The Men in her Life

said:
    ‘Sorry, due to a fault, this machine is temporarily out of order.’
    Why did her decision to withdraw money always seem to coincide with the 1.4% of opening hours when the machine broke down, Holly asked herself. The statistical likelihood had to be infinitesimally small and today it seemed emblematic of everything that was wrong with her life. Outside the bank the queue for the cash till was seven deep. She didn’t even have enough cash for a cheese roll.
    The only way to cheer herself up in the circumstances, she decided, was a bit of shopping, or retail therapy, as Colette insisted on calling it. Marks and Spencer first, because she could buy a sandwich, or even a triple pack, with a debit card, and while she was there have a quick look at lingerie. Who needed antidepressants when you could have a rainbow pack of pretty knickers all folded neatly round cardboard in a space-saving box, and while you were about it, sweet little colour-co-ordinated cotton bras, a couple of vests that really worked as T-shirts, a nightie that could pass as a John Galliano dress, and a matching negligee in case anyone were ever to invite you away for the weekend on the spur of the moment at a Friday night party, leaving no time for you to shop beforehand. Holly felt better already. She was almost glad that the cash machine had broken now, because it was much more fun shopping when the balance left in your account was a figure in your imagination, as opposed to a considerably smaller and more accurate livid green number on a screen.
    ‘One hundred and thirty-one pounds and ninety-nine pence,’ said the shop assistant.
    Perhaps she had gone overboard with the triple pack, Holly thought, tearing open the plastic triangle and selecting a prawn and mayonnaise, but now she was in the mood, she thought she might as well go and have a quick look in Selfridges for an outfit for Mo’s wedding. It was pointless to go overdrawn for a piddling amount. Simon had once explained to her about the proportionate charges. If you overdrew ten pounds and the charge for going overdrawn was ten pounds then you had an overdraft of twice as much as you’d taken out, but if you overdrew one hundred pounds the charge was still ten pounds which was only ten per cent of what you’d gained. A thousand made it even more of a bargain. As Holly walked towards the main store through avenues of fresh pasta pyramids, inhaling the cool smoked scent of delicatessen, she wished she had been a bit more organized about things. If she had known she was going to do a serious shop, she would have left out the sandwich and downed half a dozen oysters at the bar in the Food Hall.
    Even though the weather was still warm, in department-store seasons it was officially winter. The last bargains of the summer sales had been ruthlessly banished, along with anything bright or cool or remotely suitable for a wedding. There were some gorgeously rich purples and charcoal greys but even with the suggested addition of a toning feather boa they looked more funeral than wedding, and she had had enough funerals to last her a lifetime. Mo’s wedding was a watershed, not just for Mo, but for her too, she told herself. She must be positive, looking towards the future, laugh and the world laughs with you, and all that sort of thing. Holly stared at herself in the mirror and smiled. Purple turned her face very white and the feather boa made her look like a bit part from Interview with the Vampire. More Bride of Dracula than bridesmaid. Holly envisaged the look in a magazine spread. The Undead Gorgeous Look. In her haste to get the outfit off, several dyed purple feathers drifted to the floor.
    Holly walked towards the escalators down. Never mind. There were only two sorts of shopping days. On good ones, everything you tried on looked better than you imagined and was miraculously reduced by thirty per cent when you took it to the till. On bad ones, they never had your size in the items you picked out, and so you tried other things in the futile hope that they might look better on, but they never did. Then you found yourself in an increasingly desperate chase in and out of every shop on Oxford Street , and further afield, getting assistants to ring other branches, and ending up thoroughly exhausted and demoralized, having spent all your cash on taxis as you hopped from Knightsbridge to Covent Garden and back to the Kings Road .
    She had been fooled by her initial fillip in M & S into