Grace

Chapter 31.2

"Just as soon as I get home," I promised.

"And –"

"That's enough now, Gracie," her father said softly and took her hand. To me he said, "Sorry."

"No, don't be," I said with a smile. "It's ok."

He smiled and looked down at his daughter. "Say thank you, Grace."

She smiled. "Thank you."

"No problem," I smiled.

Mum and I walked out. As soon as the door closed I began to feel absolutely bewildered again, but shook it off. I looked back at the napkin and teared up a little. Only a little kid would do something as simple as this to show solidarity and kindness to others. I guessed it was because kids were so innocent to the true evil of the world and didn't really care if what they were doing was inappropriate or even just a little bit weird. Once when I went to a war memorial there were a load of small wooden crosses there each with a paper poppy attached to it. Most of them had the names of the people who'd put them there written on them and by the handwriting you could tell that they were either teens or adults. But there was one cross there with the words thank you written in really shaky writing as if the person had been crying when they'd written it. The woman who looked after the monument said it was put there by a five year old boy and everyone who saw it got a tear in their eye.

I guess this was the same. The open, sweet honesty of a child.

"She was really sweet," Mum said once we were in the car.

"Adorable too," I said quietly, my mind still half on the cross. "Weird how she asked me though."

"She's our neighbour... half a mile away but still. Dad and I know her parents. They watch the Eton show every week. I guess she recognised you and figured if anyone could get it there, it's you because you know Ben."

"It's still weird."

"Try not to think about it. We're here already."

We'd only gone a little way down the road. If it was summer I was pretty sure we would have walked, but it was beginning to softly snow again. Like the café, we entered another converted cottage. Like most other hairdressers it was filled with clean lines, open space and minimalist decoration.

"Ah, Emily, I was beginning to wonder if you got stuck down that drive of yours," a thirty-something lady said. "This must be Grace?"

"Hello, Ma'am," I said. Then I realised just how Eton I sounded.

"Way to go to make me feel old," she chuckled. "I'm Anna."

"Sorry," I cringed a little. "Habit from school."

"No worries. Come sit down both of you. We've got you in together as we had a cancellation. Margaret got snowed in again. Both wash and cuts?"

"Please," Mum said and we followed Anna into the main salon.

I was looked after by a woman only a little older than me who was big on the smiles and compliments. I ignored most of her inane chatter whilst she washed my hair but that was because the massage she was giving my head was really, really good. This sort of treatment was why I didn't mind that my hair grew really quickly. It was so worth it. When she was done I was taken over to another seat and asked what I wanted doing.

"I want it cut to about here," I said and made a line on my arm that was a couple of inches below my shoulder.

"Really?" she asked and ran a hand through my hair. "But it's so beautiful long."