‘Can’t say I’m surprised,’ is her verdict. ‘I wouldn’t want my car washed by a bag lady.’

I look down at my attire. ‘I’m making a great job,’ I point out. ‘Does it matter what I’m dressed in?’

‘I take my car to a load of fit Polish blokes every couple of weeks. I can tell you that I don’t do it for their car-washing skills. You need a unique selling point.’ My sister purses her lips in thought.

‘A theme or something, you mean?’

‘Hmm.’

‘I know!’ I’m excited now. ‘What if I bake some homemade cakes to give away with each car wash?’

‘Get a life,’ Lauren says.

‘What then?’

‘Shush. I’m thinking.’ She swings her sunglasses between her fingers and chews at her lip.

I shrug. ‘I could probably borrow a costume from work.’

Lauren’s eyes light up. ‘What a great idea.’

‘Is it?’

‘Can we get in there now?’

‘I’ve got a key,’ I tell her. ‘I’d better phone one of the bosses, Blake Chadwick, and ask his permission. But I’m sure he won’t mind.’

‘Don’t just stand there, then. Do it.’ Lauren can be very bossy.

I punch in BC’s number. ‘I’m sorry to bother you,’ I say, my heart fluttering ridiculously at the sound of his voice, ‘but I’m doing a charity car wash and it’s not going all that well. Could I possibly borrow a couple of costumes from the office store to spice it up a bit?’ Now that Lauren’s here she might as well help. If my sister had any objections she would have punched me by now.

‘I like the sound of that.’ Blake laughs down the line. ‘Of course you can.’

‘Thanks.’

‘No worries.’ He hangs up.

‘Let’s get down there,’ I say, and we jump into Lauren’s car and speed away. But she makes me take off my flowery wellies first.

Chapter 50

Chapter 50

‘We can’t wear those!’

‘We can,’ my sister insists.

‘I’ll never be able to hold my head up in Goldstone Road again.’

‘What nonsense.’

The costume store at Party Party is vast. There’s everything you could possibly want in here for a great night out. Racks and racks of fancy dress outfits stretch out ahead of us. You can be anything from Napoleon to Elvis Presley.

We, it seems, are going to be Bunny Girls.

Lauren waggles the fluffy pink ears at me. ‘What sells?’

‘Sex.’

‘Exactly.’

‘We’re thirty-nine years old,’ I remind her. ‘Past our prime.’

‘You speak for yourself.’ Lauren holds up the bunny outfit against her and preens in the mirror.

‘Who in their right minds will want to see us dressed like this?’

‘Plenty of jaded middle-aged men. We’ll bring a bit of fun to their otherwise dull weekends down at the DIY superstore.’

‘I hope you’re right.’ I have grave misgivings about this.