Free The Leaving of Liverpool by Lyn Andrews Page A

with such deference in the shops. At least Miss Olivia was. She just carried the parcels.
    ‘I’ll wear the cream linen two-piece with the blue blouse,’ Olivia decided.
     
    By the time they got to Bold Street it was crowded with shoppers and the sun’s heat was fiery. A young lad, clad in trousers too big for him and a patched shirt, was standing outside the entrance to Central Station selling the Daily Post . ‘Police strike! Police to go on strike! Read all about it!’ he bawled.
    Phoebe-Ann bought a copy. ‘Oh, miss! Do you think it will come to a strike? What will we do if it does?’
    Olivia looked at her as though she were speaking a foreign language. ‘What does it matter if they do have their silly strike?’
    ‘What will people do without them?’
    ‘I’m sure I don’t know, nor do I care! Throw it away and stop fussing!’
    Phoebe-Ann did as she was told and followed her mistress into the Salon Augustine with trepidation and foreboding. Feelings that soon gave way to fascination as she watched Olivia’s long, shining curls fall to the floor accompanied by cries of admiration from the whole staff. The small Frenchman deftly snipped and cut until at last he stood back and admired his handiwork with a cry of pure delight.
    There was a communal sigh of approval from everyone.
    Olivia clapped her hands. ‘Oh, it feels so . . . so light! I feel light-headed! It’s . . . it’s gorgeous! Everyone will come rushing to follow my lead, I know they will!’
    Phoebe-Ann had to admit that it did suit Olivia’s pert features and she herself had always been a devotee of fashion, in such minor ways as she could afford. For a second she envied Olivia her wealth and the freedom it brought. ‘It does suit you, miss. It really does!’
    Olivia’s eyes sparkled as she jumped up. She smiled archly at the small, wiry hairdresser and winked. ‘Now it’s your turn.’
    ‘Me!’ Phoebe-Ann gasped.
    ‘Yes! Today I’m going to transform you! It’s my . . . my project for today! You’re to have a completely new image and I will supervise it and pay for it! You should be delighted and very grateful that I take such an interest in you! Don’t sit there with your mouth hanging open like a codfish! Monsieur is waiting!’
    Phoebe-Ann’s hands went instinctively to her long hair, neatly pinned up beneath her hat, her eyes wide with horror. Miss Olivia must be joking! She must be! ‘My mam would kill me, miss! She really would! I mean it’s . . . it’s fine er . . . right that someone like you should . . . but me . . . ! She’ll kill me!’ she stammered.
    Olivia was annoyed and impatient. ‘Phoebe-Ann Parkinson you are the most ungrateful . . . stubborn . . . unimaginative person I’ve ever met! Do you want to look drab and dull all your life? You always used to say you’d give anything to look like me and now you’re refusing the chance! How insulting! I know you would look wonderful with the right clothes and the right hairstyle! You could even find yourself a young man to sweep you off your feet and take you away from all that!’ Olivia threw out a hand to indicate Phoebe-Ann’s plain clothes and demure hat. ‘You could you know and don’t tell me you would pass that up!’ Olivia didn’t really believe her own statement but she was annoyed that Phoebe-Ann would ruin her plans and besides, maybe Papa wouldn’t be quite so difficult to handle if Phoebe-Ann’s hair had been cut too.
    Phoebe-Ann was finding that her alarm and trepidation were fading as she caught some of Olivia’s excitement. She couldn’t refuse such generosity. She’d be mad to pass up this opportunity and maybe she really could find a nice young man who wasn’t short of money. Not dressed like this she couldn’t, but in an outfit like Miss Olivia’s . . . ‘Well, if you really do think . . .’
    Before she had time to protest further she was steered towards the chair. A fluffy white towel was draped around her shoulders, her hat