2. Enter Marianne
A wonderful fact to reflect upon, Marianne Templeton considered as she jumped out of bed, was that every human being was really a mystery to every other.
In the bathroom, she began with some dry body brushing to slough away the dead skin cells. She had only been in London two weeks but the dirt! Dalston was a far cry from Deal beach. She considered happiness as she stepped into the cubicle. It floats, she decided. It will float down to you in ways you never expect. The power shower seemed to endorse her theory. She felt happier than she had for a long time.
She washed her hair, massaged conditioner in, and used an exfoliating scrub. She shaved under her arms every day, unable to understand women who grew their body hair. In the sink, she washed her face and neck with a gentle exfoliant.
You are happy either way.
Her gran’s phrase: as satisfying as moisturiser. Peering closely at the mirror, her face flushed but healthy, she smoothed in eye cream, being careful to pat it in around her eyes so she didn’t drag the skin.
Let the day grow on you, up through your feet.
She smiled. Would someone have taken her notebook? She feared so, but it was worth a trip back to the Heath. How silly she’d been, sitting on the bench, admiring the view – Mum was right, the best in London – and, in a breezy moment, forgetting it.
She dressed – skinny jeans, a vest and Converse today, Sunday – and blow-dried her hair in the bedroom, before returning to the bathroom to do her makeup: foundation, under-eye concealer, brush-on translucent powder. A splash of blusher across the cheekbones. London was an inhospitable place – terrifying and stimulating – so wasn’t the way to conquer it to practice kindness? A lost art, she thought, applying mascara on top and bottom lashes, careful to reach even the little lashes at the inner corners.
Yes, people could communicate better in the capital, she was sure of it, like they did along the promenade in Deal, where she said hello to everyone, whether she knew them or not.
She enjoyed a good spritz of perfume, more generous than usual to match her mindset: on her navel, cleavage, as well as neck and wrists. Then she sprayed some into the air and walked into it so the scent would drift into her hair.
So, would the notebook still be there? It didn’t matter really, but she’d catch the overground train to the Heath anyway. Putting on her rings and bracelet, she opened the front door, blue sky peeping out between the clouds, to a world blossoming with opportunity.
