There in front of her was a woman with shiny conker-brown hair that looked light and swingy as it curled under at the neck. Suzanne had given her a side-parting, rather than her usual centre one, and Maggie turned her head slowly, marvelling at the way her hair framed her face so differently, how her cheekbones seemed more prominent all of a sudden. Goodbye, Granny Laine, she thought, noticing how the salon lights bounced pleasingly off the warm tones of her hair. Farewell, invisible woman. Here I am, world. What do you think?

‘Lean forward just a fraction for me,’ Suzanne said, snipping carefully against her neck. ‘There. All done!’ She held another mirror behind Maggie’s head, and Maggie blinked a few times, startled to discover that her eyes were damp at the corners as she took in her lovely new style from all angles. She was almost embarrassed by how much hot, devout love she suddenly had for Suzanne, wrangler of miracles.

‘It’s gorgeous,’ she said thickly, but the phrase didn’t even touch how good she felt. ‘I feel . . . amazing,’ she went on. ‘Like a new person.’

‘You look like one too!’ Suzanne replied. ‘You look as if you’re ready for anything now – and you’re definitely not invisible. You’re ready to take on the world!’

Maggie couldn’t stop staring at herself. Then she smiled. ‘I think I am,’ she replied.

With pizza and apologies having restored some holiday harmony the night before and Izzie even deigning to spend time with Seren and her Sylvanian Families collection, once back at the cottage, Em was confident that they had all moved on a step. And the next day started pretty well too, with Jack and George having a bit of a kick-around with a football outside. They both seemed to enjoy that kind of argy-bargy and tussling, with George temporarily becoming a rather adorable teenage boy again in the process, while Jack couldn’t get enough. He’d missed having a dad around since Em and Dom had separated; by the sound of things, Michelle never gave them much time alone to just hang out and be daft together.

She smiled, hearing their whoops float through the open kitchen window. This was good, she told herself, packing up a picnic for later on – but just as she was thinking those words, she heard a loud splash and a yell, and hurried to the window to see George flailing about in the pool fully dressed where he had fallen in. It was hard not to laugh as he emerged up the steps, absolutely drenched, with water pouring from his clothes – Jack was certainly roaring his head off in true unsympathetic style – until George clapped a hand to his back pocket and groaned. ‘My phone,’ he said in dismay, at which point even Jack managed to stop laughing. Oh dear. ‘Shit. It’s completely dead,’ he said, examining it.