‘But it’s too busy down there; it’s too bloody expensive.’

‘Well, Pam Gillespie seems to think it’s fantastic.’

‘Oh, get your head out the clouds, love. You can’t survive down there on your own.’

I think of all the gingham disguising what used to be my childhood bedroom.

‘Doubt I’d survive much better at home with you.’

She gasps.

‘Where’s the Chloe I know, eh? That London’s gone to your head.’

‘Look, I’m sorry, Mum. I just haven’t had time to process everything yet.’

‘You will,’ she says, softer now. ‘It’ll all come clear, love.’

‘I know.’

‘Everything happens for a reason. You mark my words. You’ll look back on today soon enough and think, wow, this all happened for a reason.’

Okay, it’s time to wrap things up.

‘Please don’t worry about me, Mum,’ I say, honestly not wanting her to hang up and start fretting. You see, she’ll be fine while Carol’s there – she’ll nick one of Carol’s ciggies (even though she ‘quit’ in 1988) and together they can chew the fat – but once she’s on her own she’ll overthink my whole situation and get herself into a right state. ‘I’m fine.’

‘But you’re all on your own, love.’

‘That’s not the tragedy here, Mum.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Never mind. Besides, I’m not on me own, I’ve got Beth … work … you know.’

‘You’re single, though,’ she says, sobbing.

I hear Carol ask if she’d like a gin and tonic.

‘Slimline tonic,’ my mum tells her. ‘Open a new one. On the left in the pantry.’

‘Mum, I’ve got to go. I’ve got a hairdresser’s appointment soon.’

‘Oh, no love. How do you know you can trust this hairdresser?’

I’m losing the will. Let’s be honest, unless she’s referring to Sweeney Todd, I’m not sure anyone’d be able to give a logical response. My brain hurts and I grind my teeth.

‘Are you still there, love?’

‘Yes, Mum. Still here.’

‘Chloe, wouldn’t you rather wait ’til you’re home, go to the place you like in town? The one with the purple chaise longue in the window?’

‘I can’t go the funeral with these roots, Mum.’

I can hear Carol suggesting I wear a hat.

‘Did you hear that, love? Carol said—’

‘I heard her.’

‘You don’t half suit hats.’

She’s genuinely concerned about this. I know she’ll play with her tea tonight now, unable to focus on Corrie, worrying how my hair will turn out. She’s never forgiven me for going full-on bleached blonde, forever suggesting I grow it out to my mousey brown and get some highlights with the cap. The cap!

‘I’ll speak to you soon, Mum. Love you millions.’

‘Love you more.’

9