Oyster

The indulgences shone on the vanity table as Janet inspected them.
Expensive jars, heavy with cream, decorated the wooden surface. They
looked out of place here, somehow wrong; illicit purchases made out of
desperation. Maybe this was the answer, the solution to her problems
and now unpractised hands lay limp on her lap in apprehension. An
oyster of deep purple eyeshadow shone invitingly up at her from the
surface and she felt like a child in a sweet shop. She didn't want to
spoil the magnificent packaging yet the promise of the texture and the
shade against her pallid skin was intriguing. She carefully released
the catch and hovered over the tempting colour.

Like the dress the woman was wearing, she thought to herself slowly
dipping her forefinger in and crushing the silky powder over her
skin.

The image appeared again in her mind, the one that thickened her throat
and prompted a twist deep in her stomach. Her husband, two hours after
he had left for his business trip sitting in a restaurant window with a
woman in purple sundress. The two of them framed in the glinting
window, an elegant tableaux in which he was laughing and leaning
towards a wide smile and bare polished shoulders.

Janet had responded unconsciously to the sight of his familiar profile
as it flashed into her preoccupied mind, past the colourful shopping
bags and the dark spots of sunglasses parading the warm bright street.
She had paused, obscured from view on the other side of the road
suspended in an unreal moment and noticed the detail of the woman's
dress and the long fingers intimately running over her husband's face.
The sunlight glancing off the shop facades disorientated her and she
let herself be carried along by the tide of weekend shoppers before she
pushed herself into an expensive caf?. Inside the cool interior, she
had watched the brass fan revolve on the ceiling and tried to reconcile
the scene she had just witnessed in her head with some explanation. At
first she felt flushed and almost apologetic for intruding on her
husband's private moment before the hurt began to numb her mind and the
humiliation crept down over her perspiring unkempt figure.

John doesn't drink wine, she thought as she lifted one of the
opalescent jars of the dresser; the contents smooth and heavy like
whipped cream. Yet he was sharing a bottle of wine that day. She had
seen the amber liquid shining that day in the window and unhooking the
heavy lid she imagined his slow smile over the wineglass at the young
flawless complexion smiling back. The cream was cold on her face as she
massaged it into her pale unremarkable skin. She believed that smile
was reserved for her face only.

She thought about John and their five years together as she
methodically painted her eyelids smearing the gloss out and over her
eye socket. This was supposed to make her eyes look wider, more open,
and the colour was supposed to make them sparkle. She thought about
John's smile and his wide hands clasping her waist. She thought about
the decisions they had made together, the house they had decorated and
furnished together and the places they had visited preserved in the
silk-bound albums displayed in the bookcases in their living-room and
as she thought she stained and painted her image in the mirror.

Not as beautiful as the girl in the purple dress, Janet critically
inspected her appearance, not as glossy as the pouting anorexic women
beamed into their comfortable living room each night. The women her
husband criticised on appearance yet she had noticed his gaze lingering
longer than necessary nowadays. His sneers at the inflated breasts and
exaggerated features were becoming more and more insincere and she knew
deep down he found them infinitely preferable to her spreading thighs
and greying underwear. She felt unattractive and his perfunctory kisses
fed her fear everyday but now it was no longer a fear but a fact.

The frustration began to make tracks through her carefully applied
powder and she realised the futility competing with the woman in the
purple dress. There were no other options open to her. John would come
back from his business trip and quietly she would listen to the
fabrications. She would stare at the wrinkles appearing in the corners
of his eyes and pray quietly that the years they had spent together
would be enough for him to stay.

In the beginning Janet had felt like a princess basking on a bed of
furs. She was beautiful, exotic, a sensual figure to be shared readily.
Covering her with kisses he would open her up like a satin-lined
jewellery box and she would sparkle, her head filled with the scent of
musk. She knew if he saw her purchases he would laugh and tell her she
didn't need them yet he would still turn over at night and brush away
her hands with gentle reprimands.

Janet stared at the artifice in the mirror, a painted mask staring back
at her accentuating her ageing skin and tired eyes with garish
accuracy. She pressed her fingers to her lips and suppressed a
hysterical laugh as she imagined John's reaction if he saw her now.
They would laugh together and she would let herself be folded into the
crook of his arm affectionately and silently feel foolish.

Wiping the grease of her face, she noticed a crop of spots appearing on
her chin and the rivulets of mascara running through her foundation.
She placed her hands against the mirror and giggled at how tragic she
looked. This was not the way for her, she thought, not anymore.

She carried the bin-liner out to the wheelie bin at the back of the
house with the cosmetics glittering inside, their contents leaking into
one another to create a lurid paste which began to leak out onto the
driveway.

Janet would notice these marks a few days later on her way back from
shopping. She would place the bags down containing the thoughtfully
purchased fresh steaks and red wine she planned to serve up for John
later that evening and inspect the vermillion smudges with faint
disgust. Later that evening she would scrub them off on her hands and
knees in the setting sun before he noticed them.