True Things About Me A Novel (Deborah Kay Davies) Read Online Free PDF Page B

the waiting room. In the loo I stared at myself. The strip lighting gave my skin a translucent look. My lips seemed too dark to be mine. I had circles that were palest grey beneath my eyes. I looked like a woman with secrets.
    Alison followed me in. Hail, silent and slightly nutty one, she said and smiled at me. Hang on while I have a wee. I was happy to go on examining my reflection. I rang you, she said from inside the cubicle. Some bloke answered the phone. I met my reflection’s eyes. Who was it? she asked as she came out to wash her hands. No one important, I said. We combed our hair. She looked brown androsy in the mirror. I was fascinated by the contrast between us.
    OK, be secretive, she said, but I have a nasty idea who it might be. I really hope I’m wrong. She studied my face. Blimey, she said. You look terrible. Are you well? She laid her warm hand on mine. I gave her a little squeeze. Momentarily I felt ashamed. Wanna come and eat with us tonight? she asked. I made an excuse. Oh, all right then, she said. Perhaps tomorrow? Suddenly I have an overwhelming urge to mother you. She looked puzzled when I said I couldn’t make it this week. Well, you will take care of yourself, won’t you? she said, and gave me a hug. Love you, I said as I closed the door and left her there.
    I finished work early to do some shopping. I went into a shop where I’d only ever looked in the window before. It was all chrome and white inside. An impossibly fab-looking assistant with straight black hair wafted towards me. She asked if I needed help. For a moment I wasn’t sure what she meant. Are you looking for anything in particular? she said, and smiled gently. I told her I wanted a drop-dead gorgeous dress. Something sexy and floaty if possible. No problem, she said, and took me to a rail of filmy, strappy things. They were swaying in a perfumed breeze. In the changing room a scented candle burned. The fragrance of freesias enveloped me. My underwear looked as chunky as something issued by the army.
    The apricot and turquoise dress shimmered over my head and settled on my body, cool and so light that it felt like just-bornskin. My breasts were held in the bodice like tensely ripe fruit. My shoulders gleamed unfamiliarly. I was dazzled by the dress. The black-haired girl appeared, and we looked at my reflection together. That’s so totally you, she said to the me-in-the-mirror. Do you really think so? I said. I knew it was totally me. She showed me the matching sandals. Insubstantial straps and leather flowers. Stiletto heels. I had never worn shoes like them. It seemed to me that I hadn’t looked at clothes properly before.
    Once I’d started I couldn’t stop. I bought a pair of low-slung cream linen trousers, and a scarlet and cream striped bustier. Another pair of high-heeled, pointy-toed shoes, and a tight little belted jacket with a huge tortoiseshell buckle. All these things were the sort of clothes the woman-in-the-ladies-loo-mirror wore all the time. They were no big deal to her. I paid with my credit card. The beautiful girl herself wrapped the clothes in tissue paper. I walked to my car and looked down at my old clunky shoes. How could I have bought them? They looked so sensible, so comfortable, so sort of square-shaped.
    When I got home there was someone in the lounge. I ran in. I didn’t recognise the boy watching TV. He had a shaved head and looked about twelve. I asked him who he was. A mate, he said, not taking his eyes from the screen. Who are you? He was bouncing a football as he sat watching the screen. I didn’t know what to say. I asked him how he had got in. Back door, he said.
    I went to the kitchen and locked the back door, then made myself a cup of camomile tea. I was shaking, but I only noticed when I tried to pick up my cup. Straw-coloured liquid spilled onto the table. I traced some patterns with it. After a while the boy appeared in the kitchen doorway with the football under his arm. See you, he