Wild Fiction

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‘Yes, he’s still my personal trainer,’ Genevieve replied regaining her composure. Her head turned for a quick furtive look at Rebecca who was watching her. As soon as their eyes clashed, they looked away again like guilty voyeurs caught in the act.
Gunther continued his work in silence, his smile gone from his fat lips.
6
James had The Times open on the table in front of him when Rebecca walked in.
‘Money,’ Rebecca said to him holding out her hand.
‘What?’ James looked confused.
‘I need money to pay the hairdresser.’
‘Have you looked in your pockets?’
Rebecca stuck a hands into her pockets until she pulled out three neatly folded fifty pound notes. She looked back at James and raised her eyebrows.
‘Haven’t you noticed how arbitrary details like being able to pay for expensive activities never seem to phase the action heroes in movies. Well we have the same license. We reach into our pockets and there it is,’ James smiled at her.
She turned on her heels and disappeared across the road before returning.
‘What do you think?’ she asked as she twirled around on her toes, her hair rising up like a flamenco dancer’s dress.
‘It looks amazing. If I was American I’d say it was awesome, but I’m not.’
‘What’s been done to it?’ Rebecca asked.
‘What do you mean “What’s been done to it?”?’
‘I want you to tell me what’s different about my hair since you last saw it.’
‘Well... you can see... you can see that you’ve been to the hairdresser. It looks different. It’s straighter.’
‘Has it been cut, or styled, or coloured?’
James felt confused and harassed as if he was being set up for a big question, one that he was going to get wrong.
‘It’s hard to tell,’ James said after a brief pause.

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