Smarts

After it happened I began to dress up. Sunday night I'd iron six shirts, I'd start at quarter to nine and take as long as it needed, never to hurry. I bought the shirts twelve at a time from an old shop in Jermyn Street, made to measure, thick, white cotton, french cuffs. I wore them open-necked, under a dark blue suit. Soon enough I bought another suit, then another, I bought a brown three quarter length coat, I buffed my shoes, I bought cufflinks, and a new watch. I spent close to eight and a half thousand pounds in a week. As I walked into buildings I'd pocket my gloves, and slip my jacket over my arm. Two months later I began wearing ties. I tied them slowly at first, in front of the mirror to begin with, then on platforms, in taxis, whilst entering restaurants, faster and faster, with sure, swift, efficient knots, nimble fingers tugging folds, sharpening creases, pulling the noose up to the neck and buttoning the jacket. I felt less and less the self I had known, each time I adjusted my cuffs, that little more alien. In the evening, I would sit at home, listening to the heating churn. I would hang up the jacket, fold the trousers, remove the cufflinks, unbutton the shirt and toss it into a laundry basket. All of this helped me forget not the slightest detail.