Free Another Country by Anjali Joseph Page A

up and walked around. She went to the window and put her head under the heavy velvet curtain, a little away from the icy pane. Outside it was nearly dark, except for the acid-white glow of a street light. In the garden, the leaves of a small tree next to the wall appeared to be dead still.
    She went back to bed, thinking wistfully for some reason of the discomfort of sleeping at Simon’s. He never stayed at her house, of course; she thought of the platform bed and didn’t miss it. She annexed part of the duvet, and rolled to the side, to avoid Amy, who was saying something indistinct and violent in sleep, and tossing from one side to the other.

Chapter 11
    â€˜Can we take it a bit shorter?’
    The stylist put down the hand mirror. She looked annoyed. ‘Shorter than that?’
    â€˜Yeah, a bit, yeah.’
    â€˜If I take it shorter it won’t look feminine .’ She seemed exasperated. This was the last appointment; Thursday nights there was a special offer.
    â€˜I want it shorter,’ Leela said.
    â€˜I’ll have to use clippers.’
    â€˜Fine.’
    No one else was left in the salon. Its chrome fittings glinted in the night. The steam that lingered smelled vanilla, like hairspray, or teen perfume. Leela went into the cold, defiant but suspecting once again she’d done herself a bad turn.
    She stood outside Amy’s door ringing the bell and ignoring the waiters who came out of the Indian restaurant downstairs to smoke.
    â€˜Not there, ah?’ said the waiter on the doorstep of the Bombay Tandoori.
    â€˜She is there,’ Leela mumbled. ‘We arranged. She – I –’
    There was a heavy flurry down the stairs. The door shot open.
    â€˜Sorry! Come up. I just – aw!’ Amy hugged Leela.
    The waiter looked on with interest. The rain carried on falling, cold and sharp, just enough to make Leela’s neck glow.
    â€˜Come in, come in, sorry, I was just on the phone to Mum.’
    Leela followed as she ran up the stairs. At her door, Amy turned. ‘Oh my god, your hair! Come inside. I’ll get the kettle on.’
    Leela sat on the broken futon and the rain rained. What if there were floods, and she had to stay here forever? She had a sudden urge to text Richard. She typed, ‘Hi sweetie’, then dropped the phone when Amy came back in.
    â€˜Do you hate it?’
    â€˜Well, gosh! It’s short, isn’t it? But it’s cool! Very cool!’ ‘Cool’ was a word Amy used to denote things that were foreign to her. She now used another. ‘It looks really trendy.’ She peered at Leela. ‘It’s very short, isn’t it?’
    Leela knelt on the futon so she could see herself in the mirror. She pushed her hair around. ‘Do I look like a 1980s footballer?’
    â€˜No! Don’t be silly. You look lovely. It’s just –’ Amy’s eyes narrowed, and she darted back into the tiny kitchen to hasten out the tea bags, slop the tea, put in skimmed milk, and bring out the mugs.
    â€˜Can I have sugar?’ Leela asked accusingly.
    â€˜Oh shit, sorry.’ Amy went back into the kitchen and returned with an aged packet of caster sugar and a spoon. ‘Here.’ She plonked it next to Leela and turned up the music. She sang along, then turned it down, lit some candles, and sat next to Leela.
    â€˜It’s just –?’
    â€˜It’s just probably a good idea to, to, definitely wear make-up. And, you know, more skirts and stuff. Which you’re doing anyway! You dress so much better than you did. What made you do it?’
    Leela pushed bits of hair around to see if there were ways of looking more mysterious, less startled. ‘I don’t know. I’d been thinking about it. I thought it might feel lighter, it’d be fresh. Why not?’
    â€˜Do you think Richard’ll like it?’
    Leela sat down. ‘Yeah,’ she said. She caressed the near-shaven back of