Free Heart and Soul by Maeve Binchy

asked.
    “You know who I am?” She had totally forgotten she was wearing a name badge.
    “Indeed, I do. I know what you had for lunch yesterday. You had lobster,” he said.
    “Aren't you great.” She seemed pleased.
    “You didn't tell me you had lobster.” Lar was aggrieved.
    “No, I hadn't got round to it. There was only very little actually a bit cheapskate, I thought.”
    Declan wanted to talk forever. “So what was the new thing today?”
    “Lar taught me the offside rule in soccer,” Fiona said.
    “You know the offside rule?” Declan's jaw fell open in admiration. Hardly anyone could explain that to you.
    “Lar said that it's in order to stop players hanging around the goal of their opponents waiting for a long ball to come to them. You're offside if when the ball is passed to you, you're nearer the goal than the ball and the second last defender.”
    “You should be a sports commentator,” Declan said, awestruck.
    Lar joined in. “Her memory isn't all that good. You wouldn't want to test her on terms like
URL
or
html.
I don't know how she works a computer at all. Our lives in their hands. It would frighten the wits out of you.”
    Fiona wasn't at all put out by this. “I
did
remember what a vole was. I never knew when I came across them in books were they good or bad. I don't think we have them in Ireland. But anyway, Lar said that
vole
was a name for any number of blunt-nosed, short-eared mouse or rat-like rodents.”
    “Is that good or bad?” Declan asked.
    “Very bad, I would think. Come on, Lar, we'll never get this form finished.”
    “I like to read documents carefully,” Lar said.
    “Yes, but it's an X-ray form, Lar, and this question, it's asking are you pregnant?” Fiona's eyes danced at the two men.
    “You can't be too careful,” Lar said.
    With a great effort Declan dragged himself away.
    Declan realized that Fiona was utterly enchanting and that he didn't stand a chance with her. He looked at himself in the mirror of the clinic's cloakroom. A great round face looked back at him with a topping of awful ginger hair. Maybe if his hair wasn't so terrible he might have some hope?
    Yesterday, cycling home, he had passed a row of smart shops that had included a very expensive hair salon. Today he would call in there and discuss his hair. It couldn't do any harm.
    The place was full of black marble and chrome and glass.
    “Could I have a consultation?” he asked.
    “Sure. You can consult me. I'm Kiki, one of the stylists,” said the girl with the long black hair, heavy white makeup and dark purple nails.
    “Thanks, Kiki. Should I sit down or something? What could I do with my hair?” he asked.
    “What do you
want
to do with your hair?”
    “That's why I need to consult. It can't stay like this.”
    “Why not?” Kiki yawned a terrible yawn, showing the back of her throat.
    “Well, it's desperate,” said Declan.
    “Is it falling out or something?” Kiki asked.
    “No, it's not falling out, but it's like a pot scrubber or something. It's desperate.”
    “I don't see anything wrong with it,” Kiki said.
    “It's ludicrous.”
    “Naw, it goes with your face. It's fine.” Kiki said she thought the consultation was over.
    “I thought you were meant to attract business, not turn it away,” he said.
    “Mister, you're fine. What's the point in my suggesting some kind of treatment or color or streaks or frosting or something that would set you back hundreds of euros when you're
fine
as you are. How often do I have to tell you?”
    The manager, not liking the sound of raised voices, edged over slightly. “Everything under control here?” he asked.
    “Yes. Kiki has been very helpful. I'll come back next week,” Declan said, moving for the door.
    Kiki went and held it open for him. “Thanks,” she said. “It's just I hate them making money out of people like you. People who haven't a penny to their name.”
    Declan unlocked his bicycle. Did she think he was poor because he