We arrived at Gosford at 8.30 am. We were both ready for breakfast by then, so I stopped at a bakery and bought us both a coffee and croissant. There was a chemist next door, and on impulse I went in and bought a packet of face wipes. When I got back into the car, I handed them to Frankie.
‘You’ll have to take your make-up off. You look far too healthy.’
‘But I look crap without make-up!’
‘You’re supposed to look crap – you’re terminally ill, remember?’
She sighed heavily and tore open the packet, took out a wipe and rubbed it over her face. She surveyed herself in the passenger mirror. ‘I’ve left a bit of eye make-up on. It looks better – more of a contrast.’
She turned her face to me. She was right. The eyeliner she’d left on emphasised her pale, wan complexion. Her lips looked colo
