Fay, leaving Goode’s by the Staff Entrance on the Friday night before Christmas with her enlarged pay-packet in her handbag, thought, I should buy something new to wear, it might cheer me up. She felt a dreadful lassitude which might, she thought, be merely the heat; but she could not remember the heat’s having so affected her before. I’m just a bit down in the dumps, she told herself. I’ll feel better after Christmas is over. And she caught herself thinking of Christmas as a trial, and she thought, what is the matter with me? And she tried to think of the Christmas before her as a pleasure, as something to look forward to—with Myra’s parents, and Myra’s brother and sister and their families all driving up from Penrith the one lot and Kurrajong the other—which was partly why the Parkers had decided on the Blue Mountains as a retirement home, to be near the grandchildren—on Christmas Day itself, and she thought, oh well, safety in numbers. And she cheered herself up a little more, by thinking of the trip back on The Fish. I should buy a new dress to wear on Christmas Day, she thought. That might cheer me up. But she wouldn’t really have time to have a good look around. I’ll skip it, she thought. I’ll save my money for the sales. The blue and white will do. That’s only last season’s.
Fay had done a remarkable thing: she had cried off all proposed engagements this weekend (the gold watch had asked her out, I know he only wants one thing, she had told Myra, and Myra herself had wanted her to go to a party) and she was going to do absolutely nothing. She was going to stay at home, do all her washing, clean the flat, and wash and set her hair. She was going to read the Women’s Weekly, and if she finished that she could read a book. She had the book with her now; Lisa had lent it to her. Lisa had been reading it in the canteen, and Fay had said, is that a good book? And Lisa had said yes, it’s wonderful. I’m just finishing it. Would you like to borrow it? Well, okay, said Fay, to be polite. What’s it called? It’s called Anna Karenina, said Lisa, holding it up so that Fay could see the title printed on the cover.