Esther shook her head and laughed. ‘Ha! Now you are being foolish. Firstly, you are the least dithery person I know. You decided to get a dog. The very next day you found Mabel. Secondly, you most certainly are not old. You’re the same age as me and in your second prime, which is comparable to getting your second wind in the race of life – I just thought of that – it’s rather good isn’t it? You have hardly any wrinkles – just a few laughter lines – and not a single grey hair, although, admittedly that’s down to me. Lastly, you are not being foolish. You’re adjusting to a new and rather unusual set of circumstances. Fools rush in, my dear, but you are, quite rightly, taking time to consider your options. Have you thought about working at the booth part time? You could carry on doing readings for a couple of days a week – perhaps in the back room – and still lease it out. Look at me! I’m still working, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. That salon is my world. Besides, if I wasn’t there the bailiffs would be in and the sale boards up within weeks. My daughter-in-law might do a lovely set of gel nails and her Brazilians are very much in demand, but the staff run rings around her, and she has no idea when it comes to money, other than how to spend it.’

Imelda hoisted Mabel onto her lap and stroked her velveteen head. It was true that she hadn’t realised quite how much she would miss her life on the promenade. The novelty of her retirement had quickly faded and the freedom it had brought felt empty and vaguely disappointing. The only good thing to come of it had been Mabel, and Imelda was sure that she would be happy enough to accompany her to the booth. To retire completely had been rash but was fortunately reversible. Esther was right, perhaps she should go back to work.

‘Esther, you’re a genius. Retirement is overrated.’

Esther smiled. ‘Always glad to be of service. And maybe you could find yourself a new man now that you’ve got time on your hands?’

Imelda hiccupped with laughter as she tried to swallow her champagne. ‘Oh, I think I’m done with all that! I’m not sure that I could bear the trauma of a first date again or even be bothered, quite frankly. It’s bad enough when you’re young – exciting, yes, but awful as well. I remember the first boy I ever went out with. He was called Gareth Penny. My mother called him Spend-a-Penny because he spent so much time in the lavatory whenever he came to our house. Poor boy – I think she made him nervous.’

‘Shunty-Mae would have made Her Majesty the Queen nervous!’