Num8ers - By Rachel Ward Page 0,27
sliding around me, and I was trying to catch up, hold everything together.
After a while, I stood up and wriggled out of my hoodie. I’d have to try Val’s things, anyway. I put them on and faced the mirror. I looked like me in someone’s grandma’s clothes. It was horrific. But I was going to have to do something, wasn’t I? The filth who’d picked me up the other day would soon realize it was me they were looking for, even if Karen didn’t ring them up, which I was pretty sure she would. They’d have a description then, wouldn’t they? Even a photo. Karen had taken a couple of me with the twins when I’d first got there. They would be looking for a small, skinny girl, with long, mousy hair.
I opened the cabinet on the bathroom wall above the sink. Among the painkillers, hemorrhoid cream, and indigestion tablets were some nail scissors. Without thinking twice, I took them out and started hacking at my hair. The scissors were crap, and I could only cut through if I pulled the strands really tight. As I snipped away, I was left with handfuls of hair. I let them fall to the floor. Halfway through, I looked in the mirror. God, I looked bad. What the hell had I done? It was no good, though; now that I’d started, I’d have to see it through. I didn’t look in the mirror again until I’d gone all the way ’round.
Have you ever seen that film The English Patient? Bloody boring, if you ask me. Karen made me watch it at her house once; it went on for hours and she cried her eyes out at the end, silly cow. Anyway, one of the characters, the nurse, cut her hair off, ended up looking absolutely brilliant. She just cut it, ran her fingers through it, and there she was, like a model. Just like me. Except that I looked seriously bad. There was no way I could even go out of the house, let alone run away, looking like this. I looked at the bundles of hair lying on the floor with a sick feeling in my stomach. Was there any way to stick it back?
Val knocked on the door. “You alright in there? Jem, you alright?”
I slid the bolt back and opened the door.
“Sweet Jesus!” Yeah, it was as bad as I thought it was. “It’s alright. It’s not that bad,” she said quickly, trying to undo the damage, but we both knew she wasn’t fooling anyone. It was tragic. “I think it’s going to have to all come off, love. I’ve got some old clippers somewhere. Let me look under the sink.”
She sat me on one of the stools in the middle of the kitchen. I felt like a jarhead, wincing as the clippers buzzed in my ear.
“Sit still, love. I can’t do it if you move about.”
Eventually she stood back and admired her work. “There, that’s better.” I put my hand up to my head. It had all gone. You could feel the shape of my skull. “Not too short, love, you’ve still got a good inch. Go and look.”
I went back up to the bathroom, stood outside the door for a bit while I got up the courage to look. The girl in the mirror stared back at me. She was a stranger. I was used to seeing my face curtained by my hair, half-hidden, but now my features were laid bare — eyes, eyebrows, nose, mouth, ears, jawline. I looked about ten, a ten-year-old boy. I scowled, and the person in the mirror scowled back. He might be small, but you wouldn’t mess with him. I was fierce. Intense eyes, strong cheekbones, and you could see the jaw muscles through the side of my face. It might feel like my protective layer had been stripped away, but this was a pretty powerful look. I guessed I could live with it. I ran my hands through, starting to enjoy the feel of the newly cut ends.
When I walked into the front room, Spider was back. His jaw literally dropped, I swear it did. “Fucking hell, I’ve only been gone half an hour, what’ve you done?” He walked around me, examining me from every angle. “Oh, my God,” he was laughing. “You look way cool!” He reached out and touched my hair.
“Get off!” I wasn’t public property. He jumped back, holding both his hands up in defense.
“OK, OK.” He was