During all these days of Patty’s dislocation, even grief, her colleagues had been much too busy, first with Christmas and then with the sales, to notice the change in her demeanour. She was, as Joy had remarked, a pale creature at the best of times, and if her usual desultory chatter with its liberal if unenlightening references to her husband had ceased, the occasion for it had in any case vanished: customers and their servicing had swallowed up every available moment. Throughout this period Patty had worked on doggedly, but at the end of each day she succumbed to an exhaustion which overwhelmed and even frightened her. Her appetite had all but disappeared; she dined off slices of cold ham and tomatoes, and drank cups of strangely milkless tea. Do I feel tired because I feel sick, she wondered, or do I feel sick because I feel tired?
Just try not to worry, said Dawn. He’ll come back. Well, she wasn’t worrying, no she wasn’t; she felt now too tired and too sick to worry about Frank. She wasn’t even angry any longer. She needed all her thoughts for herself at the moment, because she simply had to keep going as best she could: had to go in to Goode’s, and get through the day, and come home and get ready for the next one.
Look, just try and forget about him, said Joy, at least until he turns up again: buy some new clothes, and take a holiday. Go to Bateman’s Bay with Dawn, haven’t you got holidays due? Enjoy yourself for a bit. Come to the beach with us on Sunday, we thought we might make a day of it and go up to Manly, go on. Oh, she was so tired. I’ll see, she said. I’ll let you know. I’ll ring you on Saturday.
Come and stay with me, said Mrs Crown. It’ll be like old times. You can leave a note for Frank! But she just wanted to be left alone. She didn’t want to have to pretend anything: when you’re alone, you needn’t pretend, need you? Although, of course, sometimes you do: sometimes the lies you tell yourself are worse than the ones you tell other people. Now how can that be?