Celestial Land and Sea (3 page)

Grace stood still for a moment as she tried to take in what Fran had just said to her. The wind picked up around her, causing her to shudder. She drew the belt of her coat tighter around her and turned to walk up Regent Street toward the underground station. The sooner she shook away the sound of Fran's voice the better. Grace knew she was only trying to manipulate her. She couldn't let anything that Fran had said affect her. She tried to block out her words as she powered up the hill, getting as far away from the Anchor office as possible.

 

 

 

 

 

 

G
race stuffed her Oyster card back into her purse and headed out of the station. The road was surprisingly quiet for that time of the evening, as she found out when she managed to cross to the other side without having to wait at the traffic lights. Instead of being lit by the usual stream of headlights, however, the silver moon glistening in the blue-black of the night sky provided a soft, almost-magical glow across Hampstead.

It was only when Grace turned left down Rosslyn Hill that she spotted the pattern of stars above her. The nights had started to turn darker much earlier now that winter was fast approaching. The air was noticeably colder, and Grace was sure that it was going to start raining at any moment. She prayed she was wrong though, as her umbrella was hidden somewhere at the bottom of her bag. Plus, she'd taken a detour this evening, adding time to her journey home.

After a tiresome day she decided she was in need of some comfort. Had she thought about it before
the Tube had pulled away from the previous station—her typical luck, she acknowledged—she would have gotten off at Belsize Park to save some leg work. But apparently that wasn't how this day was meant to go. She'd originally planned to continue reading the paperback she'd begun the night before, but the drone that engulfed the office had given her an awful headache; the last thing she felt like doing was concentrating on the tiny print of
Great Expectations
, however hooked to the story she was.

Instead, she emerged onto Haverstock Hill and continued down the road until she arrived at her destination.

"Portion of chips, please," she requested. "Large."

She paid for the chips, left the chip shop, and clutched onto the steaming bag for warmth as she braved the cold. It would take her only ten minutes to walk home, and she hoped that her comfort food wouldn't be stone cold by the time she arrived.

As she made her way up the hill Grace noticed how empty the streets seemed. It was almost eerie.
The calm before the storm
, she thought to herself. The wind blew lightly, barely enough to ruffle the ends of her scarf. A woman was walking briskly down the other side of the road, clutching onto an oversized bottle-green patent leather handbag, her heels echoing on the pavement as she walked. A young child ahead was bundled inside a padded winter coat with her face hardly visible, hidden beneath the hood's fur trim. The child's mother was frantically stuffing mittens onto her hands as they both moved along in unison. There was nobody else in sight. Although she had expected it to be busier on a Friday evening, she couldn't deny that she was enjoying the peace.

Her mind had started to relax so much, in fact, that she hadn't noticed that the inevitable had happened: it was raining. It wasn't until she watched the young girl's mother wrestling with an umbrella as she tried not to drop her shopping bags that Grace actually took note of the first rain drop to fall onto her shoulder. It was followed almost immediately by another. Not wishing to take any chances at the risk of soaking her food parcel, she quickened up her pace as the rain began to fall harder. By the time she came to her turning near the top of Haverstock Hill, the water had started lashing down on top of her. Hugging the chips tightly to her chest, she could do nothing but run the rest of the way home.

 

The door locked itself behind her as she threw her keys back into her bag. She shook her head, trying to cast away the water that was now dripping down her face. "I'm so glad I keep my hair up," Grace mumbled to herself as she dabbed at the back of her bun with the sleeve of her coat before hanging it up on the banister at the bottom of the stairs. By the time she'd arrived just moments after the heavens had opened, the front of her house had become decorated with streaks from the downpour.

"Is that you, Grace?" The muffled voice came from the living room.

"It's me, don't worry Harriet."

She turned into the living room to find Harriet sprawled across the sofa in her pyjamas, a glass of red wine in one hand and a bag of popcorn in the other. A tabby cat was stretched across Harriet's legs, sound asleep.

"Been home long?"

"About half an hour." She noticed the drowned rat appearance Grace was sporting. "Raining?"

"Only buckets." Grace sat on the smaller sofa as Harriet shoved another handful of popcorn into her mouth.

"Want one?" The cat miaowed when Harriet turned her body to face Grace. 'Quiet, Bella,' she said as she petted the cat between the ears to stroke it back to sleep.

"No thanks," Grace replied, rejecting the sweetened offerings that had been thrust in her direction. She pulled the chip box out of the paper bag and let the warmth smother her face. She was relieved to see it hadn't been affected by the rain as she inhaled deeply to allow the hot aromas of salt and vinegar to fill her nostrils. There was something so comforting about chip shop chips that she could never quite put her finger on. She could think of nothing like it. As she bit into a steaming chip, she instantly forgot about the lousy weather and her boring plans for yet another mundane evening.

"What are you watching?" she finally asked as she nodded towards the TV screen. A pile of Harriet's DVDs lay next to the TV.

"A film." She threw a piece of popcorn at Grace and stuck out her tongue.

"I know that much! What's it about?" Harriet was in one of these moods. Grace guessed she'd been stood up again; snacking seemed to be Harriet's method for cheering herself up.

Maybe one day she'll realise he's not right for her,
Grace thought to herself.

"I'm not going to tell you what it's about. You'll just have to sit here with me and watch it to find out for yourself."

Grace didn't want to leave Harriet on her own when she was feeling like this, but her headache was rapidly growing worse and she knew that staring at a TV screen wasn't going to do her any good. "I'd love to Harriet, but I think I'm just going to eat these and have an early night."

"I know how you feel."

She chewed away on the rest of the chips, comfortably tucked into the corner of the sofa. Once she was finished, she scrunched the paper bag into a ball and sighed.

"Well, I suppose I should head upstairs..." She forced herself out of the seat as she watched a pale-faced woman dance across the screen with a tray of pies. The film was actually quite good, but she knew she had to be sensible and occupy herself upstairs where the darkness would help soothe her aching head.

"I need more wine," Harriet said as she stood up, sending Bella shooting onto the floor. The cat licked her paw and skulked out of the room. "Here, give me that," Harriet said as she gestured towards the empty chip box in Grace's hand.

"Thanks," Grace replied, handing the rubbish to her. Harriet firmly held onto her empty wine glass in her free hand as she took everything to the kitchen.

Grace turned and stared at the pile of books sitting at the foot of the sofa. She'd left them there the previous evening when she'd attempted to organise them, having planned to donate some to the charity shop. She'd given up half way through sorting though.

'I think I'll keep them all for now,' she said as she shuffled as much of the pile together as she could carry.

She tried to balance them in her arms as she made her way up the stairs, taking each step slowly to avoid sending the paperbacks flying. Once she reached her room, she released them onto her bed, allowing them to spread out.

"I didn't really think this through, did I?"

The lack of storage space was precisely the reason why she'd instructed herself to give some of the books to a charity in the first place. Her reluctance to part with even one now meant she was back to square one. She scratched at her head, pondering. The drying rain water had left her hair feeling like straw. She'd deal with the books later. First she needed to shower.

She grabbed a towel from the linen cupboard and headed into the bathroom, locking the door behind her. Padding her bare feet across the navy tiles she stopped in front of the cabinet and took out her toothbrush. The chips had left a foul aftertaste in her mouth, the sort that started out satisfying but later served as a reminder of why takeaways weren't the healthiest of options.

She scrubbed, spat, and rinsed before returning the toothbrush to the cupboard. She stared at her own reflection in the mirror, studying the wisps of hair that had escaped from her bun. Dark circles had started to emerge under her eyes.

Maybe Fran's right.

She didn't know where the thought had come from. Until now she'd successfully managed to ignore the conversation they'd had outside the office earlier that evening. Why she'd thought of it now, she couldn't tell.

Why don't you just give it a go?

The voice was coaxing her from the back of her mind. Suddenly it didn't seem like such a bad idea. She reached into the bathroom cabinet and produced a green drawstring bag that had been there since she'd moved in six years ago.

She emptied the contents of the make-up bag onto the side of the sink. Only a few items tumbled out: a pot of foundation that had dried up years ago; a mascara that had clumped up at the bottom of the tube; a few crumbling pots of eye shadow; a stick of cream blusher she'd never used, and half a lipstick in a black case that was caked in fingerprints. A rush of nostalgia came over her as she thought back to the last time she'd seen the collection. It must have been 2007, and she'd managed to land herself a date with a colleague from the coffee shop she used to work at part-time. What was his name? Nathan? Nigel? Something like that... She struggled to remember it now. He was cute though, and she had wanted to impress him, so she decided that she would experiment with cosmetics. Whether or not it had anything to do with make-up, they never did go on a second date.

She picked up one of the eye shadows and opened the lid, releasing a small cloud of pink dust into the air.

Perhaps if I just...

She swiped a finger across the product and smeared it over her eye lid, coating it in pastel pink. She repeated the step on her other eye and blinked a few times to shake off the excess dust.

Without thinking about what she was doing, she reached for the lipstick, taking her time to twist the bottom to reveal the fuchsia colour. She drew her hand to her mouth and began to drag it across her bottom lip, continuing all the way round in one movement until she'd coloured in her top lip too. She returned the lipstick to the container while rubbing her lips together.

Her eyes were wide as she picked up the stick of blusher. The creamy champagne colour was speckled with shimmer, supposedly to dazzle onlookers whenever it caught the light. Grace placed it flat on her face and swirled repeatedly until both of her cheeks displayed circles of shiny pink.

She stared into the mirror to study her new look. The shades clashed as the thickly-coated products fought against one another to stand out. Against her naturally pale skin, anyone could have mistaken her image as a preparation for a clown college.

A single tear trickled down Grace's face as she rushed to bundle the products back into the bag before reaching for the facecloth. She ran it under the tap and began scrubbing profusely at her cheeks. Now tears were streaming down her face as she rubbed harder, the colours smearing across her skin and mixing together, harsh and unsightly.

She turned on the shower and stripped out of her clothes. She had no idea what had come over her. She never should have listened to Fran. She knew it was foolish of her. So why did she feel so pathetic?

After releasing her hair from its bun so that her auburn waves cascaded down her back, she stood under the running water. The radio was turned on to drown out the sound of her emotions. She was still for a moment as she let the warm water cover her. She soaked the body puff in shower gel and lathered it before scrubbing her entire body and hopefully cleansing herself of all negative thoughts. In fact, she worked furiously to erase what had happened. She didn't stop until her tears had been washed away, and the Grace that she knew had been fully restored.

 

As she made her way into her bedroom, she pulled the cord tighter around her dressing gown. She had towel-dried her hair after her shower, so it was now once again wrapped in a bun at the back of her head. It had been exactly what she had needed; she felt so much more refreshed now, and was a lot less anxious than she had been less than an hour ago.

"Now where did I put it?" Feeling more relaxed she was finally in the mood to sit under the duvet with a book. She rummaged at the collapsed pile on the bed, but there was no sign of a Dickens novel.

"Ah, the wardrobe..." She crossed to the other side of the room and flung back the wardrobe door and a pile of paperbacks tumbled out and fell against her slippers, jabbing at her bare heel. She rubbed it to ease the pain. "This is never going to work, is it?" She scooped up the pile and hugged it to her chest.

Mentally scanning the entire house, she searched for somewhere suitable to store them. It wouldn't be fair of her to simply dump them in the living room where Harriet spent a lot of time too, and she never did get around to buying the book case for the hallway that she'd promised herself several years back. She scuttled onto the landing with the books and stood at the top of the stairs. "Maybe if I just move some of the towels in the linen cupboard, I could squeeze—"