If the last few days had been a struggle for Robyn, the weekend seemed to move things up a gear, in terms of doom and despair. Usually weekends meant socializing, either with the rest of the Mortimers or, for the children, sporting fixtures or parties with school friends and other such fun stuff. Unfortunately, fun felt pretty low on the agenda for Robyn now – added to which, the calendar was unusually empty. It was almost the end of term – one week to go – and all the sports clubs had finished for the summer, so she didn’t even have the distraction of a cricket match for Sam, or a dance class for Daisy, to chip away the hours.

‘So, what are you going to do then?’ asked Alison after breakfast, sorting through her hairdressing kit on the kitchen table. She was going to have to leave in twenty minutes, she’d said, in order to work some magic on a bride’s hair over in Harrogate, and was paranoid about leaving any of her equipment behind. ‘Heated rollers,’ she muttered to herself. ‘Tongs. Grips. Vines . . . Daisy, have you been playing with my hair vines?’

It was childish of her, she knew, but Robyn couldn’t help feeling a bit peevish that her mum was leaving when she still felt so low, when the day stretched ahead with such empty desolation. ‘Dunno,’ she replied. Still in her pyjamas, she was fuggy and ripe, compared to her blow-dried, fully made-up mother, which made her feel even worse. ‘I haven’t got anything to do, either, seeing as the Mortimers are all cold-shouldering me,’ she said, noting, as she did so, how whiny she sounded, but unable to prevent herself from sliding into self-pity. ‘Can you believe, none of them have bothered getting in touch to see if I’m all right? I mean . . . They’ve totally closed ranks against me. It’s like they’ve rejected me overnight.’

‘Oh, Robyn, come on, now,’ Alison scolded, still rummaging through her kit. ‘Of course they haven’t. Give them a chance. Do they even know about—Ah, thank you!’ she said as Daisy appeared just then, rhinestones sparkling amidst her hair, thanks to all the beaded accessories she’d swiped from her grandma’s collection. ‘Little monkey,’ she said, wagging her finger, before unwinding them all again.

Robyn waited until her daughter had skipped away once more, before continuing with her moan. ‘And it’s Luke’s birthday next week – Paula’s eldest – and nobody’s mentioned any kind of celebratory party tea to me. I think I’ve just been uninvited. I’m totally off the guest list. Dropped like a hot brick!’

‘Robyn.’ Alison zipped up her bag and stood there, palms flat on the kitchen table, looking stern. ‘Listen to me. You can cope with this two ways: you can feel sorry for yourself, and blame other people and become all bitter and resentful—’

‘Charming!’ God, this was really not helping.