Upside Down Inside Out by Monica McInerney Read Free Book Online Page B

table in the corner of the room. She’d picked them up at the secondhand shop on Camden Street the week before and still hadn’t got around to either reading them or putting them on her bookshelves. The very thing, she could sort them out. But it was no good. She’d no sooner sat down on the floor in front of the bookshelves, doing her best to banish Dermot’s words from her memory, when Meg’s words popped in for a visit. ‘I told him I’m happy to look just as ordinary as you while I’m working here.’
    What was going on this week? Was there some conspiracy to completely destroy any self-confidence she had? She decided to forget about the books. Gin and tonic in hand, she walked into the bathroom and gazed at herself in the mirror. A pale, dark-haired woman looked back. Two eyes, a nose, a mouth. Yes, that was fairly ordinary. Ordinary. An ordinary body. An ordinary, nice enough face. She had a good smile, people had told her that. Even Dermot had
    told her that. But she wasn’t striking-looking. Not model material. She wouldn’t stand out in a crowd. What did those magazine articles say? Everyone has good points. She looked for hers. They must have taken the night off. She looked again. All right, her skin was clear. Clear-ish. She blushed a bit too often, two sudden spots of colour on her cheeks. Clown-girl. But there wasn’t much she could do about that. She had an occasional dimple, but that couldn’t be relied upon; sometimes it would appear, sometimes weeks would go by and she wouldn’t see it. Her straight black hair was shiny. That was good, wasn’t it? A sign of good health, like a dog’s wet nose? It was tied back in a plait tonight. It was usually tied back in a plait. Just the thing for a shop assistant, nice and neat. Except for the one piece that always worked its way loose and would wave around her face. She tucked it behind her ear again now. ‘Lovely eyebrows,’ a maiden aunt had said to her once. Well, that was a real plus. If Brooke Shields ever needed a stunt double. Her eyes were hazel. Not stunning green, not deep and mysterious brown, just somewhere muddled in between. She’d tried life with purple eyes for a short time a year ago, when her sister Cathy, an optician in Manchester, had sent over a trial pack of coloured contact lenses for her to try. But it had been a disaster. The customers in the shop couldn’t decide if she was
    suffering from some tropical disease or pretending to be Elizabeth Taylor.
    Even her height was average. If she was tiny, petite, that would be a talking point. She could be feisty, aggressive to make up for her lack of height. Or if she was tall, like her friend Lainey, she could be authoritative, confident. But what could you do with average height? Just stand around and wait for the short and tall people to let you get a word in?
    Her build? Average. Well, perhaps a bit more than average, more curves than fashionable straight lines, but she could hardly work in a delicatessen and not eat, could she?
    Average. Average. Average. Ordinary. Ordinary. Ordinary.
    And she didn’t want to be just ordinary. She’d actively fought against it when she first started art school. She’d felt so self-conscious, the country girl from Dunshaughlin lost in a sea of Dublin city cool. She’d studied the trendsetters, trying their looks out for herself. She’d been a Goth for a few months, teasing her hair until she was in danger of picking up television signals. Then she’d tried the torn clothes and lace look, until the chill November wind had sent her rushing for a warm jumper. She’d tried ripped jeans. New jeans. Dyed hair. Permed hair. Big earrings. No earrings. No make-up. Lots of makeup.
    Ambrose and Sheila had put up with her erratic appearance at first. Then one Saturday after the shop had closed Ambrose called her in and laid down the line. She was scaring off his regulars, he said. The black lipstick had been the final straw. She had to choose - the wild