Camellia by Lesley Pearse Page B

fourth floor.
    The rest room was a small messy place with an adjoining toilet, used only for tea and cigarette breaks. The fug of cigarette smoke, the dilapidated chairs, piles of well-worn magazines and unwashed cups was at odds with the spotless and ordered department store just beyond its door. From time to time Miss Puckridge insisted the window was left open to air it, but the noise of the traffic from Oxford Street below meant her orders were disobeyed.
    Camellia explained everything between mouthfuls of cheese sandwich and gulps of tea.
    Suzanne's eyes filled with tears, and she even left her cigarette burning away in the ashtray.
    'Oh, Mel,' she sighed at last. 'That's so awful. I can't imagine how I'd manage if anything happened to my mum.'
    Camellia reached out a tentative hand and touched the girl's arm. 'I feel much better now. Thank you.'
    They had a second cup of tea, even though Suzanne should've gone back to work by now, and Camellia admitted how lonely she'd felt, both at work and at the hostel.
    'We all thought you were stuck up when you started here. I wish I'd known what had happened – I wouldn't have been so mean to you.' Suzanne's crisp London voice was subdued now, frown lines furrowing her forehead.
    'You weren't mean.' Camellia smiled – all Suzanne had done was to ignore her. 'Besides the last thing I wanted was pity. I'd had a basin full of that. And I know fat plain girls don't set the world alight.'
    There was a moment's silence, then to her surprise Suzanne started to giggle.
    'You silly cow!' She caught hold of Camellia's hand and pulled her up onto her feet and over to a mirror on the wall. 'I've already told you, you aren't fat! You certainly aren't plain either. Take a real look at yourself!'
    They stood side by side. Camellia saw what she expected: a big girl almost dwarfing the smaller blonde, hair scraped back into a ponytail, sallow skin, dark slanty eyes. But Suzanne caught hold of her skirt and cardigan behind her back, pulling the fabric tight to show the lines of her body.
    'See what I mean? You aren't much wider than me. It's just those dowdy clothes of yours. And your face is great! You've got really good bone structure and skin, you just haven't learned how to make the best of yourself. Look at your hair dragged back like that! It should be cut nicely and left loose. If it's quiet this afternoon I'll get Carol on make-up to give you a few tips.'
    They had to go back to work then, but Camellia's head was reeling with what Suzanne had said. She didn't believe for one minute that she'd got better looking, even though her spots had cleared up. Yet shielded by the counter, she ran her hands down over her hips. To her utter astonishment she found she could no longer grasp much flesh.
    There was no mirror in the bathrooms at Archway House; the only full-length one in the dormitory was by Wendy's cubicle and she certainly wouldn't dream of studying herself in that in case someone saw her. Could just giving up sweets, cakes and pies really have worked a miracle without her noticing?
    Camellia waited in Boots, the chemists, until a group of girls had moved right away from the scales, then slunk towards them, keeping her head down. It had been a very long morning, waiting for her dinner break so she could come here.
    She stood on the scales, opening her coat before she put the penny in the slot to stop anyone else seeing the result. As the penny dropped she put her hand over the eleven as a precaution, but to her absolute amazement the indicator only went to nine stone eight pounds.
    For a moment she could only stare in shock. Surely it was wrong. Could she really have lost over two stone?
    'Are the scales accurate?' she asked an assistant at the counter.
    'Of course they are,' the woman pursed up her mouth as if resenting such a question. 'They get tested each Monday without fail.'
    If Camellia hadn't gone over to Suzanne and whispered the result of her weighing session as soon as she got