I fill the huge, deep bath almost to the brim, adding all the fancylooking toiletries that they’ve placed beside the green marble sink. I hesitate for a moment, wondering if I can call housekeeping and get them to bring me some hair dye, but I decide to hold off and get it done properly somewhere. My hair feels like matted rope, but when I slide down into the floral-scented waters, it soon fans around me and begins to soften. I lather on shampoo, and then the whole little bottle of conditioner, and leave it to soak in while I shave my legs and armpits, and give myself a proper scrub with the helpfully supplied loofah. You don’t get real loofahs at home anymore. Something to do with the environment I expect. Not that I give two shits about that. Finally, I run my fingers through my hair, detangling it, then rinsing it in the dirty bath water, which has formed a distinct brown scum around the edges. The water is murky and opaque, as if all the grime and gunk that I have been carrying around with me, unnoticed, has finally leached from my skin.

Wrapping myself in a fluffy white towel, I inspect my face in the mirror and conclude that I look a lot better than I did yesterday. I have colour in my cheeks now, and instead of dark rings and blood, my eyes look as bright and shiny as a pair of new buttons. I think I have the ladies on the train to thank for helping to sort out my demeanour. Perhaps taking Carrie’s identity is what’s perked me up. At the back of my skull, a small bead of worry is undulating under the skin, but it soon works its way back inside. The old Carrie is gone. The new one is right here.

I choose the cleanest, neatest clothes from my mediocre selection, but they are worn and crumpled, and even Carrie’s strappy vest top doesn’t make the grade, but it’ll do for now until I get something new. I pick up my small bag, and make sure I have all my cash, then I head out for some entertainment.