‘Um . . . That reminds me,’ said Izzie just then. ‘Is it okay if I go out tonight? With a friend?’

Em stared at her. Izzie had put on a lot of make-up, she noticed, but despite that, you could see that her cheeks had turned pink beneath it. ‘What friend?’ she asked, and then waved a fork impatiently. ‘Forget I asked that, actually, because whoever it is, the answer’s no. Not after today. I think we all need a quiet—’

‘But, Mum, come on!’

‘No,’ she said, and all her frustration and misery gave the word extra weight, so that Izzie jerked in her seat as if she’d been kicked. ‘You’re not going anywhere. You can stay in and think about . . . about what you’ve done.’

Jack immediately looked interested. ‘What has she done, anyway? What was that weird phone call from Dad about?’

‘Oh, shut up!’ yelled Izzie, tears springing from her eyes, and then she wrenched herself from the table and was running upstairs.

So that had been a nice mealtime. Call her a terrible parent (again), but Em just did not have the stamina to go up after her, to try and patch things up. She’d had her fill of drama for one day, without getting into an argument about why Izzie couldn’t go out tonight, on top of it all. Even her wise friend Kathy wouldn’t have been able to dredge up a single positive affirmation about this whole disaster.

‘Bloody hell,’ she muttered to herself now, taking a massive, medicinal swig of wine, and then jumped, because a voice quite nearby asked tentatively ‘Are you all right?’

Em looked round, embarrassed to see that Maggie from the middle-sized cottage had appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, beside her. ‘Oh,’ she gulped in surprise. ‘Hi.’

‘Sorry,’ said Maggie, looking awkward. ‘I didn’t mean to bother you.’ She was clutching a wine glass and bottle of her own and held them up rather self-consciously. ‘I just wondered if you wanted any company?’

Em managed a small smile. Not particularly, she felt like replying. Thanks and everything, Maggie, but right now I’d like to get very pissed on my own and feel sorry for myself. Perhaps even ruin the picture-postcard holiday scene with some ugly gulpy sobbing, once I’ve put this bottle away. But she was too polite for such honesty of course, so what she really said was, ‘That would be lovely. Please do.’ And then she realized something was different about her neighbour. ‘Your hair,’ she blurted out. ‘Have you had it cut? It looks fabulous!’

Maggie blushed and looked delighted. ‘Thank you,’ she said, patting it self-consciously. ‘It was a bit of an impulse decision, to be honest. I keep forgetting about it.’ She hesitated, as if sensing Em wasn’t exactly in a good place. ‘Sure it’s all right for me to join you?’