authorities, or draw further unwanted attention to Alex, when what we needed was a calm, careful, approach.
None of which were words I would normally associate with Katherine.
Alex always liked Oxford Street. All the top shops were there, all the ones with the clothes that her mother would never let her wear. Unsuitable clothes, matched with unwearable shoes. She loved it.
Of course, there were the designer shops, but even wrapped in glamour she didn't think she could get in and out of one of those without drawing unwanted attention. Those shops didn't have clothes on rails, and changing rooms you could just use. You had to have an attendant and someone to tell you how marvellous you looked. Having earned her freedom she was not so willing to risk losing it again.
Instead she wandered around the better teen shops, looking at the fashions and checking out what the other girls were wearing. Of course she could just shift her glamour and look however she wanted, but that wasn't the same as having the clothes for herself.
She went down a rail and picked out a top with a sparkly emblem, and a short denim skirt, a skimpy tee, some leggings, and took all of it to the changing room where a stern-faced shop manager gave her a token which showed how many items she as trying on. The woman was dressed in clothes from the store, but frankly she looked too old for them.
After a short wait in the queue, she slipped into the communal changing area. Inside, girls squeezed themselves into a variety of outfits, some with more success than others. There was a lot of chat, and a fair amount of swearing as girls found that they were no longer able to fit in a size six or whatever. One girl was fighting a losing battle with a bustier thing while her friend tried to stretch it around her. Alex smiled.
She shed the shapeless sweatshirt and jeans and wriggled into the short skirt, pulling the zip up hard when it stuck. She pulled the sparkly top over her head, stretching it over her budding curves and smoothed it down. Only then did she look up into the mirror.
The girl who looked back was a stranger. Alex almost looked around to see if she had caught the reflection from some other girl. Sure, she'd had a mirror in her room, and there were mirrors dotted around the courts, but this was full length widescreen. Alex blinked and her reflection blinked back.
She caught a smug look from the girl who'd been trying to squeeze into the bustier. Alex almost told her where she could get off, but then looked again at the girl in the mirror. The sparkly top was stretched tight across her bust — too tight. It bunched into lines and left a line of pale midriff where the over-tight skirt pinched in her waist, making her look like she had a roll of puppy fat.
Her face gave the lie to any weight gain. It was lean and angular. She brushed her cheek where the bones were outlined under the skin. Her unruly hair coiled around her fingers and she teased out the curl, wondering when this had happened to her. When did she become this bony angular waif?
She stepped sideways as one of the other girls edged in front of her for a better view of herself; giving her attitude, like Alex was hogging the mirror. Looking around the changing room, Alex was suddenly conscious that the other girls would see the strange girl, in clothes that were too small, in a bra that bulged in the wrong places.
Quickly, she stripped off the top, hearing the seams stretch and crackle as she pulled it over her head. She unzipped the skirt with relief and pulled on her jeans and shirt. There was no point in trying on the leggings and tee shirt — they were all too small. She tugged things back on hangers and headed out.
She passed the token back to the woman at the changing room entrance.
'Did you find anything you liked?' she asked.
'S'all too small,' said Alex, handing back the clothes.
The woman took them from her and checked them before hanging them from a rail behind her.
She turned, assessing Alex and then checking the sizes on the clothes she'd just hung up. 'These are eights and you're definitely going to need a ten,' she said. 'What size bra are you wearing?'
Alex told her, and the woman sighed. 'It's very common with young women — you don't notice how your shape is changing. You're going to have to buy a new bra before you try anything else on,' she said. 'The one you're wearing is too small for you and nothing is going to fit right until you do. I'll ask one of the assistants to advise you, if you'd like?'
'No, really,' said Alex, 'I'm OK.'
'Of course,' she said. 'You'll find lingerie in the far corner over there.' She gestured towards the back corner of the store.
'Thanks,' said Alex, drifting away.
Since she got back she'd been preoccupied, what with the birth of the baby and having lessons with Fionh. All the rules about what she could do and couldn't do — it was worse than Porton Down. Her appearance hadn't been an issue, though. Maybe it was the drugs she'd been given, but she didn't feel drugged, she just felt… different, as if she didn't quite fit in her own skin. She'd just thrown on the clothes she'd been given, only now she realised they were shapeless and baggy or just didn't fit.
She found herself in front of another full length mirror along one of the aisles. Her hair wound in dark curls around her face and her eyes looking hard and cold. She smoothed the sweatshirt down, trying to visualise the figure underneath. A girl with a dress walked around in front of her. She stood between Alex and the mirror and held the dress up against herself.
'Do you mind?' said Alex. 'I was using that.'
The girl glanced around at her, taking in the crumpled sweatshirt and the faded jeans. 'Seriously?' she said. She turned and checked the dress again.
'Stuck up bitch,' said Alex, but the girl had already moved away.
Alex stared at herself and realised that the girl had a point. She did look a bit of a state. The jeans hung from her hips and the formless top did nothing for her. Now that she was conscious of it, her bra was too tight in all the wrong places and she felt frumpy.
A couple of girls passed between her and the mirror, debating the merits of the skirt they had chosen for one or other of them. Alex had no one to debate with. Did anyone care how she looked? Did anyone even notice her? Standing in the middle of the shop, she felt the people moving around her. She felt each heartbeat swishing by, heard their chatter, was jostled and stepped around, but comprehensively ignored. She'd never felt so alone. Even at the worst of Porton Down, people knew you were there. They didn't just step around you.
It came to her that she could could stop it all. She could slow every heartbeat, cause the blood not to flow. She could make it thicken and slow and they would all die, all of them.
She twitched as she felt her hands wrap around the heavy blade, the handle slick with blood. She felt the weight of the blade in her hand as she lifted it, heard her exhalation as she swept the blade down, felt the shock travel up her arms as it bit into bone, biting into the severed head in front of her…
She shook herself, wiping her hands down her front, trying to push the memory that had risen, unbidden, back where it came from.
She shook her head, trying to clear it. 'Stupid. Just stupid.' Her hands were shaking. She interlaced her fingers to quiet the trembling.
'Are you all right?' A girl with a shopping bag slung over her shoulder appeared at her arm, face filled with concern. 'You're very pale. Do you want to sit down?'
Alex shrugged her off. 'I'm fine. Leave me alone.'
'I was only asking,' said the girl, but Alex was already moving away between the racks.
She had to pull herself together. It was no good being flaky when she was out on her own. It would only attract attention she didn't want or need. She needed to get a hold of herself. She was tougher than this. She had been through worse and survived hadn't she?
On impulse, she walked back down the racks. She checked the sizes as she collected a violet skimpy tee, a teal bolero cardigan and a blue and purple kilt that looked kinda funky. She added to this a handbag, a pair of silver high-heeled shoes and a bra with a bigger cup-size. Then she headed for the exit.
She didn't need to pay; she didn't have any money in any case. She was cloaked in glamour, no one would notice. No one would see. Even the CCTV wouldn't register her image. Unfortunately she'd forgotten about the security tags on the clothes and as soon as she passed the door the alarms went berserk.
'Shit!' she swore and ran.
She dodged around people walking slowly down the pavement, hearing the heavy thumping of the security guard's boots on her tail. She intensified her glamour and swerved into a doorway. People walked past ignoring her. A large white guy in a blue uniform stopped in front of the the doorway. Her heart beat in her chest.
