Friday 23 October 2015

The Barber Shop Quartet - The Haircut

For audio click here ( I think the last word - said - is missing from the audio) 

Clifton clutched his briefcase and looked around. He walked across the windswept Westminster Bridge on his way to Alexi’s, the best barber in town. Yes, there were barber’s closer to the office and yes there were places cheaper in Lambeth, but Clifton would only go to one place when it was time for his short back and sides. He looked around again; his trained eyes scanned the others on the bridge. Big Ben chimed 12.45.  The sun glistened off Parliament’s windows, but it was the wind not the architecture that took his breath away.
The obvious route to Shepherd Market was through the two parks, but Clifton never did the obvious. Today, he’d go along to Buck House, before heading across Green Park; he’d not been that way for a few months.
Alexi would be pleased to see him, Clifton was not only a loyal customer and friend, he always brought Alexi a present or two.
The door to the shop tinkled as Clifton walked in. He smiled, the scene in front of him was exactly what he expected, Alexi had a cigarette in his mouth with ash clinging to the tip. Scissors in the right hand, comb in the left, Alexi was clipping, talking and smoking, with Radio 1 playing in the background. Some things were reassuringly timeless. Alexi looked up and nodded at Clifton.  Clifton returned the nod and looked around at the other customers waiting for their turn.
The smile vanished despite Clifton’s best attempts at keeping hold of it. He tried to call it back, but it was long gone, a grimace would have to do.
Clifton sat next to the other two men who had similar looks on their faces. He’d recognised him both and they’d recognised him. Fardy-Russell fidgeted in his seat. He was in the same office at 100 Westminster Bridge Road, a member of Clifton’s club and a war hero. Henshall-Jones stared straight ahead, He was MI5’s greatest spy catcher, an absolute a legend. Rumour had it he’d brought down the Berlin Ring on his own.  Clifton concentrated on the barber, Jesus! Alexi was brushing hairs off the neck of Belanger, Clifton’s boss.
This was crazy, why were there 4 civil servants of the highest calibre in one small barber’s shop, 2 miles from base?
Were their links to Alexi the same as Clifton’s? Were they all bearing gifts? Or were they there for him, to catch Clifton red-handed, giving gifts to the enemy.
Maybe it was just purely a coincidence, Alexi was a good barber, but if it was coincidence why hadn’t they spoken to each other? Why was the air so leaden with silence?
Clifton felt sweat form on his hands and his forehead, he wanted to say something, but no words travelled from brain to mouth. The present for Alexi was burning a hole in his briefcase.
He had options, he was last in the queue, when it was his turn, the others would be gone. Then he and Alexi could exchange gifts without anyone knowing. But now they could prove he was there, in the presence of a Russian handler. The other option was to leave, to mumble something about not having enough time and getting out of there, but where would he go? Could he go back to the office, act like nothing untoward had happened? He stood up.
‘Sorry Alexi.’
The cool air hit him like a train. He walked through the narrow lanes of Mayfair unsure of what to do. He desperately needed to know if these men were friend or foe; was the net closing in on him or did he have new friends in high places?
Pull yourself together man, get yourself back to work and act like everything is normal. So he retraced his steps, his mind elsewhere.
He sat behind his office desk, there was work to do, but it wasn’t being done. All he could see were his three colleagues faces looking at him in shock. Were they all in the same boat? Were they all wondering what was going on? He needed to talk to them, but he couldn’t just ask them if they were working for the Russians, could he? Could he?  He needed to wash his hands, splash water on his face. He walked down the stuffy corridor; there was Fardy-Russell, nice and smart with his new trim. Would he say something? No, he passed Clifton avoiding eye contact.
Just as Clifton got to the toilet, Belanger came out, yesterday this would have been all so normal but today it was oh so strange. Belanger ran his fingers through his newly cropped hair as if making a point and then walked down the corridor. Clifton watched him go, it seemed a sombre walk, an executioner’s walk.
Clifton leant against the wall relieving himself. He zipped up and turned around, he jumped, there was Henshall-Jones standing in front of him, Clifton noticed that he hadn’t had a haircut.

‘You should never have gone to Alexi’s,’ Henshall-Jones said. 


Want to find out more about Alexi? Click here.

4 comments:

  1. oh, it gave me goose pimples:-) I like the stories that have the air of paranoia or psychosis:-) For some reason this one reminded me of "A Case of Mistaken Identities", but also the story with exactly the same title, which you wrote a long time ago "The Haircut"
    http://garethsshortstoryblog.blogspot.com/2014/08/a-case-of-mistaken-identities.html
    http://garethsshortstoryblog.blogspot.com/2013/05/the-haircut.html

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I've changed the title of this, I don't know why I didn't think of the title before. I hope there will be more to this story.
      I don't know why it reminded you of the mistaken identities one, very different :-)

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  2. There can't be two just Haircut stories:-) I like this old haircut story a lot. And I don't know why today's story reminded me of this Mistaken Identities one. I thought it had a bit similar atmosphere... maybe the fact that the character kept seeing familiar faces all the time:-) sometimes you don't know:-)

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  3. Petra Goláňová24 October 2015 at 09:57

    My favourite lines:
    The sun glistened off Parliament’s windows, but it was the wind not the architecture that took his breath away....
    Alexi had a cigarette in his mouth with ash clinging to the tip. Scissors in the right hand, comb in the left, Alexi was clipping, talking and smoking, with Radio 1 playing in the background....

    The smile vanished despite Clifton’s best attempts at keeping hold of it. He tried to call it back, but it was long gone, a grimace would have to do....
    Just as Clifton got to the toilet, Belanger came out, yesterday this would have been all so normal but today it was oh so strange. Belanger ran his fingers through his newly cropped hair as if making a point, and then walked down the corridor. Clifton watched him go, it seemed a sombre walk, an executioner’s walk.

    ReplyDelete