The Barber of Winchmore Hill - part 2

...cont'd

Donald wasn’t quite sure how he had made it back to William’s house. Probably a month’s residence had given him a homing instinct, because he certainly had no recollection of arriving and putting himself to bed. Thankfully, William was away until the next day, so any embarrassment due to his state had been avoided, although a splitting headache the next morning was an embarrassment in itself.

His haircut had been an overwhelming success with all the regulars at The Kings Head, so much so that he had been plied with drink to celebrate the ‘new, younger Donald’ with many toasts to the absentee barber. Strange to think that a haircut could cement Donald’s acceptance into The Kings Head crowd. Apparently, William was suitably impressed with Donald’s new, flattering style too, because he asked him which hairdressing salon he had visited. He was thinking of going himself...

Once Donald had sobered and was shot of his headache, he began to question his success. Had his old look been that atrocious that the new look had transformed him into someone else? He was basically the same person, so why this startling change of attitude from those around him? He was to get his answer early that evening when he returned to The Kings Head to see if he had left his jacket there the night before. One of the young barmen was drying glasses and smiled at him as he came up to the light oak bar.

“What can I get you, Don, the usual?” He was alert and ready to serve this valued customer.

“Do you know if I left my jacket here last night? I was a little worse for drink when I left, and I don’t know what I did with it. Tan, linen…”

“Beige, do you mean? Oh, so it’s yours. There was nothing to say who left it,” the barman replied as he turned to go for it.
He handed it across the counter and then repeated his question.

“The usual?”

Don nodded and then wished he hadn’t.

“I think I’d better start off with a half of Guinness; work my way up to the pint.”

The barman, whom he finally remembered as being Terry, understood.

“Quite an evening. Thanks to you, we did a fair trade for a weekday! I prefer it busy, ‘cause time goes faster.”

Donald wasn’t sure that that news was welcome.

“Tell me Terry, why has changing my hairstyle changed how people are treating me? Do you know?”

“Man! Someone your age, it took balls to get that cut! I guess people are going to look at you differently. You look interesting, and, I have to say, it suits you!”

Don took a sip of the froth on his Guinness. He suddenly felt better and could almost feel himself puffing up as he rocked back on his heels.

“What’ll you have?” he asked Terry, suddenly feeling generous.

“Bit early for me as I’m working. Mind if I have a half pint later? That’ll be one sixty.”

Donald didn’t go on to having a pint. He was going to grab a bite to eat and get an early night. He knew he had to get back to the barber the next day and thank him in some way.

If it were possible, the welcome in Hunter’s the next morning was warmer than usual.

“Hallo, Mr. Conroy. Nice to see you looking so good.” Mr. Patel had a way with words.
Donald had already picked up his International Herald Tribune and had got his wallet out to pay. It was Friday and he always bought two lottery tickets on Fridays. One was for Euro Millions, with the draw on Friday night, and the other was for the Lotto, with the draw on Saturday night.

“I’ll take two lucky dips on the Euro Millions and the same for the Lotto, please.” Donald had decided he was going to gift the barber with one of each ticket. It was all down to pure luck, but the gift might make Lou smile. Mafia men were gamblers, weren’t they?

“Fine, sir, Mr. Conroy.” He and Patel exchanged money and goods.

An interesting-looking young man came out of Lou’s shop just as Donald arrived. Lou had done it again. It was a different cut on the kid, but it was eye-catching and flattering. Was Lou aware of his talent? Apparently not, or he wouldn’t still be squatting in this hole-in-the-wall shop.
Donald entered greeting Lou, but funnily enough, Lou didn’t seem to recognise Donald until he spoke, and then the American accent reached him and lit his face.

“Ciao!” he greeted Donald.
“Isa everything all’a right?” He wondered, probably not expecting to see Donald again so soon.

“You bet!” Donald said, consciously choosing his words.
“I’ve brought you a little gift to thank you for the great job you did on my hair. Nothing may come of it, but you never know…”

He handed over an envelope with the two lottery tickets, thumped Lou on the shoulder before leaving. Lou hadn’t had the time to say anything but had stood looking at the envelope in his hand.

That evening, Donald made a point of watching the draw for the Euro Millions. The chances of someone in Britain winning were slim when you considered all the other European countries that had it and the hundreds of thousands, maybe millions of people who played in each country.
He’d also noted the numbers on the tickets he’d given Lou, just for the hell of it. How would he feel if Lou won? Maybe he wouldn’t check after all.

William was out again for the night. He hadn’t said anything to Donald but it had all the signs of a lady friend in the making. That made Donald think. He might find himself out in the street before his six months were up, if that were the case. His mind began to wander along those lines even as the TV announcer began to launch the draw. He pulled himself to and concentrated on the screen, filled with ping pong balls with their tattooed numbers.

Hypnotised, he watched them roll down the tube one by one, the numbers in disorder. It wasn’t until the final show on the screen with the numbers numerically in order and the bonus number at the end, that Donald realised that he may just have won the lottery! He wouldn’t be sure for a good fifteen minutes because he fell off the pouffé backwards, in a dead faint…

It is really quite amazing what having millions can do for you. Donald was no longer an undesirable alien who had been given a maximum of six months in the country. He had got himself sorted out with the Home Office, and was now a bona fida resident. Within six months, he had been able to buy a small but lovely house in Winchmore Hill, where he felt so much at home. Everyone knew him by name and not because of his haircut. He loved it.

He had paid for William and Doris’ honeymoon. They’d chosen Tahiti, and why not? He could afford it. The only little blight in his life was that for some reason, Lou had packed up and left without him knowing. His barber had gone while he had been taken up in the whirlwind of his win.

It was perhaps a year later, when Donald had become an integral part of the neighbourhood that he happened to mention the barber to someone in The Kings Head. Lou had been haunting him for some time because, now that he could afford it, he would like to do something special for him. It had been partly thanks to him that he had fitted into the community (and The Kings Head) so well.

“Didn’t you hear about Lou, the barber?” his drinking mate enquired.
“He won the Lotto about the time you won your millions. He went back to Italy and the high life…”

Donald’s mouth dropped open. Could it be? If it had been the ticket he’d given Lou, wouldn’t he have contacted him to say? Of course, the barber didn’t know his name or where he lived, but he could have asked around.
And then Don began to wonder if it had been the other way round, what would he have done? By not contacting the person who had given him the ticket, he obviously avoided guilt and the sense of obligation in sharing the winnings. Maybe, Lou had heard about Donald winning the Euro Millions and had thought that there was no point and that it was probably just easier to disappear. Of course, there was always the chance Lou had wanted to fade out of the picture before the mafia got wind of his good fortune…

Just a shame that there would always be that lingering doubt. Donald would never be sure if the winning ticket was the one he’d given him, but he’d like to think so, because the man was worth his weight in gold!