A short story. I used to live in a farming community, and this tale is based on someone I knew. 

Just the Business

 

Sammy’s hair had always been fair and fine, when she was alive his mother would say his hair was “just the business”.

But something was changing, and fast. Each time he peered in the foxed bathroom mirror there seemed to be less hair there. But there was plenty on the pillow, the comb, the sink and inside his tweed bonnet every time he took it off, but a lot less where it should have been.

When at last the wig arrived in the post one Saturday morning Sammy felt a mix of emotions, but once he had got it just right on his head he was delighted.  It didn’t just give him his looks back, it kept his head nice and warm under his bonnet when he was out feeding the cows on a cold morning.

Later on in the fuggy atmosphere of the pub he was sure he heard a couple of the lads sniggering and felt himself colour up, but Jacqueline the barmaid had said his new hair was “the business”, and that was just enough for Sammy.

After a few years Sammy realised wigs didn’t last forever. The yellow blonde had become nicotine coloured from his roll ups, but worse, the damned wig was going bald under his cap. Where the beautiful yellow strands had been there were pink plastic patches with little circles where each tuft used to be.

So, ten years on from the first, Sammy popped a postal order in an envelope and waited for his new locks to arrive. When the wig came it was just as full of lovely yellow hair as the first. But this time Sammy, who had always been very careful with money, wasn’t going make the same mistake again. These things were not cheap. He wore the old wig with his bonnet, and kept the new one for good.

When the bread van peeped outside, Sammy headed out to get tobacco and a bit of food. He felt so good about his new hair he told the driver all about it. “It’s the business so it is” Sammy told him, tucking a loaf under his arm as he clattered down the red steps away from the warm smell of diesel and baked goods.

 

Now sometimes, as Sammy inched towards retirement, he thought about ditching the rug. After all, by now plenty of the other fellas had no hair, and they seemed ok with an occasional jibe, some even seemed proud of their baldness. But Sammy just couldn’t bring himself to do it. At the bottom line, he told himself, his head would be cold.

So, when retirement came, he used his bonus to splash out on wig number three.

 

At first it looked identical, but the package said “extra comfort” in bold letters. And it seemed to be true. When he tried it on it felt a little bit less plasticky and it didn’t seem to slip out of place the same.

 

Well retirement didn’t sit well with Sammy. He was bored and lonely. The small damp house creaked and groaned about him, amplifying the silences. He’d often be away over the field watching the lads work or trying to catch them for a chat as they made their way home for dinner at twelve-o-clock or at lousing time at the end of the day.

 

The neighbours knew something wasn’t right when there was no smoke from the chimney and no sign of Sammy at the bread van, and when they knocked and shouted at the back door there was no answer. They found him cold and grey, bonnet and wig oddly angled, lying over the kitchen table with a cold mug of tea untouched beside him.

When Tracy, the young lass next door who was fond of him, was tasked with finding his best clothes for the undertaker she eventually found a black suit with only a little mildew on, and as she hunted for a shirt, she found the new wig and popped it in a bag with the rest.

 

At the funeral home they promised to get him looking well, a funny phrase in the circumstances.

 

Despite the truth that no one but her would ever see Sammy again, the undertakers’ assistant set to work doing the necessaries, before washing and dressing Sammy carefully. She talked to him, like she talked to them all. He wasn’t looking quite right she thought, though truth be told, she didn’t know what he should look like.

Then, as she stepped back to check her handiwork she almost slipped on the wig bag which had fallen on the floor.

“Is this what you need” she asked Sammy, as he lay quiet on the trolley. Deciding it was, she gently fitted the wig to his head, rolling it from side to side to get it fitted just right. She tugged the fringe into place and swept it to the side.

“Aww”, said the assistant, standing back to appreciate her handiwork better, “Now that’s the business”.