Free Fire After Dark by Sadie Matthews

my lashes, my cheeks and my lips. I’m given glow and shimmer and something called ‘pops’ of colour. Eventually, when all that can be painted has been painted, the girl stands back happily and tells me I’m finished. Then she hands me the mirror.
    I gasp. Then I tell myself – it’s their job to make you look like this and buy their products. These people are make-up artists.
    But still, I look nothing like I’ve ever looked. My blue eyes are defined in a way I’ve never managed with my trusty kohl, with long swooping dark lashes, and they glitter appealingly. My cheeks are flushed with pink-gold and my lips are an invitingly moist cherry red. I feel like I’ve stepped from the pages of a magazine.
    I buy quite a lot of what has been applied to my face, which is no doubt the idea, and then I’m taken across to have my nails painted bright red while an animated girl from the East End tells me all about her boyfriend troubles. I hardly listen, to tell the truth. I’m thinking about Mr R. I’m lost in a fantasy world where I’m walking towards him across the restaurant, and he’s rising to his feet, his mouth dropping open in amazement, and then, as I come to him, he’s unable to resist taking me in his arms and . . .
    ‘All done, love!’ announces the nail girl, satisfied. ‘Now leave it for twenty minutes to be on the safe side, yeah?’
    There’s one last task to be done before they release me from their care. I’ve got a pair of shoes to buy, something that will go with the black dress. My debit card already feels hot in my hand from the amount I’ve used it, but I’ve come so far that I have to go on. A stint in the shoe department brings me a pair of high black shoes with pointed toes, and then, after everything, I’m back where I started with my original assistant.
    ‘Oh!’ she exclaims, clapping her hands together. ‘You look . . . amazing ! I really never thought you’d look this good. Honestly, it’s a transformation.’
    She’s right. I know she is. When the dress is on, the shoes, along with the hair and make-up . . . well, my confidence soars. Perhaps there is life after Adam. Perhaps someone else might love me, want me, desire me . . . Mr R, of course, is a pipe dream, but someone might.
    ‘Thank you,’ I say with deep sincerity. ‘You’ve been so kind. I appreciate it so much.’
    ‘Don’t be silly, you deserve it.’ She leans in towards me with a conspiratorial smile. ‘Now go out there, enjoy your party and knock them dead!’
    I leave the department store feeling like everyone is looking at me, admiring my new dress and my freshly done hair. Three days ago I arrived in London sweaty and shabby. Now look at me: I hope I look like someone Celia would be proud of.
    I chance upon a small square hidden down an alley off the main road, and decide to have something to eat in one of the restaurants that line it. The whole process has taken hours and I’m so hungry that I don’t care that I’ll be eating alone. As I devour a plate of delicious pasta, I remember how, when I arrived, I was far too frightened to even think about doing such a thing. Well, look, here I am eating alone and nothing awful has happened. No one has stormed in to ask me how I dare do such a thing, no waiter has turned his nose up at me with a sneer and refused my order. I’ve been treated with quiet respect and it feels rather nice.
    Afterwards, I’m not quite ready to go home even though it’s now late afternoon. I wander north, back towards the chic area I discovered on my first day where I went food shopping. I’m not meeting Mr R of course, that little dream only exists in my imagination, but I don’t want this pleasant flight of fantasy to end. It’s only because I’m in this mood that, when I see the card in the window, I have the courage to go in. Behind the window is a large, light, blond-wood-floored gallery, its white walls adorned with large pieces of modern art. My eye is drawn to it at