5

Day by day I was playing my game, like a child playing happily alone. I had my clothes and my paints and powders and creams and perfumes.

I had no prospect of employment. I thought of going to the National Insurance office and telling lies to get a card, but I feared that they might make enquiries until they found out that I did not exist in Somerset House.

In the end my money would run out. I did not like to think about it. I had to be happy in the present. I explained to myself that life was only a temporary arrangement for anyone.

In the meantime my happiness was being alive: washing, ironing, climbing the stairs, waking up and discovering myself in the morning, getting dressed and getting undressed, talking with my Cottingham voice, cleaning my room, cooking my meals, putting on nail varnish and scraping off nail varnish, doing what I could with my hair, making up my face, walking in the street and being seen, being careful not to show too much leg when sitting down, making mental criticisms of the appearance of women I saw in the street, noticing that a man had noticed me.

Sometimes I laughed at myself. ‘You poor old thing, you’re made out of foam rubber and sticking plaster! You poor lifeless dolly! You’re sitting up on the shelf, very pretty, with your hair nicely curved and your face nicely painted, but you’re not for sale. Nobody can take you away to play with—you’d soon be brought back and complained about!’