Ugly
I curled up comfortably on the worn settee at my favourite café, waiting for my order. I often stopped in here for a cappuccino and a couple of custard tarts to lift my spirits before heading to the office. Outside, a thin blanket of snow covered the streets of Manchester, and with a quiet sigh, I took a satisfying sip of my scorching coffee.
Not far away, two young women sat, absorbed in conversationundeniably friends. Their voices drifted over.
“Honestly, I bumped into Dans new girlfriend the other day. And, I swear, shes got nothing going for her! Whatever does he see in her?”
“Perhaps she cooks an amazing roast? Or maybe shes a goddess in bed!” her friend snorted with laughter.
“Oh, come off it! Here, look at her photo on Facebook. The poor thing didnt win the genetic lottery.”
They tittered, and I froze, mid-sip, as old memories fluttered up. Suddenly I was seven again, catching snippets of my mother confiding to my father: “Our Alice isnt a beauty, bless her. Not much to look at. Best she focuses on being good at things.”
As an adult, Id learned to pamper my appearance, but the feeling just wouldnt go away. No matter how hard I tried, I never felt pretty enough. Mum would say, “Chin up, my girl. If youre short on looks, youll just have to dazzle them with your brains. Work hard and you wont be alone.”
Back at school, Id felt awkward about my gangly figure and plain face. At university, I mastered the art of stylish dressing and makeup. Even managed to start seeing someone. But for whatever reason, hes always cracking jokes about my boyish bum and giant feet. Thats when I realised: being clever probably wasnt going to win me love either. I made my peace, pressed on.
After my coffee and cake, I dashed off to work. At lunch, Id promised to pop by my friends flat to feed her cat and water her plants. Ella was off in Morocco for a fortnight, and her husband was hardly ever home. Even if you cross paths, hed hardly notice Alice, shed laughed, and went on her way.
At Ellas place, I filled up the food bowl for a sleepy Marmalade, her ginger tom, then set about tending to the leafy jungle on her windowsill. Music thumped softly next door. I recognized the tune and found myself singing along: Somewhere only we know
And without really noticing, I started to dance among the plants, humming and gently twirling, actually admiring my reflection in the glassa rare thing. Some small part of me felt light, almost beautiful.
Suddenly, I heard voices. Turning, I saw two men in the doorway. It was CharlieEllas husbandand a friend. Both looked taken aback. Mortified, I wanted the floor to swallow me up.
Ah, Alice, hello. This is my mate, Gabriel. We just came to fetch some paperwork. You dance wonderfully, we couldnt look away. Sorry for disturbing you.
“I… um… Ella asked me to…”
I scrambled for the door, not seeing Marmalade at my feet, tripped, and landed sprawling on the carpet. Everything spun and then went black.
I woke up in a hospital room.
Hi there. You alright? Im Victoria, your neighbour. Just a mild concussion, doctor says youre fine. A delivery bloke dropped something by, and a young chap came by with flowers. She smiled kindly.
Thank you, was all I could manage.
Later, once steady on my feet, I walked to the window and opened the bag. Fruit, juice, andmy favouritecustard tarts. I smiled to myself; it had to be from Ella and her husband. Amidst the bouquet, I found a card.
Dear Alice, speedy recovery. A lovely girl like you doesnt belong in hospital. Fancy joining me at the flower show? I wont take no for an answer. Gabriel
Burying my face in the white chrysanthemums, I closed my eyes with happiness and ran to hug Victoria.
Beauty doesnt need to be bright or obvious. Every girls is different. Sometimes, its warm and glows from within.
