Scrap CH THREE part 29

Scrap CH THREE part 29
The ladies in ‘Choice Cuts’ hair and beauty salon have been eyeing each other with suspicion and in some cases a tinge of jealousy. Every one of them it seems has booked an appointment for this afternoon and the two stylists are rushed off their feet trying to keep up with demand. Never one to turn a customer away, Rita Bostock the proprietor of the establishment is dashing back and forth to keep up with the various stages of tinting; bleaching and rinsing needed to see that each of the contestants in tonight’s glamorous granny competition is looking her best. Apart from Easter and Christmas this is her busiest week of the year and she intends milking it for all it’s worth.
Carol Tobin’s mother Julie is having her roots done and her eyebrows bleached to match, Mavis is having a whole new hair colour and perm and Pat Chapman is having a cut and blow dry though strictly speaking she shouldn’t be in the competition because her granddaughter was born out of wedlock but she won’t win because she is rather on the voluptuous side for today’s taste. Orla Coward is paying for her shampoo and set and looking disappointingly beautiful despite the trouble she has endured this past year or so. Still, Mavis concentrates on her own reflection and continues to convince herself that she will be picked to ride on the float in the carnival procession as her attributes, in her opinion, far outshine the competition.
Some of the local scallywags have been up to high jinks this week, knowing they can get away with a certain amount of mischief while everyone is convincing themselves that they are having a wonderful time. When Julie gently ties the wispy rayon scarf around her newly anointed hairdo and returns to the shop she is met by a puzzled Carol who keeps looking out the window and inspecting the display, as if there is something amiss. ‘People keep pointing and sniggering,’ she explains, ‘and I can’t for the life of me see why, can you?’ Julie carefully removes her scarf and primps her hair back in place, inspects the window display and says she can see nothing out of the ordinary. ‘It’s probably next door: they’ve got a window display full of old nautical bits and bobs.’ They make a pot of tea and forget about it, busying themselves with other matters.
Fat Frank has had a good four hours sleep and has decided to pop out for a bottle of milk and some biscuits. As he turns the corner into the main road he catches sight of Carol Tobin’s shop sign. Someone has added a letter ‘S’ to the name ‘Little Tinkers’ and he smiles to himself, remembering the pranks he and his mates used to get up to when they were lads. He gives a cheery wave at the ladies as he passes by and puts aside his distaste of supermarkets for once to nip into the Co-Op for his purchases. Ten minutes later he emerges with two shopping bags bulging with groceries and cans of beer having spent best part of a fiver when he only went in for some milk and Hobnobs. So this is how they make their money: getting you to buy ten times more than you want. He makes a mental note to stick with the corner shop in future.
Scotty has enjoyed a long peaceful sleep and been gently woken by the dulcet tones of his wife hollering up the stairs that it’s nearly seven o’clock and his dinner is getting cold. He drags on the clothes he wore the day before and stumbles to the bathroom for a pee. A quick wash of his face and hands in cold water and he is awake and ready for the night’s work. By the time he gets to the table his dinner is almost cold but he eats it anyway in his usual hurried manner, gives Dawn a kiss on the cheek as she hands over his pack-up, puts on his boots and heads off to the yard. ‘Dad, can I come too?’ Robbie wails as he pursues him down the drive, ‘mum says I can if it’s alright with you and she’s packed enough food for both of us.’ Dawn waves her consent from the front room window and the boy takes his seat next to his father in the old van before he can have second thoughts. ‘We haven’t been out together for ages,’ Robbie reminds him, and his dad says that he has been too busy playing with his mates all through the holidays to help his old man. Robbie says he always has time to help his dad and asks where they are going tonight. To his joy it’s Gateshead, where he knows that the man at Garfitts will pack up a big box of fruit for them. He has twenty five pence burning a hole in his pocket and he wants to get a bunch of flowers for his mum, for some unknown reason. He tells his dad that he doesn’t need a reason, that it’s simply a nice thing to do and of course Scotty believes him, or not.
Robbie is a sly little fellow and his plan is to get his mum to exert pressure on his dad so he gets a job for his friend Precious Mbele’s father. He has been mentally rehearsing the best way to broach the subject so he can work on it from both fronts and stage one is to keep his dad company on the long trek to Gateshead. Tonight he has vowed to stay awake and in preparation he had a snooze in the afternoon, but as soon as they reach the M2 his eyelids begin to drop and Scotty props him in a less uncomfortable position, smiling to himself as he tunes the radio and sings along with Johnny Cash about some hard-done-by Country boy or other.
Tonight will be the final load of the week and tomorrow Scotty is expected to clean and polish the lorry and have it ready at the dockyard by ten o’clock so it can be decked out as a carnival float. He will then have about two hours to get cleaned up and changed before driving round town at four miles an hour whilst trying not to tip anybody off the trailer or falling asleep and hitting the vehicle in front. Still, it’s a bit of fun and the kids like to come with him in the cab, for once spending more than half an hour with them without Dawn. He wonders how the glamorous granny competition is going and thanks Heaven he isn’t there to witness the inevitable fallout from those who are not picked for the honour of riding on the back of a lorry for two and a half hours round the town.
Dawn has left the children in the care of their sisters and escaped for the evening with her mother. Mavis is having difficulty keeping upright in her new high heeled shoes whilst struggling with a broken umbrella which she hoped would help keep the wind from destroying her hairdo. A scarf hides the candyfloss of curls and she wants to get to the hall early so she can make any adjustments before the judging begins.
Disappointingly, the hall is already buzzing when they arrive and the ladies toilet is packed with contestants primping and preening in a fog of hair spray and cigarette smoke. Dawn does her best to help, holding up her powder compact mirror so Mavis can see what she is doing. They emerge from the room all sweetness and light, deposit their coats with the attendant and scan the hall for somewhere to sit. Carol Tobin beckons to them and they go over to where she has been keeping places for them, which seems unusually kind of her. Carol actually wants to have someone nearby who is less glamorous than Julie to give her a head start with the judges.
‘Did you see what some little horrors did to our shop sign?’ Asks Carol as they settle at one of the rickety tables. Dawn and Mavis feign ignorance and gasp in mock surprise as she tells them about the embarrassment of being mocked by passers-by looking up at ‘Little Stinkers’ and wondering what all the fuss was about. The two women exchange winks as they know who the little horrors are but they are not saying.
The master of ceremonies makes a meal out of being the centre of attention, introducing the judging panel and announcing each contestant as they sashay up to the microphone and give brief details of their age, measurements and number of grandchildren. Some of the women are well into their seventies but most are around forty and the level of glamour varies wildly. The finalists are selected and the MC declares there will be an interval of twenty minutes, which allows for the fortunate five to rush to the toilets to repair their make-up and apply yet more hair spray.
Mavis is furious at not having made it to the final five and wants to go but Dawn is happy to be out of the house for once and says they are staying. Carol is simpering with satisfaction as her mother has been chosen as a finalist, along with Pat Chapman, Orla Coward and two holidaymakers. ‘I don’t know why they chose her,’ grumbles Mavis, ‘if anything she’s a bit on the fat side and her bust must be a double D at least.’ The other women give her an obvious look; ‘maybe that’s why they chose her,’ suggests Carol, ‘the men can’t keep their eyes off that cleavage and if she has to lean forward she’s in danger of falling out of that low-cut dress.’
After parading up and down the stage and answering questions from the MC the judges make their deliberations and in the best Miss World tradition the result is announced in reverse order. Julie is awarded third place, Orla comes second and the crown goes to none other than Pat Chapman.
Polite applause from the losing contestants is drowned out by more enthusiastic response from around the hall. Pat Chapman smiles broadly as the MC introduces the Mayor, who decorates her ample bosom with the winner’s sash and hands over a cheque for ten pounds, the local press photographer takes several pictures and the evening slowly draws to a close.
Dawn tries to think of something useful to say on the way home but Mavis is bitterly disappointed at not being chosen as she had set her heart on it. They trudge back in silence, the house is peaceful with the children all tucked up in bed and the girls don’t need to ask who won. ‘You’ll always be our glamorous granny,’ whispers Janet, by way of consolation and Mavis smiles and kisses her on the cheek. ‘Gin and orange?’ Offers Dawn and the sadness is forgotten.