In exchange for me agreeing to start writing down my experiences—‘In case an opportunity for an article comes up’—she’d joined me up to her gym, booked me in with her hairdresser, encouraged me to stop drowning my sorrow in Tim Tams and wine, and taken me shopping for a whole new look. ‘Less housewife, more yummy mummy.’

After two pump classes, my muscles ached so much I could barely walk, but I had to admit my hair looked better than it had in years. I glanced in the visor mirror, almost shocked at the face looking back at me. Until this week, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been to the salon for more than a trim and I’d become so accustomed to tying my hair back that I’d been shocked when I realised how long it had grown. Hayley’s hairdresser had cut in some layers but left most of the length and freshened up what she’d called my ‘dull, light, mousey blonde’ so it was now a ‘warm blonde with a touch of whisky and honey’.

My mouth had watered at the description, but now as I ran my fingers through my tousled cut exactly the way the hairdresser had shown me—‘gives the vibe of bed hair without being messy’—I wondered if Adrian would simply think I looked like mutton dressed as lamb. And would the other mums see right through me? Would they think my attempt to get my own husband’s attention desperate?

Oh Lord. Did I still have a hairband in my handbag? It wasn’t too late to tie it all back.

‘Mum, come on. What are you waiting for?’

Payton leapt from the car almost before I’d switched off the engine. Since Monday, her chatter and enthusiasm for life had returned bit by bit, day by day, so that this morning while she ate her breakfast, she was her usual talkative self, waxing lyrical about recent games in the Premier League. Still, I couldn’t help but worry what might happen when I switched with Adrian again on Monday morning. A ten-year-old girl needed her mum.

This thought gave me the courage to follow her, but not before I reapplied my frosty-pink lipstick. There was still no sign of Adrian, or Hayley, who’d promised to come along for moral support.

My stomach fluttering like it held a whole orchestra of insects, I approached the other parents with a forced smile.

Tonia wolf-whistled. ‘Look at you, Ashling Wood. That haircut is amazing. You must give me the name of your stylist.’

I blushed as a number of other mums joined in with the compliments, but it wasn’t their approval I wanted. ‘Thanks. It was time for a change.’

‘So we’ve heard.’ A woman whose name I could never remember winked at me. ‘Looks like life without hubby is treating you well.’

I smiled. Let them think what they liked. If word got back to Adrian, it couldn’t be a bad thing, could it?

‘What did you get up to on your week off?’ Tonia asked, a hint of jealousy in her voice.