It was an ordinary day. At least, it had started out as one.
Mrs. Lovett had woken up that morning and had gone through her routine, just like she did any other morning. She had gotten dressed, washed her face and pinned up her hair, and then she had prepared herself for a day of baking and slicing up human carcasses, just like any other morning. She'd even gone early to the market with Toby, to fetch ingredients for that day's pies.
Noon came and passed quickly during the hectic lunch rush, and, when she finally paused to rest her aching feet, Mrs. Lovett realized with a start that Mr. Todd might be getting hungry. She hastily gathered a tray of food and hurried outside to bring them up to the barbershop.
"Go through, you bloody thing! Through, I say!"
Mrs. Lovett stopped on the top stair and cocked her head, listening to Sweeney cursing to himself loudly. She had absolutely no idea what he was doing, but it seemed that he was having trouble with something, or was in some sort of mess. And was getting angry about it.
Nothing out of the ordinary.
She shrugged, swiftly walked over, and pushed open the door. A sight met her eyes like none she had ever seen before, and one that she had never expected to see in her lifetime.
Sweeney Todd was sitting in his barber's chair, his face irate, both of his hands wrapped tightly around…a comb. A comb that appeared to be stuck, quite firmly, in his wildly untamed and knotted hair. He was tugging at it furiously, complaining and swearing to himself noisily.
"Mr. T? Wot are you doin'?" Mrs. Lovett asked disbelievingly.
Sweeney froze, turning to see her standing in the doorway with the tray of food in her hands, and a look of incredulous surprise on her face. He scowled hideously, without releasing his grip on the comb.
"What does it look like I am doing, Mrs. Lovett?" he growled, giving the comb several more harsh yanks, to no avail.
Mrs. Lovett snorted. "D'you need a 'and, love?" she asked.
Sweeney looked slightly disgruntled. He pulled at the comb once, hard, and when it didn't yield, reluctantly let go of it. The handle wobbled comically in the air as he crossed his arms over his chest, the comb's teeth still lodged in a tangle. Mrs. Lovett suppressed a laugh as she set the tray of food down on the dresser. Poor Mr. T.
She walked over and stood behind him, giving an experimental tug on the comb. Sweeney grunted, but said nothing. Satisfied at his response, she grasped the comb and began her attempt at its removal. She pulled in one direction, then the other, then up and down, varying intensities. When that didn't work, she tried working the strands of hair out from between the comb's fine teeth, but that only seemed to make it caught worse. None of her other ideas were any more successful.
Finally, Mrs. Lovett let out a frustrated sigh and stepped back.
"Well, bugger me sideways," she said. "I don't think that comb is goin' ta budge, Mr. T. You've got yourself into quite a fix now, 'aven't ya?"
Sweeney turned and glowered up at her, fingering the comb. It was still stuck fast in a snarl of black hair.
"What do you suggest, then?" he asked grudgingly.
"I think your only option left might be to cut it out, love."
Sweeney's eyes widened at this, and Mrs. Lovett had the fleeting impression of a dog she'd once had in the same predicament. She chuckled.
"It won't be that bad, I'm sure. You're a barber, ain't ya? Ya can fix it after."
Sweeney stared at her doubtfully. Mrs. Lovett could see that he was trying to picture himself with a different hairstyle. She stifled a giggle. Somehow, she just couldn't see him with short hair.
"All right, I'll try again," she told him. Then she had a stroke of genius. "But only if ya come eat dinner with me when I get it out. And ya have ta make conversation; ya can't just sit there an' mope, and let me do all the talkin'."
Sweeney stared at her in disbelief. "You can't be serious, Mrs. Lovett."
"Oh, but I am, Mr. T.," she said, enjoying herself immensely.
Sweeney sighed. He turned to look at himself in the cracked mirror in the corner, which distorted his pale reflection even more. Mrs. Lovett stood behind him, waiting. She knew that he would never allow himself to be seen in public this way.
"Just get the bloody thing out," he said at last. He settled himself back in the chair.
Mrs. Lovett smiled. "Brace yourself, love," she said.
Sweeney grunted.
Mrs. Lovett gripped the handle of the comb firmly with both hands, making sure that it would not slip out of her grasp. And then she wrenched it away with all her might.
Sweeney's eyes opened wide and he jumped up out of his barber's chair.
"Mrs. Lovett!"he yelped. "What were you thinking?!" He felt like he'd just very nearly been scalped.
Mrs. Lovett held up the comb, a tuft of black hairs still stuck in its teeth. Sweeney's hand flew up to the back his head.
"Sorry," she said apologetically. "But it was the only way."
Sweeney looked so stunned that she had to grin. He hurried over to the mirror, straining to see the back of his hair.
"Don't worry, love," Mrs. Lovett said. "It's not noticeable…" From the front, she added to herself privately. "Now, it seems that you must join me for dinner. Are ya comin', dear?"
Sweeney turned back to her, his face twisting in distaste. But Mrs. Lovett knew from that expression that she wouldn't be eating her supper alone tonight. She smiled at him, and held open the door as they left the barbershop. Together.
It had started out as an ordinary day. But, Mrs. Lovett thought as she followed Sweeney into her kitchen, that didn't mean that it had to end as one.