Everything is Beautiful by Eleanor Ray (classic literature list .TXT) 📗

‘So why did you pick up that lighter?’

‘Lighters aren’t just for cigarettes,’ snapped Amy. ‘Are we getting this train or not?’

They reached the station. Amy dawdled, fiddling inside her bag to give Rachel a head start, hoping they wouldn’t have to travel together. She needn’t have bothered. Rachel had charged through the gate and was headed for the far end of the platform. Amy went in the opposite direction. The carriages at the back were often emptier, although it did mean a longer walk once they pulled into the station at the other end.

She was just in time; the train arrived as she reached her favourite spot to board. She chose to stand, rather than to sit in the only unoccupied seat next to a man sleeping with his mouth open, a small trickle of dribble running from the corner of his mouth to his collar. Holding on to the handrail with one hand, she reached the other to touch the tender area around her eye. She flinched. It was very sore and she could tell that it was still swollen.

After the attention from Rachel, Amy was half expecting people on the train carriage to cast her some enquiring glances, but no one gave her so much as a second look. This was a big city, after all, she reminded herself. She thought of the old man she’d seen last week on the train with no shoes, his gnarled feet black and bloody. And the woman who took the train every Wednesday morning and sang, ‘All things bright and beautiful’, in a warbly soprano, for the duration of the journey. A woman with a small bruise on her face was nothing compared to some of the people who boarded the train. It was one of the things that she loved about living here. The anonymity.

‘Oh, Rachel,’ she sighed, thinking of her neighbour’s overactive imagination. The man standing next to her subtly shifted his weight to put more distance between them. She hadn’t meant to speak out loud. Rachel’s reaction had tickled her, but it made her realise something.

It wouldn’t be so funny at work. She couldn’t have her colleagues at Trapper, Lemon and Hughes coming to the same conclusion as Rachel. Carthika and Zoe were just as silly as Rachel, if not more so. She couldn’t deal with pitying glances, and it didn’t exactly go with her carefully cultivated image of controlled competence. She needed to hide her injury, and make-up was the answer.

Thankfully there was a Boots at the station. Amy popped in and leafed through bottles of foundation in various shades that all reminded her of clay. Her current beauty regime was pretty non-existent, and she couldn’t imagine her skin being any of those colours.

‘I see you’ve found our soft matt range,’ said a voice. Amy turned to see a young woman modelling the foundations so efficiently she couldn’t see a patch of her natural skin. Blusher made a diagonal line from her cheeks to the tops of her ears, and she had on a pretty shade of lipstick that reminded Amy of a maraschino cherry adorning a sundae. She was wearing a name badge that informed Amy she was called Joanna. ‘Oh,’ she said, as she saw Amy’s injury.

‘I’ve been in the wars,’ said Amy, pleased with that explanation. Suitably vague and a little light-hearted. Not the type of thing a battered woman would say at all.

Joanna frowned at her, leaving temporary cracks in her own foundation that made Amy think she could be older than she’d at first thought. ‘Hmm,’ said Joanna. ‘Ivory blush, I think. Give me your hand.’ She put a stripe of the make-up on Amy’s hand, rubbed it in a little and they both admired it. ‘Right every time,’ said Joanna, with a satisfied smile. ‘Unless you want to go a shade darker to bring a bit more colour to your complexion?’

‘I just want to cover the bruise,’ said Amy. ‘Please.’

‘Sit down,’ said Joanna, gesturing to a rather unsteady-looking stool that Amy had to hop backwards to mount. ‘A concealer is what you need first.’ She took a small sponge and began dabbing at Amy’s eye.

‘Ouch,’ said Amy.

‘It might sting a bit, but once I’m through, no one will notice a thing. Foundation next. And maybe some blusher, right along here. You’ve got such lovely cheekbones,’ she added, admiringly. ‘All they need is a tiny little bit of colour to bring them out.’

Amy sat, feeling like a chocolate-covered child having her face wiped by her grandmother, while Joanna fussed around her. ‘There,’ Joanna said eventually, standing back and admiring her work. ‘Not bad at all. You have beautiful skin. You’ll only need a very light foundation once that bruise has healed.’

She handed Amy a mirror and Amy inspected her face. Her eye looked a little puffy, but it was nothing that a bit of water retention and a bad night’s sleep couldn’t explain. The bruise itself was gone, hidden beneath a mountain of concealer. Her cheeks looked flushed, as if she’d been for a run.

‘I’d love to get some eyeliner on you, bring out those beautiful grey eyes, but it’s probably not a good idea right now. Come back and see me when it’s healed and I’ll do a proper makeover.’

‘Excellent work,’ said Amy, politely. ‘It will do nicely.’

Joanna smiled at the compliment, then took Amy’s hand. Amy waited to see what she’d apply. But instead she just squeezed it.

‘If you need anything else, you just need to ask me,’ she said, looking straight into Amy’s eyes.

‘Thank you,’ replied Amy. ‘But you’ve done a great job.’

‘Anything at all,’ added Joanna, with her hands still holding Amy’s. ‘My cousin . . . ’

Amy took her hand away. Why couldn’t anyone mind their own business? ‘Where’s the till?’ she asked. ‘I’m in a hurry.’

Joanna gestured to the front of the shop. ‘It’s three for two on make-up,’ she added, with her business voice again. ‘If you want to get the