Dead Famous

DAY TWENTY-THREE. 3.00 p.m.

Sally was not yet satisfied with her new bright-red mohican hair.

“I just want a tuft,” she said, “like a shaving brush.”

“Well, just you leave it at that,” Moon said. “I’m the bald bird in this house. Can’t have two of us, we’ll look like a fookin’ game of billiards.”

Sally did not reply. She rarely replied to anything Moon said, or even looked at her.

Dervla was relieved that Kelly elected to administer the haircut in the living area. It had been agony for her on the Saturday when Sally had done the dyeing in the bathroom. Dervla always rubbed out her messages, of course, and they were only condensation anyway, but seeing Sally with her face so close to the very place where they appeared had been most disconcerting. As Kelly washed Sally’s hair and the mirror steamed up, Dervla had been gripped with an irrational fear that a message might suddenly appear, there and then, right in front of Sally’s eyes. She knew that this was unlikely, unless of course the man had decided to start writing to Sally.

“All done,” said Kelly.

“I like it,” Sally replied, having inspected the little red tuft which was all that remained of her hair. “When I get out I’m going to have my head tattooed.”

“What will you get done, then?” Kelly asked.

“I thought perhaps my star sign. It’s the ram, except obviously I’m not having a male animal on my head, so I’d have to have a ewe.”

“Well, that doesn’t sound very empowering, Sally,” Dervla observed.

“Be a fucking lioness, Sal,” said Jazz. “I mean, let’s face it, them pictures they make out of the stars are just total bullshit anyway. Three bloody dots and they draw a bull round it, or a centaur. It’s ridiculous. If you actually do join the dots all you get is a splodge, like an amoeba or a puddle. Born under the sign of the puddle.”

“Actually, Jazz,” said Moon, “it’s not just about the fookin’ shapes, is it? It’s about the personality, the characteristics of people born under certain signs.”

“It’s bollocks,” Jazz insisted. “People say… Oh, Virgo, dead brave, or Capricorn, really clever and introspective. Where are the star signs for all the stupid boring people, eh? I mean, the world’s full of them. Don’t they get to be represented celestially? Taurus – we’re really dull and don’t get our rounds in… I could tell you was a Libra, they’re very flatulent.”

“You know fook all, you do, Jazz,” said Moon. “Do you know that?”