“I don’t know that I’m in the mood.”

The light turned green and I started to cross, but Cat pulled me back onto the footpath. A woman, who bumped into us, apologised passive-aggressively, as only the English can do.

“Really? It’s Foyles.”

“I know. Can we just do something else? Maybe see a movie or something?”

“You want to spend our last day together seeing a movie?” She didn’t sound particularly impressed.

“Sorry.”

She grabbed my wrist and led me away from the road into the entryway of a tiny shop that sold antique jewellery. “Sarah, I love you—I do—but this is my day with you and I really don’t want to spend it moping about London or hiding in the dark at the cinema.”

She was right. “Sorry.”

“Stop saying ‘sorry’. It’s really frigging annoying.” She was probably right about that too. “Look at me.” Great, she was resorting to old-school parenting techniques. I must have been more of a mess than I thought. I looked at her. “Do you want to go home? To my place, I mean.”

I didn’t, not really. I’d just sit there and stew in the mess of my own making and—worse!—waste time I could be having fun with Cat.

“No,” I said, sounding reasonably sure. Fake it ’til you make it, right?

“Okay, so what do you want to do?”

“What did you have planned originally, before, well … everything?”

“Benefit brow bar, mooch about Oxford Street for a bit of window shopping, then oysters and champers at Bentley’s Oyster Bar, then cocktails at Bar Termini. Not sure after that.”

“That’s a lot of bars.”

She laughed, “I suppose it is. We can even throw in a quick trip to the National Gallery if you like, for some Sunflowers time. I mean, everything’s right here.” By that, she meant in central London and within walking distance.

“I would like that. Sunflowers, I mean, even just for a few minutes.”

“Great. We have a plan. Brows first, then Sunflowers. All right?”

“Yes. So, you’re getting your brows done?” I asked, as she pointed the way to Benefit.

“No. You are.”

“Oh.” She headed off. I caught up and walked alongside her, then self-consciously touched my eyebrows, wondering what was wrong with them.

“They’re not terrible,” she said helpfully. “But they could be better.”

Well, thank god we were getting them sorted out! How had I survived so long with “not terrible” eyebrows?

*

Less than half an hour later, I admired myself in the mirror. “Your eyes really pop now,” said the heavily made up and very pretty woman who’d tamed them. I nodded in agreement. I had to admit, the brow bar people really knew what they were doing. Cat’s face appeared next to my reflection.

“You look great. And this is my treat, by the way.” She scooted off to pay before I could object, and I met her at the counter where she took her credit card and a small Benefit bag from the cashier. “Here,” she said, handing me the bag. I looked inside. It was a peach-coloured blush called “Dandelion”.