At the first bench she sat and took a compact from her handbag. Holding up the small round mirror she used the circular pad to cover her flesh-coloured face with flesh-coloured powder and then having covered up the natural rosiness in her cheeks she replaced it with a hint of rouge. Next the bright red lipstick first tracing the line of the top lip, then filling in, then opening the mouth to its largest circumference to glide the red cylinder over the bottom lip. Then came the closing of the lips, sucking them both inwards. Finally the grimaces in the mirror as she wiped away the excess with a clean handkerchief.
After further inspection in the tiny mirror, adjustment to the elasticated hair band that kept the dark brown hair away from her face, she checked her tiny silver watch and made her way back out into the real world. She desperately hoped no one she knew would see her made up. She stopped short of the entrance to sit on the edge of one of the many park benches. Lifting each leg in turn, up to the level of the other knee, she examined the backs of her calves to check that the line down the back of her stockings was straight. She then stood up again to brush away unapparent foreign bodies that had invisibly attached themselves to her floral skirt and continued towards the gate while straightening the lime green cardigan part of the twin set draped over her shoulders and fastened by one button at the neck.
As she walked down Old Church Lane towards the steepled entrance to Stanmore Village Station she listened out for the guttural sound of an approaching motorbike. She stood and waited by one of the lamp-posts not listening to but hearing the Fowler 2-6-2T
number 40010 rattling up the line from Belmont Circle.
