’ was the usual response. And then, inevitably, they would never be mentioned again.
Con jumped out of bed and began to search for his tin of tobacco. The Blackspots were going nowhere, and the lead singer had a serious case of megalomania.
He could do better. He’d tell them at the gig tonight.
‘God, Con, looks like you’re going to have to help me out this evening.’
