Page 26 of Love from Pretty Beach
A few days later, Darby had done nothing much other than spend endless time on the phone about a range cooker she’d ordered, which had got lost in transit, she’d done a double shift at work and she had planned videos for her channel.
There had been one confirmation message from Archie and that was it.
Darby was sitting at the kitchen table with her enormous basket bag slumped beside her chair.
Her intention was to film herself delving into the contents of her bag because she loved it when she watched her favourite online friends going through the stuff they carted around with them all day long.
It had to be said that the light was very dull, but with her favourite candle on, a cup of tea by her side and all her little kitchen lamps switched on, it was fairly easy to forget about real life and, you know, record a video for your fledgling online channel.
It was funny, really; her channel and the planning of its content were making her feel more fulfilled than she had been for a very long time.
As if somehow the anticipation of it, where it might go and what it might give her, was like a special new friend, one she had to nurture and make her own.
Her outlook on life felt better, too. Maybe that was already beginning to show.
The weather was definitely leaning towards the grey end of the spectrum, which seemed appropriate given that she was about to excavate the contents of the basket and film it for all the world to see.
Truth be told it had become less handbag, more archaeological site and the fact that she hadn’t had a good old sort out for ages was more than evident.
Darby had always felt the need to cart the kitchen sink around with her, which had meant that she had to regularly declutter all and any of her bags or not, as the case may well be.
Having stuff with her was a habit from her baby change bag days when she’d like to have all sorts of occasions covered and didn’t her right shoulder know about it.
These days, she hardly needed to have a huge bag with her on her walk to work, but she always carried it with her like a security blanket anyway.
The irony wasn't lost on her that she was about to film herself in a kitchen that needed help whilst talking about the contents of a bag also needing help.
She loved the bag, though, it sort of felt like a part of her body.
Carrying it around with her through her dealings with the world as she went about doing her thing helped her so very much.
Attempting an authoritative tone that suggested she had an idea what she was doing, she looked into the little green circle on her phone.
'Right. I thought I'd do a what's in my handbag video, because apparently, people find other people's belongings fascinating, and I've certainly got plenty of belongings to entertain you with. My bag is a life force of its own. I do believe it has its own microclimate. All joking aside, if you are like me, you will love to know what’s inside people’s bags.
Woe betide you, however, if you ever meet me and you decide to touch my bag or even look in its direction. You will be toast.'
She’d bought the bag itself during a period when she'd convinced herself that buying a larger style basket would somehow lead to a more organised life and not the other way around. Therefore, with that premise in mind, a lovely French market basket, earthy and rustic, had been sourced and purchased to facilitate dreams of walking along in white linen, buying fresh herbs from a market in Toulouse. Real life meant it was a bit on the tatty side, however, it had fulfilled a few fantasies by accompanying Darby to the Pretty Beach Farmer’s Market so there was that.
The handles had stretched with use and abuse; they were slightly different lengths and a few tufts poked out here and there.
The whole thing wore a lopsided, slightly inebriated appearance.
In an odd way, it these days, matched Darby's general approach to life.
Hauling it onto the table, she chuckled. 'It's massive, which you'd think would mean I'm incredibly organised and have space for everything, but actually it just means I lose things more efficiently and carry around twice as much rubbish as normal people.'
Shaking her head, Darby tutted; the weight of the bag genuinely surprised her every time she lifted it.
Over the months since she’d last decluttered it, it had accumulated layers of necessity and what she sometimes considered to be her very unique neurosis.
Less handbag, more a portable manifestation of her inability to make decisions about what she actually needed versus what she might theoretically need in some imagined emergency scenario.
'I should probably get a smaller bag, but then where would I put all my essential rubbish?'
It was distinctly lived-in and very much loved and she wasn’t about to be giving it up anytime soon. Minimising and refining her life was not on her radar, at least not in the foreseeable. Chuckling, Darby started to dig in. ‘Right, here we go.’
Pulling out a moulded eye mask, she nodded, ‘This is one of the best things I have ever bought. It’s an eye mask, obviously, but it’s moulded, meaning it slots around your, I suppose, your eye sockets, and even if you have the light on, it feels like you are in complete darkness.
Honestly, if you have trouble sleeping, one of these is your friend. ’
Rummaging for a bit, she pulled out another eye mask.
This one pale pink and silk. Putting it on over her hair, she shook her head and then pushed it back up.
‘Obviously, this is also an eye mask, but this one is my spare. Yes, I need a spare. However, there is a problem with this one. Despite it being made from very rare silk and being oversized, as you can see, in my case, it’s not great.
Even though it does do the job it was designed for, it also has other skills.
Oh yes. It actually stopped my eyelashes from growing.
After a few months of better sleep, I was indeed more sprightly, but I began to realise I had no eyelashes.
My friend Google told me this was easy to fix.
It’s taken me 13 weeks for my eyelashes to grow back.
Why do I keep sleep masks in my bag? I do not know. Right, what’s next in here?’
She pulled out a handful of small containers that looked like they'd been designed for travelling but had really only ever been to Pretty Beach.
Lining them up on the table, she tapped their tops and continued to ramble away to the camera.
'Little pots of cream. This one's for hands, this one's for face, this one's for something, though I can't remember what.
I buy these thinking I'll become the sort of person who touches up her skincare throughout the day, but mainly I just accumulate tiny containers of products I'm too mean to throw away. '
Darby smiled as she opened each pot and held them to the camera.
Recounting the story of a face cream which had been an impulse buy during a lunch break when she'd caught sight of herself in a shop window and been horrified by her own reflection.
There was also a pot she had no recollection of purchasing.
The mystery cream had probably been part of some optimistic skincare routine.
Said routine would have lasted approximately three days before being abandoned in favour of her usual approach: splashing cold water on her face and hoping for the best.
'Oh, and here's a little mirror. It’s actually got a tiny battery in the back that you can replace so that it lights up. It’s useful for checking how awful you look throughout the day, though I'm not sure why I need portable confirmation of something I could probably guess. I mean, it’s been my face for long enough. '
The next thing she pulled out was a little floral fabric pouch with a zipper that had seen considerably better days.
'This is my little bag that lives in this big bag. It's from Bea's, do you know that shop? Anyway, they do lovely things, but you have to cut off a leg to buy something from there. So, yes, I’m now missing a leg. Not really, I’m joking. This little bag goes everywhere with me and covers me for any situation. I shove it in any bag I’m using because I don’t always haul this basket around with me.
And yes, I have issues with handbags as well as everything else in my life. '
Darby shook the smaller bag and raised her eyebrows as a rattling and jangling of various makeup items and accoutrements banged against each other.
'I'm not going to show you everything that's in here, because frankly, I'm not sure I know everything that's in here, and some of it might be embarrassing. '
Darby tried not to start rambling. Her intention was to remain calm and dignified on the outside as if she was presenting on Blue Peter or something.
Inside her head, she tutted to and at herself.
What was she doing, showing the inner contents of her bag to the far corners of the globe?
She had reached a new low. Low, low, low.
No doubt people in Singapore, Dallas and Outer Mongolia would be hooting to themselves.
She would be a person people watched to make themselves feel better.
A madcap woman in England surrounded by 1980s decor and a very messy bag.
Despite acknowledging to herself that there was no way the video would ever see the light of day, she carried on regardless.
Unzipping the smaller bag, she pulled out a tiny, round plastic dusky pink container, no bigger than a larger matchbox, and held it up to the camera.