B ~ Dark rum truffle

"Boo!" says Si?n, coming back from snatching some tea and toast from
the H1 kitchen, dressed in Hen's dressing gown. It's nearly three
o'clock. Hen and Manley look up from their work - Manley is zapping
away on Hen's computer, and Hen is cackhandedly sewing up a rift before
the pocket in his raincoat. The stitches are centimetres apart and pull
the two sides of the tear into a thick scar. He's near the end now,
closing up the last O of the gap.

"Oob," he says. "Did you make us tea?"

"No," Si?n replies, putting her hands behind her back and swinging her
hips idly.

"Why not?"

"Because you can make it yourself, and you don't like my tea
anyway."

"That vile QT," mutters Manley. "It's not tea at all. It's no better
than rat poison!"

Si?n turns her nose up at him and tip-toes up to Hen.

"Watcha doing?"

Hen holds up his work for her to inspect, pursing his lips
workmanlike.

"Mending my coat. It got a tear in it somehow."

Si?n frowns disapprovingly and sits on his bed.

"Shouldn't you have waited for someone else to do it for you?"

And Hen makes a deliberate show of being offended, pressing the wound
to his bony cheek and screwing up his face at his harpy, then stroking
the dales of the coat as he might a chestnut horse.

"Stop pretending to be Harpo, Hendy!" he is told.

It turns out Manley and Besse aren't the only patrons of classic
cinema. Hen, for whom It's a Wonderful Life, Twelve Angry Men and Dr.
Strangelove were enlightening experiences, rounded up Manley and the
harpies for a viewing of one of his favourite comedies - the Marx
Brothers' Duck Soup. Lianne, averse to black and whites of any kind,
did not attend. Besse, who was not unfamiliar with the Brothers' work,
said she preferred A Night at the Opera. Manley, Si?n and Mary gave it
the thumbsup. Helen was not impressed and said she disliked Harpo in
particular.

"Why doesn't he say anything? He's really stupid and annoying!" she
said, reminded Hen of his Granny's dislike for poor old Professor
Calculus.

"Come away from that funny little man," she used to say, when Hen was
trying to copy out a picture of Calculus.

Perhaps as a result of this, or more likely because he was more or
less in love with Harpo's stage character, Hen has spent the following
days routinely imitating the comedian, refusing to speak and charading
wildly instead, having silent fits, throttling Manley and carrying
around symbolic items in his pockets - such as Fritz Lang's Metropolis,
a supply of loose crackers and his pint of coppers. He's even practised
whistling, but got nowhere. Si?n now watches out for any hint that her
hun is going to go Harpo on her, and cuts it down in its infancy.

"I'm not pretending to be Harpo," Hen protests. "I'm reeling from your
cruelty. I reckon I've done a good job on my coat actually. What do you
think, Manley?"

"Er," says Manley, and is rescued by a clattering rap at a door.

"Come in!" Hen calls.

The door scratches back at him.

"Come in!"

"Can I come in?"

"Yes, you can come in!"

"Right, I'm coming in."

Helen opens the door a little and peeps through to see who's in. Then
she pushes it fully open and jigs into H015, opening out how clenched
fists into wide stars to celebrate her arrival. Hen catches the sight
of Besse, waiting in the corridor outside in her grey hat and coat.
They're doing their usual of calling on all of H0 door by door on their
way out.

"Hello, Henstoat! Hello, Sebastian! Hello, Si?n! Are you three coming
to the LCR tonight?"

The three mumble, "Hum?maybe?suppose?if everyone else is?sounds
fair."

"Well, I hope you're coming, because I'll miss you if you don't, and
it'll be fun. Oh, oh, and Si?n - are you going to school daze next
week?"

Si?n ifs and errs, juggling her shoulders and clamping her bare legs
together at the knees. "I don't know. Are you?"

"Yes! Jody's invited me - oh, and guess what?"

Still propping the door open with one hand, she buries her chin into
her neck and rolls her eyes toward the landslide floor to her left, as
if thoroughly ashamed of herself.

"What?"

"Jody says he's going as a girl," (she stifles a giggle,) "with his
hair tied back in a plait! It's going to be, well?.very strange. But
fun too. You should come!"

"I'll think about it," says Si?n.

"You'd better. Oh, and Hen and Seb - you should come as well, but I've
got to go now, darlings, because me and Besse are going to buy tickets
for tonight."

She raises a pink shoe and fingers her handbag, but Hen assaults her
before she can turn her back on him, shouting, "Helen!"

"What?" she asks, distressed.

"You've had your hair cut."

Manley and Si?n squint in unison, and notice that someone has indeed
been at Helen's autumnal crown. She pats it delicately and replies,
"Yes, I went to Toni &; Guy's to have it layered."

Hen strikes himself in the lap.

"It looks goddamn awful."

Manley gapes. Helen reels, quite hurt - "Don't say that - it's
mean!"

"Well it does. They've savaged it. It was much nicer before. You've
got odd hunks at the back hanging too low and strands that finish half
way down, curvy ends and sprigs lining the parting."

Helen begins grabbing pieces of her hair, stroking them down, tugging
them and gingerly testing their shape. Besse, standing behind her, says
absolutely nothing but presses her lips very tightly together and gazes
meaningfully down the corridor. Manley holds his head.

"That's what layering is," Si?n hisses, her eyeballs bulging with
urgency and fuming.

"No, it isn't," Hen insists. "That's almost as bad as mine, that is -
these fashionable hairstyle shops don't have a clue what they're doing.
They're only taught to cut one style. I'd go and pay a reasonable price
somewhere else and have it done properly if I were you, Helen."

Manley is covering his eyes. Helen's mouth is an O of horror.

"Well, how would you like it if I said you had a crap face?" she asks,
stamping her foot.

Hen opens his palms to her and triumphantly states, "I'd get a
different plastic surgeon, of course!"

"For fuck's sake, Hen," Si?n urges, but she's immediately interrupted
by Helen's cry of, "Well you do have a crap face, so there!"

Besse takes a hold of the demon fiend's sleeve and quietly says,
"Let's go." Helen strides out of the room, cracking the door shut
behind her. A hush comes down while Hen winces and kneels in the only
unlittered pool of carpet. Manley unblindfolds himself and sings
softly, "Hen?Hen?Hen?.oh, Hen."

Si?n gets off the bed and clouts Hen on the head.

"That was mean! You know how proud Helen is of her hair!"

"Aw," says Hen, separating needle from thread forcibly, "she's got you
lot to nurse her self-confidence. I for one am fed up with just being
one of her hundreds of lovely darlings."