But the world itself went on without her. There was news of Sally Wendover, her biggest rival and one-time nemesis, landing the role of the nurse in a new production of Romeo and Juliet, which had Madi grinding her teeth together in a mixture of frustration and barely suppressed jealousy. That could have been her, if the bloody cancer hadn’t intervened. Sally had beaten her to the lead role of Juliet too, more than forty years ago when Madi had been too distracted elsewhere to fight for it, and she had never quite forgotten or forgiven her for that.

The email from Prue was short and to the point. Did she want to have her post sent on? It wasn’t something she had thought about, but you never knew. It was still possible, even in this digitally prominent day and age that a career opportunity might turn up in an old-fashioned letter. And, of course, it would be Mother’s Day soon, while she was still here in Norfolk, so there might – just might – be a card.

She sent a quick reply, promising a post exchange once a week at least, and added a word or two of reassurance about Flo, who had jumped up onto her lap as she typed and had fallen asleep there, preventing Madi from doing anything much for the next hour at least. She switched everything back off and leant forward, carefully, to pick up one of Prue’s many magazines. It was one of those lifestyle ones, with celebrities she had never heard of plastered across the cover. Not a real actress amongst them, just unknown faces from this so-called reality TV that the young ones seemed to enjoy. It was a page or two before the end, in the odds and sods section, otherwise known as minor showbiz news, that she spotted a tiny picture of Sally Wendover, clutching a bouquet in one hand and a man’s arm in the other. The bloody woman got everywhere.

She threw the magazine down without reading any more of it. She ran her hand over her head. Was her hair growing yet? Did it feel any longer, any thicker, any softer than it had the day before, or the day before that? She liked to think so. At this rate, by the time she went back to London, she might be on the way to looking half decent again and could start thinking about abandoning the wig, in favour of a fashionably short pixie cut. Then she would give that Sally a run for her money, and no mistake.

The knock at the door made her jump and sent Flo skittering off her lap and towards her cat flap, which she shot through as if the devil himself was after her. Madi stood up and reached for her wig, positioning it squarely on her head and checking in the small wall mirror before opening the door to reveal the imposing figure of Prue’s mother smiling back at her.