Their mouths fell open slightly, but with that I was off, making my way back out into the world,
dodging the squirters and the sample-pushers on my way past the perfume counters.
I longed to be outside in natural light and fresh air again. The gilded confines of the Beauty Hall were not my preferred habitat;
like the chicken that had laid the eggs for my sandwich, I was more of a free-range creature.
I got home after work and opened my wardrobe. What to wear to a party?
I had two pairs of black trousers and five white blouses—well, they were white originally—which I wore to work.
I had a comfortable pair of slacks, two T-shirts and two jumpers, which I wore at weekends.
That left my special occasion outfit. I’d bought it for Loretta’s wedding reception years ago,
and had worn it on a handful of occasions since, including a special visit to the National Museum of Scotland.
The exhibition of newly discovered Roman trove had been tremendous; the journey to Edinburgh, far less so.
The train interior had been more like a bus than the Orient Express,
replete with hard-wearing fabrics in stain-concealing colors and gray plastic fittings.
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