Fiction from The Literary Review

A Change of Face

AGNES OWENS

I was five pounds short of the two hundred I needed by Thursday, and I had only two days to make it up.
     “Why do you need two hundred pounds?” asked Ingrid, my room-mate.
     “Let's say I promised myself that amount.”
     “That explains everything,” she said. “I once promised myself a holiday in Majorca, but things don't always work out.”
     “In your case things never work out.”
     “I think you're crazy,” said Ingrid. “What good is money to you anyway?” Her fatuity was maddening, but I kept calm.
     “Lend me a fiver. You won't regret it.”
     Her tinny laugh pierced my ear. “What me—with scarcely a bean!”
     “Get out,” I said, “before I cripple you.”
     She folded down her tartan skirt and walked out the door with a hoity-toity air, ludicrous, I thought, in a down-and-out whore. I waited a good five minutes to make sure she was gone before I fetched the briefcase from under my bed. I never failed to be impressed by the look of it. Good quality leather was more in my line than the trash Ingrid flaunted. The briefcase had originally belonged to one of her clients. I remembered his piggish stamp of respectability. Mind you that was ten years before when Ingrid was in better condition. He had left it by the side of the bed, complete with lock and key and containing two stale sandwiches, while Ingrid slept off her labours. I explained later I had found it in a dustbin. Once again I counted the money acquired in pounds and pence but it still totalled only one hundred and ninety-five.
     In Joe's Eats Café I leaned over the counter. “Joe,” I asked, “how's about lending me a couple of quid—five to be exact. Until the Giro comes on Saturday.”
     Joe kept his eyes on the trickle of heavy tea he was pouring. He breathed hard. “What for?”
     “Oh I don't know. Who needs money.”
     “It don't pay to lend money. I should know.”
     “Of course, never a borrower or a lender be,” I said, fishing for ten pence.
     “I've been done before. No reflection on you.”
     I looked round, then leaned over and whispered. “You can have a free shot and I'll still owe you the fiver.”
     He recoiled then hooted with laughter. “You must be joking—not even with a bag over your head.”
     I shrugged and put on what passed for a smile. “It's your loss. I know some new tricks.”
     Joe patted my shoulder. “I know you mean well, Lolly, but you're not my taste—nothing personal.”
     We brooded together for a bit. Finally Joe said, “Ingrid might lend it to you.”
     “Not her.”
     “Oh well . . . ” He turned to pour water into the pot.
     “I've got one hundred and ninety-five pounds,” I threw at him. His back stiffened.
     “What's the problem then?”
     I knew I was wasting my time but I explained. “I need two hundred by Thursday. It would alter my whole life.”
     He chortled. “You paying for a face lift or something?”
     “Better than that.”
     He shook his head. “Sorry kid, you see—”
     I took my cup of tea over to the table without listening. Ten minutes later I was strolling along a quiet part of the city occupied mainly by decaying mansions.
     “I'm short of a fiver,” I explained to the tall man in the black suit.
     His eyes glowed with regret. “I'm sorry. Two hundred is the price. I can't accept less.”
     “Will it be too late after Thursday?”
     “I'm afraid so.” He could not have been more sympathetic.
     “What should I do—steal?”
     “I can give you no advice.”
     He closed the door gently in my face and left me staring at the peeling paint. A cat leapt on to the step and wound itself round my legs. I picked it up and forced it to look at my face. “Stupid animal,” I said as it purred its pleasure. I threw it away from me and returned home.
     I walked into the bedroom and grabbed Ingrid by her sparse hair as she lay splayed over Jimmy Font, identifiable by his dirty boots.
     “Out,” I shouted.
     She pulled on her grey vest screaming, “I'll kill you.”
     Jimmy thrashed about like a tortoise on its back clutching his privates as if they were gold.
     I towered above him. “Hurry!” He gained his feet, made the sign of the cross, grabbed his trousers and ran.
     “May you burn in hell,” moaned Ingrid, rubbing a bald patch on her head.
     I tossed over a handful of hair. “Before you go, take that filth with you.”
     “Where can I go?” she sobbed.
     “The gutter, the river, the madhouse. Take your choice.”
     She pulled on her dress. “I don't feel well.” I didn't answer. “Anyway,” she added, “if you had let Jimmy stay I might have earned a fiver to lend you.”
     I was not swayed by her logic. A drink from Jimmy's bottle would have been the price. I walked out of the room to escape from her staleness.
     At one time they had told me in the hospital, plastic surgery could eventually work wonders. I did not like the word 'eventually.' Civilly I had requested that they terminate my breath, but they merely pointed out how lucky I was to be given the opportunity. Suspecting they would only transform me into a different kind of monster I had left them studying diagrams. That happened a long time ago, but I still had my dreams of strolling along an avenue of trees holding up a perfect profile to the sun.
     “Are you listening,” said Ingrid, breaking through my thoughts with some outrageous arrangement she would fix for me to get five pounds. She backed away when I headed towards her. As she ran through the door and down the stairs I threw out her flea-ridden fur coat, which landed on her shoulders like the mottled skin of a hyena.
     The Salvation Army Band on the street corner blared out its brassy music of hope. I settled down on the bench beside Teddy the tramp and spun thoughts of fine wire in my head.
     “Nice?” commented Teddy from the depths of an abandoned army coat. He offered me a pale-green sandwich from a bread paper, which I declined.
     “We have much to be thankful for,” he said as he bit into the piece.
     A body of people gathered on the far side. The music stopped. Everyone applauded. I joined the group, who courteously stood their ground when I brushed close. My eyes were on the Sally Ann coming towards us with trusting goodwill and the collection box in her hand. I slipped my hand beneath the other hands holding out donations, then tugged the string loosely held by the good lady, and ran.
     Six pounds and forty-seven pence lay strewn over my bed in pence and silver. I blessed the kindness of the common people and the compassion of the Salvation Army who would never persecute or prosecute a sorry person like me. Tomorrow was Thursday and I had the two hundred pounds, with one pound forty-seven to the good. With a mixture of joy and fear I poured five pounds into the briefcase. Then I studied a single sheet of parchment, the words on which I knew by heart. The message was direct and unfanciful, and unaccountably I believed it, perhaps because of its simplicity, and also the power which emanated from the black handwriting. Even the mercenary demand for two hundred pounds strengthened my belief in a force much deeper than plastic surgery. I calculated there must always be a price to pay, which for effort's sake should go beyond one's means, to accomplish results.
     All evening Ingrid did not return. I wasn't surprised or sorry. In my mind's eye I could see her tossing against dank alley walls in drunken confusion—her wispy hair falling like damp thistledown over her forehead, her eyes rolling around like those of an old mare about to be serviced. Not that I wished her to be any different. Her degradation had afforded me stature, though after tomorrow I hoped never to see her again. Fancying a bout of self-torture to pass the time, I began searching for a mirror, suspecting it would be useless since I had forbidden them in the flat. I peered at my reflection in the window. Like a creature from outer space it stared back without pity. Satisfactorily sickened I raised two fingers, then turned away.
     “See your pal Ingrid,” declared Maidy Storr when I passed her stall of old hats, shoes and rusty brooches.
     “Not recently.”
     “She stole a bundle of money from Dan Riley when he dozed off in Maitland's bar last night.”
     “Never.”
     “Well she did. I sat on one side of him and she was on the other. I remember she left quickly without finishing her drink. Next thing he woke up shouting he'd been robbed.”
     “How much?” I asked.
     “Fifty quid, he said. Mind you I was surprised he had that much.” She added winking, “You'll be all right for a tap.”
     “Haven't seen her since yesterday morning.”
     “Done a bunk has she?”
     “Couldn't say.”
     “Well she would, wouldn't she? The law will be out for her.”
     “For stealing from a pickpocket. I don't see Dan complaining.”
     Maidy frowned. “I see what you mean. It makes you sick to think she'll get away with it.”
     “Couldn't care less whether she gets away with it or not.” I picked up a single earring. “Have you many one-eared customers?”
     “Leave that stuff and get going.”
     I walked away quickly when Maidy threw a shoe at me, and headed towards Joe's for breakfast.
     “I think I'd like something special today,” I informed him.
     “How about some weedkiller,” he suggested.
     “I said something special, not the usual.” I considered his confined choices.
     “Be quick and move to your seat before the joint gets busy.” Being a liberal-minded fellow, Joe allowed me in his place when it was quiet, provided I sat in the alcove behind the huge spider plant. I chose a pizza and a glass of tomato juice.
     “Living it up,” he sneered.
     “Might as well. Anyway I'm tired of the little creatures in your meat pies.”
     I could see Joe looking anxiously at a neatly dressed old lady approaching. Hastily I moved to the alcove with my pizza and tomato juice. The old lady was having an intense conversation with Joe. I suspected she was complaining about me. I finished my pizza and deliberately took my tomato juice over to a centre table. At a table nearby a couple with a child looked at me, aghast. The child wailed. I smiled at them, or in my case, grimaced. The child's wails increased in volume. Joe charged over and signalled for me to get out. The neat old lady appeared out of the steam.
     “Don't you know this is a friend of mine,” she said, looking hard at Joe then bestowing a loving smile on me. Joe looked unconvinced, but he was stumped.
     “If you say so.” He moved the couple and the child behind the spider plant.
     The old lady sat down beside me and said, “I'm sorry you have to put up with this sort of thing.”
     I shrugged. “That's all right.”
     “Such a lack of kindness is terrible,” she continued.
     “I suppose so.”
     “Can I get you something?” she asked.
     “A pizza, if you don't mind.”
     She attended to me smartly. I could feel her eyes boring through me as I ate. She cleared her throat and asked, “Are you often exposed to such er—abuse?”
     “Don't worry about it,” I said. “You'll only upset yourself.” Her eyes were brimming over by this time and I couldn't concentrate on eating.
     “Is there nothing that can be done?” she asked just as I had the fork half-way up to my mouth.
     “About what?” I was really fed up with her. I find it impossible to talk and eat at the same time.
     “I mean, my dear—what about plastic surgery—or something.”
     I threw down my fork. “Listen, if you don't like the way I look, bugger off.” I paid her no further attention when she left.
     “That's another customer you've lost me,” Joe called over. I told him to bugger off too, then hastily departed.
     For the remainder of the day I kept checking on the time, which meant I had to keep searching for the odd clock in shop windows. I half expected to bump into Ingrid. In a way I would have been glad to see her, because even if she was completely uninteresting, in her vapid manner she used to converse with me. She was still out when I returned home, no doubt holed up somewhere, frightened to stir in case she met Riley. I washed my face, combed my hair, put on a fresh jumper, and looked no better than before, but at least it was a gesture. Then I checked the money in the briefcase and left without a backward glance. I headed slowly to my destination so that I would arrive on the exact minute of the hour of my appointment. Normally I don't get excited easily, for seldom is there anything to get excited about, but I must admit my heart was pounding when I stood on the steps of the shabby mansion. The tall man in the black suit received my briefcase solemnly. He bowed, then beckoned me to follow him.
     “Are you not going to count the money?” I asked.
     His sepulchral voice resounded down the corridor. “If you have faith in me I know the money will be correct.”
     I wanted to ask questions but I could scarcely keep pace as he passed smoothly ahead of me. Abruptly he stopped outside a door and turned. The questions died on my lips as I met his opaque glance. It was too late to have doubts so I allowed him to usher me into the room. I can give no explanation for what followed because once inside I was dazzled by a translucent orange glow so powerful that all my senses ceased to function. I knew nothing until I woke up outside the corridor holding on to the tall man. Even in that state of mesmerism I knew I was different. My lips felt rubbery and my eyes larger. Tears were running down my cheeks, which in itself was a strange thing, since I had not cried for years. The man carefully escorted me into another room and placed me before a mirror, saying, “Don't be afraid. You will be pleased.”
     I breathed deep, and looked. I didn't say anything for a time because the image that faced me was that of Ingrid. I leaned forward to touch her, but it was only the glass of a mirror.
     “You are much nicer now?” the man asked in an ingratiating manner.
     What could I say? I didn't want to complain, but I had been definitely altered to be the double of Ingrid. Certainly the face was the same, and we had been of similar build anyway.
     “Very nice,” I croaked. “Thank you very much.”
     His lips curled into what could have been a smile, then he tapped me on the shoulder to get going. I shook hands with him when I stood on the step outside, clutching my empty briefcase.
     “It's a funny thing—” I began to say, but he had vanished behind the closed door.
     It might have been a coincidence but Ingrid never showed up. This was convenient because everyone assumed I was Ingrid, so I settled into her way of life and discovered it wasn't too bad. Certainly it has its ups and downs but I get a lot of laughs with her clients and it doesn't hurt my face either. The only snag is, now and again I worry about bumping into Dan Riley. Sometimes I consider saving up for a different face, but that might be tempting fate. Who knows what face I would get. Besides, I have acquired a taste for the good things in life, like cigarettes and vodka. So I take my chances and confront the world professionally equipped in a fur jacket and high black boots, trailing my boa feathers behind me.