A lump the size of an egg seemed to be in her throat. ‘Thank you,’ she croaked at the end, as a towel was gently wrapped around her hair and wound into a neat turban. Her nerve-endings were still tingling. ‘That was wonderful.’

Time passed pleasantly by as Suzanne pasted the dye onto sections of Maggie’s hair, then wrapped them in foil, while they chatted about this and that. Before long, Maggie resembled a silvery hedgehog, a strange creature with shimmering scales around her face. ‘Don’t look so worried,’ Suzanne laughed, seeing her apprehensive expression. ‘You’ll be feeling a million dollars when you walk out of my door, I promise.’

Once the dye was on, Maggie was given a selection of magazines and a fresh cup of tea as she waited for the colour to take. She glanced at her reflection, feeling excited at her own boldness. Amelia wouldn’t believe it if she knew her boring old mum was here, getting a makeover. Should she take a photo – get her guessing? Or would that be kind of naff while Amelia was with her dad, as if Maggie was tugging at her daughter’s sleeve: Look at me, look at me, give ME some attention now?

She sent a text without mentioning her whereabouts. It could be a surprise, her new image, when they saw each other again. (A good surprise, she hoped, rather than a moment of hilarity.) How are you today, my love? she wrote. Hope you’re having fun. Ring me if you get the chance, won’t you? I tried a few times last night, but kept getting your voicemail. Love you. xx

It was the not-knowing that was so hard to deal with, she thought, pressing Send. Of course she and Amelia had spent time away from one another in the past, what with school trips and sleepovers and Amelia’s gradually increasing independence, but this was different. For the first time ever, she felt as if her daughter might be vulnerable and unprotected without her. Could Maggie rely on Will to look after and love her? No, not even slightly. Anything could be happening there.

After a while the foil squares were removed, the dye was rinsed off and Suzanne began deftly snipping. Maggie felt pliant and rather absent as locks of hair pattered softly to the floor around her. It was surprisingly relaxing, handing yourself over to another woman, an expert, and saying, Please sort me out. Improve me. And then, once Suzanne was satisfied with the cut, out came the blow-dryer, roaring heat around her head, and she watched, fascinated, as the new Maggie Laine took shape in the mirror.

Goodness. It was a transformation.