‘Yeah, we met in the pub a few nights back.’ I think back to that evening with a sad guilt settling over my stomach. ‘I knew he knew Dad. Didn’t know quite how close they were though.’
‘Oh yeah,’ Bruce continues, energised by the interest in his story. ‘They were inseparable in the Eighties. The Thelma and Louise of the borough. Always riding around looking for trouble. There wasn’t much going on for young ’uns back then, so they made their own entertainment. Only harmless stuff like. Just nicking milk bottles from doorsteps or smoking behind the cinema. That kind of stuff. Yeah, they were the best of friends, those two.’
I try and picture my father and Jimmy going about together but I can’t. The Edward in my mind is too stuffy, too high-brow. And the Jimmy I know is too frail, too sick.
‘You’re sure we’re talking about the same man?’ I have to ask. ‘My dad is Edward Cavendish.’
‘The very same.’ Bruce chuckles. ‘I take it the fame has changed him a bit?’
‘Just a tad.’ An understatement and a half.
‘Jim would always talk about your dad. It’s a shame they lost touch.’ Bruce looks at me through the mirror with slanted brows and sad eyes. ‘He’s famous in his own world, you know.’
‘Jimmy?’
‘Aye, he was a bit of a war hero. Won a bunch of medals; I’m pretty sure he got an MBE or something like that as well.’ Bruce grins. ‘Some of his old lads come in here and tell me all of the stories of what he got up to. Incredible soldier. He’d’ve been an even better leader if his health hadn’t got the better of him.’
‘Dad never told me any of this.’ Bruce sees my empty look in the mirror and pauses his butchering for a moment to place a wide, bloated hand on my shoulder.
‘Aye, I’m not surprised, lad.’ He has a kind face, comforting. He’d make a good grandad if he isn’t one already. ‘How could he be telling you what’s what when you know all of the carnage he caused here back in the day, eh? My girl is in her thirties now and she still hasn’t a clue that I spent a night down the police station because I had a waz on old Herbert Ingram in Boston after a night out I can’t remember.’
‘It’s a statue, next to the church.’ Beatrice fills in the gaps for me. She must have been watching my expression in the mirror. ‘Some journalist fella who was a politician back in the nineteenth century.’ Bruce only shrugs and folds down one of my ears to take another jagged strip from my hair.
‘Either way, don’t go telling my daughter.’ I think that’s more aimed at Beatrice, but I nod my head anyway and the clippers roll up to my crown, taking my hair with it. Bruce doesn’t seem fazed.
‘So, he wasn’t some highly strung theatre nerd back in the day?’ I ask, trying to ignore the severed strands of hair sitting on my shoulder. That’s always the story I knew, or at least assumed. Thinking back, I don’t think he ever spoke to me about his past, and I never stopped to ask.
‘Oh God, no.’ Bruce laughs a little too heartily. ‘I’m pretty sure that night down the Glider was what pushed your old nan over the edge. No one really saw him after that. She kicked him out and off he went to London. I assume he must’ve been scouted or something down there and, well, the rest is history, as you know.’
‘So let me get this straight.’ The sight of all of my hair on the floor and the paleness of my scalp in the mirror becomes a second thought as this story consumes me. ‘My dad and Jimmy got in such trouble that night that they both got kicked out by their parents?’
‘Yep, your nan had had enough of having the Old Bill at her door, or neighbours complaining. She told him to get his arse out of New York before he got himself locked up. I reckon a similar conversation happened at Jim’s place. Your dad went to London and got himself on the telly, and old Jim joined up.’
‘I wonder who he’d have been if she hadn’t kicked him out,’ I muse, mostly to myself though Bruce hums in agreement.
‘All I know is that he turned back up for a while whenyour mum got pregnant with your sister, then he never came home again. I think your nan only knew you’d been born because it was on the front of the paper she gets delivered.’ He places both hands on my shoulders this time. ‘I have no idea what happened for him to leave for good. He never struck me as the type of lad that would forget his roots. I never thought he’d forget about Jimmy either.’
Bruce’s face shifts from a look of melancholy to a sudden grin as he whips his barber’s cape from around my neck and the curled lengths of my hair decorate the tiled floor. ‘All done, son.’ He grabs his hand mirror from the table beside him and holds it up behind me. My hair forms a carpet around my feet and for the first time since infancy I have no fringe to hide behind. I don’t think I’ve ever seen my face so bare, so complete. It’s hard to recognise. I could play the role of young conscript, wide-eyed and worried, feeling ashamed for grieving the loss of something so vain like my hair when I know what else there is out there in the world.
Perhaps Jimmy saw himself like this in this very mirror once upon a time. Raw, unhidden, placed on show for all to see. For some reason, my father’s guilt sits in me at the thought of him, as though it was me who left him behind, me who forgot about him. Perhaps that’s why I’ve been sent here, to make sure at least one Cavendish holds Jimmy in their memory. At least that version of these events feels better than the reality: that Mum and Dad just want me out of the way.
‘Suits you.’ Beatrice walks up beside me and her nudge against my shoulder makes me jump. I had almostforgotten she was here. ‘You might actually be able to see the sheep when you’re catching them now.’
‘I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.’ I look up at her with an exaggerated look of confusion.
‘Don’t get used to it.’ She begins to smile and heads for the door before she allows me to see her grin in its fully fledged state.
Slipping a note from my pocket, I try and hand it to Bruce but he steps back and refuses it. ‘First one is free.’ He smiles. ‘On one condition …’
‘Are you sure?’ I frown and nudge the cash closer again.
‘You haven’t heard my condition yet.’ Bruce smirks, and Beatrice lingers, clinging to the door handle as though what comes next is also a surprise to her. ‘You owe me one story. And I don’t mean one like “I stole a traffic cone on a night out”, I mean something exciting.’ Flustered, I look to Beatrice, but she already returns my gaze as though I’ve agreed and she’s hanging on each one of my words.
‘Erm … well …’ Everyone looks at me expectantly and I perch myself back in the chair. ‘Um … I think everyone assumes I’ve had a crazy life because of my parents, or things they’ve seen online.’ I laugh breathily. ‘Honestly, I can’t say I’ve ever done anything crazy or out there.’
‘Well, your dad got sent away from New York for fighting. You must have been senttoNew York for something equally exciting, no?’ Bruce sits in the chair beside me and throws his legs over the arm.
‘Drugs,’ Beatrice pipes up from behind, and when she sees my narrowed eyes shooting in her direction she adds, ‘At least that’s what I’ve heard.’
