‘Because you were such a great help with her,’ she added with a lashing of unnecessary sarcasm. ‘None of it matters. Your dad doesn’t go on nearly as many business trips as he used to and we’re back on the right track. I just want you to know it wasn’t always easy.’

‘What about your work?’ I asked. ‘Do you think you’ll go back to it?’

She shrugged as she tucked herself in. ‘We’ll see.’

‘I think you should,’ I told her. ‘I hate that you had to give up something so important for us.’

‘And I’d do it again,’ she said, clapping her hands together. ‘Right, shall we attempt to find me a dress before it’s dinner time? Since you hate everything I’ve chosen for myself?’

‘You need a showstopper,’ I declared, filled with love and pride for my mother. It was much easier now I couldn’t see her areolas. ‘Something extra special.’

She looked wistfully at the strips of sparkly satin, held together by diamanté straps and bad intentions hanging in her cubicle.

‘Step away from the manmade fibres,’ I ordered. ‘I’m almost certain we can find a happy medium between Nana’s Big Day Out and first evictee from Love Island.’

‘Just can’t get into that but your dad’s obsessed,’ she muttered, adjusting her collar. ‘Right, what would you suggest?’

‘Something radical,’ I said as I tucked my empty Starbucks cup behind the leg of my chair. It wasn’t littering if it was in a shop and you hid it. ‘Let’s try a different shop.’

Mum looked aghast. All special occasion Reynolds outfits had been purchased at John Lewis since time immemorial.

‘Where else is there?’

‘You’re just going to have to trust me,’ I said, standing up and giving her the look.

‘Well, we can go somewhere else but I reserved a table on the terrace at twelve for lunch,’ she replied, face flushed with fear. ‘Will we be back in time?’

‘If we’re not, we can always eat somewhere else.’

It was as though I’d slapped her around the face with a trout.

‘Now that’s a dress.’

Shoulder to shoulder with an exquisitely turned-out bridal consultant, I applauded as Mum stepped onto the raised dais, glowing under the soft lighting, clad in a beautiful ivory satin wrap dress that skimmed her amazing figure and swept the floor as she moved. A quick Google and one pleading phone call had seen us abandon Oxford Street for a tiny bridal salon, tucked away behind the Big Shops, which had managed to squeeze us in between their other appointments.

‘It is very nice,’ Mum said, twisting and turning in the gown, admiring herself in every one of the million mirrors that covered the walls of the dressing area. ‘But is it me?’

‘It’s a very elegant choice,’ the consultant said. ‘It looks as though it was made for you.’