1982

‘You’re the man who boiled my grandmother’s hairbrush!’

The words were spat at me across the counter from the hissing face with half-closed and accusing eyes sitting on the other side. ‘It’s you, isn’t it?’

I am taken back two years to the same car rental desk at the same airport. Having got off a long flight I found myself looking tousled and sleepy and completely inappropriate for the meeting I was to have. I found the toilets and used their facilities to wash and shave and to dampen and smooth down my thinning hair which was completely beyond all control.

I walked to the car hire depot across the car park and beyond the terminal. By the time I got there my hair had dried and was back to its unmanageable proportions. I needed a comb and found I had none. Once at the car hire depot I handed over my paperwork and waited whilst the plain-faced girl typed into the computer. Finding myself in a difficult position I asked her if she had a brush or comb I could borrow.

She didn’t even flinch, but instead dug into her purse and pulled out a very old-looking tortoiseshell brush and handed it to me. I remarked on its antiquity, whereupon she replied that it was once her grandmother’s. I thanked her and left for the small bathroom in the depot.

Once there I smoothed out my hair and brushed it into shape. Satisfied that it would remain in this way I took it upon myself to wash the brush under the hot tap. The warning label beside the tap said that THIS WATER CAN BE VERY HOT, but I ignored it. The brush fell to pieces under the heat of the tap. I left it where it was and walked silently out of the depot without looking back. Plain-faced girls change their jobs every six weeks so she’ll never see me again. I can hire a car anywhere.

Two years later, I find the depot manager shouting at me the words ‘You’re the man who boiled my grandmother’s hairbrush!’