I scraped my crusts into the bin (never wanted curly hair), and with them the fears that had clung to my every cell since we’d left the hospital. She was wrong about the trial. Never listened.

She came behind me, cocooned me. Rested her chin on my shoulder. ‘Nothing could be more than us,’ she said.

We stayed there, rocking, for what seemed like an eternity. What I wish was an eternity. Until she broke away from me and said, ‘Can you fetch my bag from the lounge?’

I carried in the peeling PVC handbag and placed it in front of her. She didn’t thank me. Just unzipped it, retrieved her purse and pulled out a twenty, then a ten.

‘I want you to treat yourself to a haircut this morning.’

‘But I don’t need a haircut.’

‘Are you kidding me? Look at the bloody state of you.’

‘What about the holiday fund?’

She jerked her hand for me to take the money. I caught her eyes. Deep in their sockets they spoke. Like they did about the Dolly Parton wig woman. But this time I didn’t know what they were saying. I didn’t. I didn’t.

‘No, please, Mum, I don’t want to. We can’t afford it. Let’s have a walk. The park will be quiet now.’

She took my hand and pressed the notes into my palm. ‘You need to, sweetheart.’

For some reason I began to cry. But I wasn’t sure why. I now realize she didn’t ask me why either. She didn’t need to.

My hand scrunched the money like a claw. I turned away from her eyes and grabbed my keys from the side.

‘OK,’ I said.

No goodbyes were exchanged. We never liked goodbyes.

Outside, everything was fine once more. I nodded and said hello to Cheryl from number four, off to work in her nurse’s uniform. Stopped to read the lost-cat poster on the lamp post. I told myself that my upset was nothing more than a hangover, a Martin overload, accompanied by lack of sleep. And my hair really was a fucking mess.

I’d only ever been to A Cut Above when waiting for Mum to have her roots done. And she only went there because Natasha, the owner, was the daughter of Liz, her drinking partner in the White Lion. As I approached, it dawned on me for the first time that it had once been a terraced house. It still resembled one, with its greying net curtains. The only thing differentiating it from the homes it was sandwiched between was the large black-and-white print of a woman with a perm and the signage over the window. It was then it also dawned on me that Liz hadn’t visited Mum once since her diagnosis.

It was fine at first.