Page 150 of Easy
LOUISE
Sitting on the chair in the bedroom, Dan draws one shod foot on top of his knee. A large hairbrush dangles from the fingers of his right hand. It’s a very utilitarian kind of piece with a wide wooden paddle and a mass of metal spines. It’s the kind of brush suited to a Rapunzel mane, the kind requiring a hundred strokes at night.
I frown, disturbed by the brush but not for the reasons you might think. It isn’t the kind of hairbrush a man uses, but as he swishes the bristles back and forth along his thigh, the motion is mesmerising.
‘It has possibilities,’ he drawls, ‘but not much imagination, I’m afraid.’
‘I don’t know what you mean.’ My voice is soft, the quiver in it audible as he taps the wooden back absently against his knee.
‘I was thinking I’d beat it from you.’ Angling the brush upwards, he shakes it a little in the air. ‘Extract an answer by means of this,’ he says, bringing it down to his thigh sharp and swift. ‘Smack your arse until it’s red and smarting and you’re justdyingto tell me why you insist on shutting me out.’
‘For a minute, I thought you were going to threaten to take it out on my hair,’ I reply, pulling a distasteful face. ‘A brush is your answer? Surely, the metal spatula would’ve been worse.’ Excited? Nervous? More than a little scared? None of these cover how I feel right now, despite my flippant response.
Flippant or not, Dan smiles indulgently before throwing the thing onto the mattress where it lands with a softthunk.
‘It’s not the weapon, but the arm that wields it. And the intent.’
Reaching for the threatening item, I turn it in my hands. ‘It’s a very feminine piece,’ I state evenly, trying not to show my hand.
‘What’s feminine about it?’ Rising, Dan takes it from my hand as he lowers himself next to me on the bed. ‘I rather thought hairbrushes were unisex,’ he says, weighing the item in his palm. ‘It’s a solid piece of apparatus, this.’
As though to prove a point, he slaps the pale wood against the palm of his left hand. My body jumps at the point of impact, my telling gaze sliding away. I don’t need to tell him how exciting I found that.
‘Long hair, that is... i-it’s a brush for long hair,’ I stutter, sliding a chunk of hair behind my ear, my tongue darting out to wet my dry lips.
At the action, Dan’s fingers reach out, pushing the curl across my shoulder where he twists it around his finger. ‘No, it isn’t Belle’s brush. Nothing in this room belongs to her now. Actually, I bought this thinking of you.’
As my brow creases, he begins to touch it to the very ends of my hair, toying with them at first before gathering the strands. I half expect him to fist it at the nape of my neck, but instead, he lets the weight of my hair fall over his palm as he begins running the brush from nape to ends. After a moment, my head falls back at the unexpected action. I don’t remember when someone last brushed my hair for me.
Silence follows. I’m aware of nothing but the sound of the bristles slowly sliding through my hair. With each stroke, my spine liquefies until Dan’s chest is the only thing supporting me. Placing the brush down, Dan folds me in his arms, pulling my back flat against him.
As we sit, I become aware of the differing layers of noises in the distance. A car passing, children playing in a nearby garden. My body and mind absorb the stillness, recognising it for what it was. Peace. I’m not thinking or overthinking. No fretting about what might be. I don’t need to as reality crystallises in my mind.
This thing between us may have begun as pure escapism, but now was somehow real. Dan was probably the only person I’d ever known who could anticipate what I need to feel... just right.
‘Am I so unappealing?’ Dan’s voice cuts through my thoughts, a hint of sad humour tainting his words.
‘You know that’s not it,’ I reply softly
‘Do I? You think my ego doesn’t wound?’
‘Your ego is impenetrable,’ I reply, hoping to make him laugh.
‘How little you know,’ he responds, pulling me closer still. ‘Maybe you should tell me what you need.’
There haven’t yet been words created to describe what was between us, had there? I turn my head over my shoulder, peering at him as best I can.
‘The moon on a stick?’
‘Sorry?’
Embarrassed at my verbal slip, I shake my head, but know this isn’t going to cut it for him. ‘Sometimes,’ I say sighing, ‘I think the only thing you could add to improve this would be the moon on a stick.’
‘The moon? Are you implying you feel this is pretty much perfect?’ he asks incredulously. ‘Why are we here again? Oh yes, I remember, because the lady doth protest to a little affection, to a little depth.’
I shrug tightly, trying to pull from his embrace ‘You wish for more, and it all goes wrong. Nobody gets the moon on a stick. You can’t have it all.’
‘I don’t think I’ve ever heard such fatalistic bullshit.’ I try harder to pull away now. ‘No, not so fast,’ he says in response to my wriggling. ‘You mean to tell me that superstition is the only thing holding you back?’
