dropped it into the wastepaper basket. ‘But who am I now?’ she wondered, stepping out into the bright little High Street.
She had, when planning her escape, chosen the name she would use: Mary Young – Mary because it would sound to her like Merry, and Young because it seemed to her funnily suitable. But she now thought the name insufficiently dashing for her new appearance. She would be … Mary le Jeune. A charming name – but not right yet; ‘Mary’ was too meek. She could risk sticking to ‘Merry’ now that she looked so different. Yes, Merry le Jeune. And now she must invent a voice.
But could she really sustain any voice but her own? How carelessly she had forgotten to be Mavis! Safer to use her own voice and concentrate on speaking more slowly – and thinking before she spoke. Extreme calmness must be her keynote: confident calmness. And she felt calmly confident now, strolling along with her copper-capped head held high. She also felt hungry – and here was a café open. She went in.
It was a bleak little place, most unlike the glorious and dimly lit Espresso coffee bars she had visited in London. But there was a massive juke-box (to her shame, she did not know how to work it) and the girl behind the counter was obviously a teenager. One might add to one’s sparse teenage vocabulary. Merry made her way through the almost empty café, perched herself on a high stool, and remarked: ‘I guess I’m early. Not many cats around the joint yet.’
‘Haven’t got no cats – nor no joint either,’ said the teenager. ‘Only do ham sandwiches.’
Deflated, Merry ordered a couple.
While waiting for them, she sustained a shock. Staring at her from the looking-glass behind the counter was a verydifferent girl from the one seen in Daurene’s discreetly lit cubicle. By the crude light of day the copper cap was … well, very highly burnished copper. However, it still pleased her; what did not was her face. Mavis still lingered blue of eyelid, plastered with powder and flaunting a lipstick which gave the impression that her mouth had been dyed with her hair. Abandoning teenage conversation as a dead loss, Merry hurried to the Ladies’ Room and did what she could to improve matters, which wasn’t much; a complete cleansing was needed and a new, very tactful make-up. Copper cap undoubtedly called for discretion.
The sandwiches proved to be stodgy but she wolfed them down, drank a glass of milk, paid her bill and asked the way to the station. Only ten minutes walk, she was thankful to hear – though what she was going to do for two hours she couldn’t imagine, burdened as she was with her suitcase.
The High Street was now crowded with shoppers. Wandering along, she remembered her first impression of it. How changed everything was now! The shops still looked bright but their brightness was normal; gone was that early-morning clarity of vision. For a few moments she regretted it, tried to hold it in the mind’s eye. Then she began window-shopping . There were so many things she needed as a grown-up but she didn’t dare spend any money – not after Daurene’s little bill.
It was only one o’clock when she reached the end of the High Street and came to a small, cobbled square; a market square undoubtedly, but there was no market today. She was attracted by a porticoed, eighteenth-century building, on the upper storey of which were incised the words ‘Assembly Rooms’. Inspection showed that the place was now used as Auction Rooms. A poster announcing a sale had a strip pasted over it saying ‘On View Today’. The doors stood open revealing a large collection of second-hand furniture. Well,to go in would pass the time – and one could find something to sit on.
Never could she have believed that so many hideous things could be gathered together under one roof. As well as deplorable furniture there were pictures and pottery, bundles of bedding, carpets, draperies, old gas-stoves and oil-stoves. She
She had, when planning her escape, chosen the name she would use: Mary Young – Mary because it would sound to her like Merry, and Young because it seemed to her funnily suitable. But she now thought the name insufficiently dashing for her new appearance. She would be … Mary le Jeune. A charming name – but not right yet; ‘Mary’ was too meek. She could risk sticking to ‘Merry’ now that she looked so different. Yes, Merry le Jeune. And now she must invent a voice.
But could she really sustain any voice but her own? How carelessly she had forgotten to be Mavis! Safer to use her own voice and concentrate on speaking more slowly – and thinking before she spoke. Extreme calmness must be her keynote: confident calmness. And she felt calmly confident now, strolling along with her copper-capped head held high. She also felt hungry – and here was a café open. She went in.
It was a bleak little place, most unlike the glorious and dimly lit Espresso coffee bars she had visited in London. But there was a massive juke-box (to her shame, she did not know how to work it) and the girl behind the counter was obviously a teenager. One might add to one’s sparse teenage vocabulary. Merry made her way through the almost empty café, perched herself on a high stool, and remarked: ‘I guess I’m early. Not many cats around the joint yet.’
‘Haven’t got no cats – nor no joint either,’ said the teenager. ‘Only do ham sandwiches.’
Deflated, Merry ordered a couple.
While waiting for them, she sustained a shock. Staring at her from the looking-glass behind the counter was a verydifferent girl from the one seen in Daurene’s discreetly lit cubicle. By the crude light of day the copper cap was … well, very highly burnished copper. However, it still pleased her; what did not was her face. Mavis still lingered blue of eyelid, plastered with powder and flaunting a lipstick which gave the impression that her mouth had been dyed with her hair. Abandoning teenage conversation as a dead loss, Merry hurried to the Ladies’ Room and did what she could to improve matters, which wasn’t much; a complete cleansing was needed and a new, very tactful make-up. Copper cap undoubtedly called for discretion.
The sandwiches proved to be stodgy but she wolfed them down, drank a glass of milk, paid her bill and asked the way to the station. Only ten minutes walk, she was thankful to hear – though what she was going to do for two hours she couldn’t imagine, burdened as she was with her suitcase.
The High Street was now crowded with shoppers. Wandering along, she remembered her first impression of it. How changed everything was now! The shops still looked bright but their brightness was normal; gone was that early-morning clarity of vision. For a few moments she regretted it, tried to hold it in the mind’s eye. Then she began window-shopping . There were so many things she needed as a grown-up but she didn’t dare spend any money – not after Daurene’s little bill.
It was only one o’clock when she reached the end of the High Street and came to a small, cobbled square; a market square undoubtedly, but there was no market today. She was attracted by a porticoed, eighteenth-century building, on the upper storey of which were incised the words ‘Assembly Rooms’. Inspection showed that the place was now used as Auction Rooms. A poster announcing a sale had a strip pasted over it saying ‘On View Today’. The doors stood open revealing a large collection of second-hand furniture. Well,to go in would pass the time – and one could find something to sit on.
Never could she have believed that so many hideous things could be gathered together under one roof. As well as deplorable furniture there were pictures and pottery, bundles of bedding, carpets, draperies, old gas-stoves and oil-stoves. She
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