Dead Straight E-Book

K T Bowes

• Herausgeber: K T Bowes
• Kategorie: Krimi
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2019

Beschreibung

What does sex lube, a murder, and a secret guild of women have in common?

Kit Maguire is the link. That, and her discovery that the purple-willy-shaped tube of lube is fantastic for styling her wayward hair. A national disaster means the lube is in short supply and the hunt is on to find more before Kit’s curls turn to frizz. The Women with Curls guild is desperate for a demonstration but Kit isn’t keen on sharing what little she has left.

When the handsome Jackson Delaney arrests her for the murder of her boss, Kit is faced with life in prison and the threat of a permanent ponytail. It’s up to her flat mates to discover who really killed the lovely Mr Roy, but can the two vicars and an absent-minded scientist find the key to Kit’s innocence before it’s too late?

Start reading this hysterically funny novel today.

The queen of curly hair herself has called it, 'Hairlarious.'

Leseprobe

DEAD STRAIGHT

The Curly Fan Club

K T BOWES

Copyright and Disclaimer

As always, this novel is the exclusive property of K T Bowes, writing for the Hakarimata Press.

The words on this page came out of her crazy head and were typed by her stumpy fingers.

The characters are inspired by real people, but great dollops of poetic licence have been exercised in their fictional reproduction.

Please don’t copy bits, share great chunks, pretend it’s your own work or otherwise draw the attention of the lawyers.

They’re caged and quiet for the moment and it’s best they stay there...

ACKNOWLEDGEMENT

I’d like to dedicate this novel to Lorraine Massey, the genius founder of The Curly Girl Movement.

Her work with curly hair has revolutionised how we view ourselves and how we cope with our curls.

She’s the crusader who freed us from a world of frizz.

She took the heat, so our curls no longer had to.

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CHAPTER ONE

The Danger of Curls

A deafening crash shook the upper level of the house, making Kit Maguire drop her hairdryer onto her left foot. She let out a string of inappropriate curses and waited for the pain to subside. It took an effort to quell the overwhelming temptation to kick the hairdryer across the room. The price tag still emblazoned on the box helped. It gobbled up the last of her savings and changed her life. Not the hairdryer actually. The diffuser. The diffuser had changed her life.

“Ouch!” she hissed. Sinking onto the bed, she peered at the welt starting on her instep. Accompanied by a blue bruise, it sent out pain in an arcing radius of throbbing.

A yell accompanied the next crash and Kit frowned. “What are you doing in there?” she shouted.

A hail of complaint issued through the wall from the bathroom next door. Then a grunt and another. “I’m trying to get up!” a male voice shouted. “What did you use in this shower?”

Kit stood with a sigh and limped to the bedroom door. She bent to retrieve the precious diffuser which had popped off the nozzle of the hairdryer on impact. She set it on the dressing table with loving care. “Just conditioner,” she lied. And sugar. And hemp oil.

“It’s lube! You used lube in the shower!”

Kit’s eyes widened and she limp-scurried into the wide hallway, colour flushing her cheeks a healthy, mottled pink. “On my hair!” she shouted through the door. “It helps my curls to clump. Then, when I Scrunch Out The Crunch, I get great body.”

“Well, my body doesn’t appreciate it!” The bathroom door flew open and Kit gasped and took a step backward. Her flat-mate stood in the doorway with a fluffy towel wound around his waist. Blond hair stuck up on his head like a row of antennae and a leaf of toilet roll soaked up a cut beneath his eye.

“Oh.” Kit pressed an index finger over her lip as guilt seeped through her body like an oil slick. The blood made it real. “I’m sorry, Langdon,” she gasped. Her usual sass abandoned her in the face of his injury.

“It’s as bad as a skating rink,” he grumbled. The toilet paper soaked up more of his blood and compounded Kit’s sense of delinquency. A dusting of light hair feathered the impressive pectoral muscles which tapered to a trim waist. The towel clung to Langdon’s hips with a valiant effort as he ran a shaking hand through his hair and dispersed the antennae into a series of messy spikes. Kit noticed a blue bruise spreading from a point on his elbow.

“How much longer do we have to share a bathroom?”

Kit swallowed. “I’m not sure. The landlord promised he’d get the plumber to look at mine last week.” She nodded her head up and down like a nervous tick had taken over her neck. “I’ll call him today. I know he wants to get it fixed before the house sells.”

Langdon grunted and his gaze strayed to Kit’s hair. A tumble of auburn ringlets cascaded from the top of her head and covered her shoulders in elegant curls. She’d been in the process of drying her hair upside down and she’d missed the optimum moment for making sense of the top layers. Langdon frowned. “You use sex lube on your hair. For real?”

Kit swallowed and the flush spread from her cheeks to her forehead, increasing in intensity as a mottled pink on her neck. Nodding, she drew back her shoulders for battle. “Yes.” She usually took the time to squeeze the contents of the purple-willy-shaped container into a nondescript pot which she could pass off as hair gel. She’d made herself late laying out her new hairdryer for action before her shower and made the mistake of leaving her products on view. The frown burrowed deeper into the lines on her forehead as she reminded herself, she needed to retrieve her flaxseed gel and put it back in the fridge. “The chemical ingredient of certain lubes is the same as the expensive gels. It’s my Curly Routine.”

Langdon’s brow furrowed and he waved away her explanation, stealing a glance at the sports watch on his left wrist. “Maybe invest in a bathmat,” he suggested. “Or a handrail for the rest of us.”

Kit nodded and watched red blood consume the toilet roll beneath his eye. She lifted a finger and pointed to it. “I’m sorry about that. Would you like me to get you a plaster?”

“No, thanks.” Langdon shook his head and edged around her in the doorway. “I need to go to work. I’ll fix it there if it doesn’t stop.” His intimidating muscular bulk stoppered the gap like a cork and gave Kit a heart stopping view of the Saint Christopher nestled over his chest. “Excuse me.” Langdon paused and his words nudged Kit out of the way. She slithered sideways with reluctance and they swapped places.

Langdon fixed strong fingers around his towel as it made a bid for escape and he padded along the hallway and into his bedroom. Kit’s hand strayed towards a perfect ringlet nestled against her collarbone. She didn’t notice Langdon reappear. “Kit,” he said, his voice sounding tender.

His gaze moved from the curl she twirled between finger and thumb and then up to her face. His lips parted in the kind of smile that made middle-aged women flock to hear him speak. “Yeah.” Chastened, her voice sounded subdued.

“Nice hair,” Langdon said. “But perhaps while we’re sharing a bathroom, you could work out a less hazardous Curly Routine.”

“Okay.” Kit nodded.

“And don’t worry about the house. Maybe when it sells, the new landlord will let us continue renting it.”

Kit stopped the groan escaping and fixed a fake smile on her lips. “I’m not worried,” she lied.

CHAPTER TWO

The Wonder of Curls

“Langdon slipped on my lube.” Kit let out an exaggerated sigh and leaned back on the sofa. “Now he thinks I’m a sex maniac.”

Steph snorted and blew surf across the top of her mug. “He doesn’t think that.” Her brow furrowed. “Okay, he probably will think that. How did he know it was lube?”

“I didn’t get time to change it out of the purple-willy-shaped container. Some splashed in my eye and I went blind for a second. I must have dropped a splodge on the floor of the shower. He went down with a hell of a bang. Twice.”

Steph held her delicate nose to stop herself giving another unladylike snort. Tears leaked from her eyes instead. “Oh, gosh! I can just imagine it.”

Kit shook her head. “He’s gone to work with a cut under his eye and a bruise on his elbow. I feel terrible.”

Steph’s belly laugh didn’t help. “What will he say when they ask how he did it?” Holding her nose made her voice sound nasal and high as she did a poor impression of Langdon. “Well, Mrs Peters, it’s like this; I was washing this hot body in the shower and slipped on some aloe vera pleasure gel.” She keeled over sideways, slopping coffee over her jeans and onto the wooden floor.

Kit made a stellar effort not to laugh, but it proved difficult, especially as the imaginary Mrs Peters’ part of the conversation bubbled up from her darker side. “Ooh Vicar!” she squeaked in a fake old-lady voice. “Ooh Vicar!”

Steph gripped her stomach and slammed the coffee mug on the table before collapsing onto her knees in front of the sofa. Tears ran with abandon and her eyes made slits in her rounded cheeks. Kit bit her lip and glanced at the clock, noticing the way the little hand sped towards the one o’clock mark. “Stop, stop!” She flapped her hands at Steph. “He’ll be home soon. It’s not funny. It’s criminal injury.”

“Criminal injury!” Steph hooted again and bent double. Her ponytail flipped forward and dipped the purple ends into the coffee mug. She seemed surprised when she lifted her head and a brown drip slid down her nose. Her wide face curved into a grin. “Assault with a deadly weapon.” She sniggered and Kit imagined the purple-willy-shaped container perched on the shelf next to the shower gel. Some of the humour left, replaced by embarrassment.

“I use it on my hair,” she muttered. “Nobody will believe me.”

Steph wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her shirt and squeezed coffee from the ends of her ponytail. “You’re taking this Curly Bible thing way too far,” she commented. “What happened to Kit the Ponytail Queen from all your mum’s old photos?”

“I stopped shampooing my hair.” Kit pulled a ringlet forward and inspected the perfect coil. “And I got rid of her bird’s nest by avoiding silicone and sulfates.”

Steph reached for her coffee and Kit saw her shoot a sideways glance at the fluffy wire wool making a break from her hair tie. Wincing, Steph ignored the mug and her fingers shot up to push her escapees back behind her ear. “Tell me about this group you belong to,” she pressed.

Kit’s eyes sparkled. “I’d love you to come.”

Steph’s expression soured and her fingers fluttered back up to touch the matted ponytail. “I’m fine,” she growled. “I like my hair this way. It’s a cult isn’t it? You’re in a cult.” The conversation degenerated faster than usual this time and Kit felt the familiar tightness across her chest.

“Yep.” She forced herself to sound dismissive. “A hair-religion cult. It’s a Curly Takeover.” Rising, she checked her watch and allowed fifteen minutes for the drive into Hamilton. Then she added another fifteen required for edging Steph onto the driveway. If things turned awkward, she might need longer. The Curlies were meeting at Pam’s house for a demonstration on how to make flaxseed gel to the right consistency. She had no intention of missing it.

Her step-sister pushed herself off the floor and abandoned the mug and its dribbly mess on the coffee table. “You’re obsessed.” Steph frowned and the atmosphere plunged into one of resentment. The air crackled. Kit held her breath and counted to ten in her head. She refused to bite at the usual argument trigger and fixed a polite smile on her lips.

“All you talk about is your hair.” Steph’s face took on a crimson flush and creased into an ugly sneer. All camaraderie evaporated as her own inadequacies rose to the fore and she projected them onto Kit. They’d both spent their lives hair-challenged, but the Curly Bible had helped Kit remove a major factor in her lack of confidence. It left Steph and her frizz to heckle from the side-lines.

Or sabotage her. Like at Christmas when she bought Kit conditioner as a gift, knowing it contained the kinds of ingredients she needed to avoid. She’d pushed Kit until she had to admit she couldn’t use it and then called her ungrateful. Or the time she told everyone at a family gathering that Kit hadn’t shampooed her hair for over five years.

“I should leave.” Kit rose and collected her handbag from the floor beside the front door. “I’ll give you a ride home.”

“Dad’s picking me up from here after the game. He didn’t expect you to throw me out.” Steph bridled and stuck her chin in the air. Her blonde hair tumbled around her oval face, creating a softening halo edged by purple streaks. “He’s not finished for another hour.”

“I need to go.” Kit stood her ground with a determined smile. “I’ll drop you at the soccer ground. It’s on my way.”

Steph snarled and all sense of sisterhood vanished. She regressed into a snarky seventeen-year-old and Kit struggled to keep her temper. She channelled her sweet-natured mother instead and exhibited the kind of patience which would make Marian proud. Kit’s poor mother had shot herself in the foot by marrying the fast-talking Kenny and ended up with Steph to raise when he couldn’t be bothered.

“I hate your stupid car,” Steph growled as she slammed the door without care. “Nobody drives bright yellow cars like this anymore. It’s embarrassing.”

Kit drew in a breath of good Yoga attitude and exhaled a firestorm of irritation. Steph spat bile all the way to the soccer ground and as she slammed the car door much harder than she needed to and left without a goodbye, Kit remembered she still hadn’t removed the purple-willy-shaped evidence from the communal shower.

CHAPTER THREE

Curly Secrets

Kit arrived at Pam’s house with her mood tainted and her lips turned down into a pout. The wide front door stood open and she stepped over the threshold without knocking and kicked her shoes off on the mat.

“Hey, what kept you?” Piper Davenport rose from a kitchen stool and wrapped her spindly arms around Kit, drawing her into an embrace which smelled of baby sick and talcum powder.

“Steph.” Kit dumped her handbag and car keys on the floor and settled onto a spare stool. “Hey everyone.” She gave a feckless wave at the women squeezed into Pam’s small, modern kitchen. Some sipped mugs of coffee and others measured ingredients over a long bench near the sink. “Kenny dropped her at my place so he could watch the women’s soccer game, but then he took advantage like he always does. I gave her breakfast, morning tea and then lunch. He still didn’t come back for her, so I dropped her at the soccer club and she wasn’t happy.”

Piper wrinkled her nose. When she moved her head, a soft haze of perfect dark coils shifted around her face. “You could have brought her here. She’s a Curly.”

Kit’s eyes widened in horror. “I offered, but she refused and I’m glad. She’d mock everything we’re trying to do. She started calling us the Curly Cult on the way here.”

“Curly Cult?” Pam looked up from the kitchen counter with a wooden spoon held aloft. “I like that. Curly Cult. What do you think ladies?”

A general hum of approval went around the room and the other eight women nodded in agreement. Pam beamed. “We can put it forward as a motion at the next full meeting when everyone’s there. Curly Cult. I like it better than WWC, Women With Curls. It sounds more like a bathroom showroom.”

Kit groaned. “It’s bad enough at work. Jason already calls it Curly Central because of me and Piper.”

Piper giggled. “I don’t mind. He’s sweet and he’s had a monster crush on you for years.”

Kit pursed her lips. “I don’t need a man to complete me.” She stated the familiar mantra to the roll of Piper’s eyeballs.

“You two work together?” Pam sifted a handful of flaxseeds through her fingers, the rich brown colours catching the light from the kitchen window.

Piper nodded. “Yep. The car dealership on Te Rapa Straight. Kit works in the service department and I manage the accounts.” She glanced down at a yellow spot on her tee shirt. “Well, I’ll go back to it when my maternity leave ends.”

“Right Curlies.” Pam raised her wooden spoon in the air and waved it with all the elegance of a primary school teacher taking class. “Let’s get this flaxseed gel made.”

The women crowded round the hob to watch Pam add five tablespoons of flaxseeds to the already boiling water. “Three cups of water,” she announced, digging straight in with the spoon and swirling the little brown seeds into a jolly dance. “Medium to high heat for as long as it takes. Don’t leave it too long, girls. We want snot, not putty.”

“Snot?” One of the newer Curlies leaned forward to peer in the pan. Her short blonde curls looked defined, but she still battled a haze of frizz around her crown. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to do this. I’ve got a really weak stomach.”

“Call it something else then, Cindy.” Pam dismissed the woman’s anxiety with a flick of her wrist. “It doesn’t smell of anything, so you can add essential oils once it cools. The important thing to remember is that it only lasts two weeks in the fridge. After that it goes rancid and stinks to high heaven.”

“Rancid snot.” Cindy took a step back and jostled her way butt first through the eager crowd. “Yeah, not for me.” She made a sound at the back of her throat like a fake retch.

“It’s fine, really.” Gabby stretched out her olive fingers and clasped Cindy’s wrist. Afro ringlets danced around her face in a neat bob. “We’re all just learning here. I’ve never made it before, but the shop bought gels are giving me FA.”

“FA?” Cindy gulped.

Gabby pointed to her forehead, but her fingers didn’t contact the carefully coiffed curls. “Frizz Alert,” she said. “It happens to all of us, especially in humidity. And heaps of conditioners and gels contain glycerin. That sets it off really bad.”

“Frizz Alert. Glycerin.” Cindy parroted the words and her cheeks paled. “I’ll never remember all this.”

“I’ll help you. We live near each other. Maybe we can share the cost of ingredients and do it together.”

Cindy nodded with enthusiasm and moved closer to Pam and her wooden spoon. Kit leaned forward and watched the seeds bouncing around in the boiling water. A white foam had begun on the surface and swirled around like a rip tide. She felt Piper pressing against her shoulder so she could see. Pam jabbed at the wispy foam with the edge of her spoon. “This is what we want,” she said. Her red lips curved upwards into a satisfied smile. “We put the snot on our hair.”

“Berk!” Cindy made a sound in the back of her throat and clapped a hand over her mouth. “Berk!”

The women parted like a wave to leave Pam’s back exposed. Some wore designer clothes and others jeans and tee shirts. Nobody wanted puke down their back.

“Oh dear,” Piper breathed in Kit’s ear. “We’ve got us a vommer.”

“Berk!” Cindy’s eyes watered and her gaze strayed to the growing white foam on top of the saucepan. Unconcerned, Pam jabbed at the mixture with her spoon and grinned like a serial killer.

“The consistency of snot is best,” she said. “Like a decent bout of flu but not too runny. Avoid lumps.” Entering a one-woman competition to say the word snot as many times in a sentence as possible, she added the descriptive noun ectoplasm followed by the adjective viscous. Then she raised her wooden spoon and a globule of mixture dangled from it. The bulbous end swelled in size as the long thread of gel thinned and gravity tempted it back towards the hot saucepan. “Perfect!” Pam announced. She waggled her eyebrows and her grey curls bounced across her shoulders. “Just like being with the first years during flu season. We want snot, not bogeys.”

“Berk, berk, berk!” Cindy exited the kitchen at speed and tripped over the threshold on her way out the front door. A clatter sounded as she picked a fight with the terracotta plant pots nestling beside the porch. “Berk, berk!” She sounded like a small, frightened duck as her curls bobbed past the kitchen window towards the back garden.

“Can someone check on her?” Debbie wore a cooking apron and wielded a Kmart plastic pump bottle in her hand. Her eyes glimmered with a peculiar sheen at the prospect of funnelling Pam’s perfect snot into the container. The apron stretched across her wide frame, a naked woman on the front. It created a strange illusion of a skinny woman trapped inside a fat one and Kit fought down the uncharitable thought that Debbie might have eaten her.

“I’ll go.” Kit pushed her way through the women’s bodies with a sigh. She’d become an expert at making flaxseed gel in the past few years and didn’t need to see Pam’s legendary snot making. She reached the front door as Pam delivered her next set of instructions.

“Drop it into the coffee plunger and wait for the seeds to settle to the bottom. Then plunge the life out of the little buggers and pour the mixture into small pots. This stuff will freeze for months and you can defrost it when you need it.”

Kit rounded the side of the brick house and stepped into Pam’s immaculate garden. She followed the sound of Cindy’s sniffles and found her sitting on a wooden garden bench with her head between her knees. A weeping ash wavered overhead as though primed to waft fresh air over the stricken woman. “How are you feeling?” Kit asked. She slumped down beside her.

“I’m okay as long as you don’t say snot. Berk!”

“Then stop saying it yourself.” Kit smiled. “It actually makes great gel. When it dries, it forms an amazing cast and holds the curl long enough for it to set. And it’s cheaper than a gel. I bought a kilogramme of seeds at the start of last year and I’m still only halfway through them.”

Cindy nodded. “It’s just the thought of it. Berk! I can’t imagine having that snotty stuff running through my fingers. Berk, berk, berk!”

“Just stop!” Kit squeezed Cindy’s forearm. She felt the bones beneath, as fragile as a baby bird’s. “Let’s talk about something else. I use lube as well. It’ll probably make a reasonable cast on its own. I haven’t tried using it by itself.”

Cindy sat up and ran the back of her hand across her nose. “Cast. That’s the crunchiness, isn’t it? Then you scrunch that out.”

“Yep.” Kit nodded, relieved to see the wateriness disappear from Cindy’s eyes. “I use the purple-willy-shaped-lube just before I finger curl. It’s water based.” Her face fell. “But I forgot to transfer it from the purple-willy-shaped container and my flat-mate saw it. And then he slipped on some and cut his eye.” She leaned forward and mirrored Cindy’s defeated stance. “He thinks I’m a sex maniac and doesn’t want to share the shower with me anymore. And he’s a vicar.”

Cindy gulped and the faintest hint of a smile lit her lips. “I thought my life was complicated enough with my husband’s mid-life crisis.”

Kit winced. “I’m single. Can’t help you with that one, sorry. Do you work?” She steered the conversation away from husbands, lube and flaxseed gel.

Cindy nodded. “Yeah. My father owns Blackhawk Security.”

Kit shook her head. “I haven’t heard of it.”

“It’s a software company. We create websites, coding for appliances and do quite a bit of cyber security.”

A scream pierced the gentle silence of the garden and birds flapped overhead in fright. A passing bumblebee changed direction and soared back over the perimeter fence in a wide arc. “No! No! No!” The wail sounded agonized and fraught with pure misery.

“What the hell?” Cindy gasped.

But Kit was already off the bench and disappearing along the crazy paving in her bare feet. She made it through the front door despite the shards of grit which dug into her toes.

A wall of shocked faces greeted her and the unmistakable sound of sobbing.

CHAPTER FOUR

Curly MU

Kit ran into the kitchen at speed and collided with Piper. Her friend clasped her around the waist as she pivoted backwards. “What’s happened?” Kit gasped as Cindy ran into her spine with a muffled grunt.

Piper released her and took a step back, her eyes flashing a warning and her head jerking towards a curious Cindy. “Gabby MU’d,” she whispered.

“Oh.” Kit winced and darted a look around the kitchen. Forgotten flaxseeds bubbled on the hob and welded themselves into a rubbery brown mass as the women gathered around a hysterical Afro in their midst.

“What’s going on?” Cindy’s blue eyes widened to the size of saucers and a delicate hand fluttered to her throat. “I can’t cope with all this drama. It’s time I went home and used my straighteners. I’ve made a terrible mistake.”

Like Moby Dick rising from the deep, Debbie’s head and shoulders appeared above the gaggle. “We don’t talk about shampoo, brushes or straighteners!” she bellowed across the room. “Never. They’re forbidden!”

Cindy took a series of steps backwards and her fingers searched for the front door handle. With her other hand, she made the sign of the cross and an expensive Pandora bracelet hooked itself around her cardigan button. Piper stopped hopping on the spot and reached to help her.

“Everything’s okay,” Kit reassured. She patted Cindy’s shoulder without looking and accidentally prodded her left boob. “I just need to turn off the flaxseed gel before it explodes.”

“Explodes?” Cindy sounded hoarse. She flapped at Piper’s efforts to extricate her bracelet from the button and searched the room for her handbag with frantic head movements. “I need to get out,” she chanted. “I need to get out.”

“False alarm everyone!” Pam’s reassuring voice rang out across the room and a hum of relief went around the women. They peeled outward like water from a broken paddling pool and surged back.

“False alarm everyone!” Piper picked up the cry and whirled around on the spot. Her dark eyes took on a crazed appearance. “False alarm. Nothing to see here.”

Kit carved a route through the bodies and made it to the hob just as the congealed blob in the bottom of the saucepan began sending a blue haze into the atmosphere. She removed the whole pan from the ring and whirled around looking for somewhere to dump it. Handbags and car keys covered every available surface and she settled on running the cold tap and holding the saucepan under the stream until the sizzling stopped. The room smelled like baked silage and a black circle stained the bottom of the pan. Kit swallowed as the brown blob floated to the surface of the water and bobbed around in a raucous happy dance. She turned off the tap and removed herself from the scene of the crime.

“What was that about?” She edged closer to the remaining bodies in the centre of the room and found Gabby perched on a stool sobbing. Pam and Debbie kept their heads bowed and made sounds as though praying for deliverance. Gabby gave an occasional nod and a sniff. When Pam popped upright, Debbie took full ownership of the sobbing Curly and sucked her into her copious naked-woman-apron. Kit pursed her lips and resisted the urge to wave Gabby goodbye. Debbie’s hugs were genuine but bone-crushingly terminal.

“She thought she MU’d.” Pam leaned sideways to whisper in Kit’s ear. “But it’s a false alarm.”

Piper appeared next to Kit’s elbow. She towed a reluctant Cindy in her wake. “Cindy wants to quit,” she announced, ignoring the wriggle of protest from her captive. “She wants to go back to straightening.”

“We don’t mention straightening here!” Debbie bellowed. Gabby gave a squeal of horror and covered her ears with her hands as though Debbie’s breasts weren’t adequate enough mufflers.

“Okay, okay!” Pam sounded tired. She held both hands over her head and the room silenced like she’d flicked a switch. A phone beeped from inside a handbag and went unanswered. “Let’s deal with what just happened, but first I need to check the flaxseed gel.”

Kit held her breath as Pam moved towards the hob and then changed direction to peer in the sink at her ruined pan. She gave a sigh and turned to face the women. Like cows at a milking station, they edged forward and stopped as a collective. Piper kept a tight grip on Cindy’s wrist.

“So, Gabby thought she’d MU’d,” Pam began. “That means she thought she’d Messed Up and would need to start again. Things which cause us to Mess Up include using products with silicone, sulfates and certain oils.”

A buzz went around the room. An older woman who’d been in the group since its inception tutted and put her hands on her hips. “And it doesn’t help when certain manufacturers make products we can use and some we can’t. They sit on the shelf next to each other and it’s easy to make a mistake.” A hum of agreement followed and several product names were mentioned.

Pam nodded. “Gabby overheard us discussing a product we can’t use and recognised the manufacturer.”

“And panicked.” Debbie’s voice rang out like a klaxon. “Curlies never panic.”

Kit snorted and Piper pursed her lips. Curlies panicked all the time. Over everything. Too much frizz. Which hairdresser to use. To use protein or not use protein. The pros and cons of moisturising. Whether using a brush without Debbie finding out counted as using a brush at all. The list went on in an endless spiral of confusion. And then one day the curls just formed like dancing ballerinas and the world became a wonderful place. Compliments got given, the routine formed like a well-rehearsed play and the sun shone every day. Then came the inevitable trip to the supermarket to discover the product responsible for the life changing curls had been discontinued. Cue nervous breakdown.

“Curlies never panic.” Debbie spun her head like something from The Exorcist and eyeballed each of the women in turn. “That’s what our Facebook group is for.”

“We panic on Facebook?” Gabby pushed her face free of Debbie’s breasts, wiping her nose on the apron as she gasped for air.

“No. We don’t panic at all. We post in the group and someone will help us.” Pam rolled her eyes.

“Not always.” A woman with grey roots and darker ends shook her head. “I stood in the supermarket for over an hour taking photos of products last week. I waited so long for someone to answer that my ice cream melted.”

Pam sighed. “Then we need to do better. Curlies must stick together. Set your Facebook notifications to alert you to requests for help. We’ll set goals at the next meeting and discuss what everyone wants from the group.”

“What about the flaxseed gel?” someone asked. “It’s ruined.”

“I’ll start again.” Pam’s shoulders slumped. She waved a hand at Gabby. “Then we’ll discuss what happens with a genuine MU and how to rectify it. I’ve got some handouts around here somewhere.”

Piper managed to stop Cindy leaving and Pam rustled up enough decent flaxseed gel to hand out a container to each woman. Nerves were soothed and fears allayed. It turned out there were different levels of Messing Up and none were life threatening. “Use the dish washing liquid and then just start again,” Pam reassured them. “It’s an MB which is the code for a Minor Blip.”

“Minor Blip,” Cindy whispered. Her hand shook and she looked like a woman on the edge. “Minor Blip.” Her Pandora bracelet remained wrapped around her button and it pulled her cardigan up like a mangled wing. “Minor Blip.”

Kit rolled her eyes at Piper and released a sigh. “These women are as crazy as blind pukekos,” she whispered.

“Yep. We’re in good company,” Piper mouthed back.

The meeting ended early with the appearance of Pam’s husband. While the Curlies acknowledged the existence of Male Curlies, they didn’t encourage direct fraternisation within the group. The Curly Facebook page often featured women in various stages of undress on BCD’s (Bad Curl Days) whilst standing in the shower and streaming naked, tearful videos begging for help. Pam and Debbie felt the presence of men might hinder the honest exchanges.

Pam’s husband sported an incredible head of grey curls which hung in clumps of ringlets down his back. They presented a strange paradox against his biker leather jacket, but he fluffed out his helmet hair like a true professional.

“Rockin’ those curls, Mr D!” Piper squealed and high-fived him on her way out the door. Kit gave him a polite nod and tried not to stare. Pam’s handiwork oozed from every stunning curl bouncing against his broad back but alas, she could affect no miraculous cure for the front of his head. Everything below his crown was a testament to her skill with conditioner and flaxseed gel, but from there forward he sported a freckled dome of crinkly bald head. It looked like a wig that someone had slid back too far to the point where gravity might snatch it off.

Kit fitted her feet back into her heels and headed for the safety of her car.

“Ladies!” Debbie’s voice boomed out across the heads of women still shuffling their feet around in the shoe collection on the door mat. “Don’t forget that next time, we’re meeting at Kit’s house. She’s demonstrating the various uses for sex lube.”

Silence.

Pam’s husband tripped over the doorstep and mashed his face against the wall opposite. Next door’s children stopped bouncing on a trampoline with such suddenness, their father almost missed catching the toddler as it sailed past his left ear. A man doing a leaflet drop paused in the process of pushing junk mail into Pam’s box and Kit forced herself not to react. Like a catwalk model she clattered across the pavement and kept walking, fumbling with her car keys and refusing to look back.

She stowed her handbag on the passenger seat and fired up the engine of her little yellow Volkswagen Beetle. A red flush gobbled up the porcelain skin on her neck and worked its way through her face to include her eyelids. “Well,” she muttered. “Thanks for the advanced warning, Debbie.”

CHAPTER FIVE

Curly Scrounging

Kit slammed the front door and barrelled into the lounge. “Langdon you have to help me,” she babbled. “It’s an emergency.”

Langdon’s head lolled back against the arm of the sofa. He released a groan before sitting up again. “Does this involve lube?” he demanded. “Because I don’t think I can take any more today.” He leaned forward and slapped his forehead with his palm. “Oh, that sounds so wrong.” The cut under his eye had gained bloodstained butterfly stitches and a bruise spread across the bridge of his nose. Kit experienced a moment of shame before launching back into her urgent request.

“I’m sorry about your face, Langdon, but yes it involves lube. I’ve just learned the group is coming here for our next meeting and they’re expecting me to explain how to use it on curls. To make matters worse, they expect hosts to provide a sample of their chosen product for everyone else to take away and try.” Kit lifted her tiny pump bottle filled with dubious brown goop. She waggled it from side to side and it shifted in a lazy arc around the base.

Langdon ran a hand over his face and covered his grinning lips with a wide palm. His quick brain made the giant leap to Kit’s pressing problem. “So, you need to visit the supermarket and buy tubes of lube to give away? That’s hilarious.”

Kit shifted from foot to foot. “I figured if I asked friends to buy two each, then I should have enough for the next meeting. Every tube of lube should fill three tiny pump bottles without looking skimpy, I’ll need...” Kit paused to count on her fingers and stare at the ceiling.