Page 77 - The Midnight Library
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                   Bronte  Beach  was  in  Sydney.  But  it  most  definitely  wasn’t  part  of  Byron

                Bay.
                   So  that  meant  one  of  two  things.  Either  Izzy,  in  this  life,  wasn’t  in  Byron
                Bay. Or Nora wasn’t with Izzy.
                   She noticed she was tanned a mild caramel all over.

                   Of  course,  the  trouble  was,  she  didn’t  know  where  her  clothes  were.  But
                then she remembered the plastic wristband with a key on it.
                   57.  Her  locker  was  57.  So  she  found  the  changing  rooms  and  opened  the
                squat, square locker and saw that her taste  in clothes, as well as watches, was

                more  colourful  in  this  life.  She  had  a  T-shirt  with  a  pineapple  print  on  it.  A
                whole  cornucopia  of  pineapples.  And  pink-purple  denim  shorts.  And  slip-
                on checked pumps.
                   What am I? she wondered. A children’s TV presenter?

                   Sun-block. Hibiscus tinted lip balm. No other make-up as such.
                   As  she  pulled  on  her  T-shirt,  she  noticed  a  couple  of  marks  on  her  arm.
                Scar-lines. She wondered, momentarily, if they had been self-inflicted. ere
                was  also  a  tattoo  just  below  her  shoulder.  A  Phoenix  and  flames.  It  was  a

                terrible  tattoo.  In  this  life,  she  clearly  had  no  taste.  But  since  when  did  taste
                have anything to do with happiness?
                   She  dressed  and  pulled  out  a  phone  from  her  shorts  pocket .  is  was  an
                older  model  than  in  her  married-and-living-in-a-pub  life.  Luckily,  a  thumb-

                reading was enough to unlock it.
                   She  le  the  changing  rooms  and  walked  along  a  beachside  path.  It  was  a
                warm     day.   Maybe    life   was   automatically   better   when   the   sun   shone   so
                confidently     in   April.   Ever ything   seemed   more    vivid,   more   colourful   and

                alive than it had done in England.
                   She  saw  a  parrot  –  a  rainbow  lorikeet  –  perched  on  the  top  of  a  bench,
                being  photographed  by  a  couple  of  tourists.  A  surfy-looking  cyclist  passed
                by holding an orange smoothie, smiling and literally saying, ‘G’day.’

                   is was most definitely not Bedford.
                   Nora  noticed  something  was  happening  to  her  face.  She  was  –  could  she
                be? – smiling. And naturally, not just because someone expected her to.
                   en  she  noted  a  piece  of  graffiti  on  a  low  wall  which  said  THE  WORLD

                IS  ON  FIRE  and  another  that  said  ONE  EARTH  =  ONE  CHANCE  and  her
                smile faded. Aer all, a different life didn’t mean a different planet .
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