Says you, who’s never dared do anything, she had sneered, pointing an angry finger. Her face had actually twisted, distorted with contempt. Says you, who never goes out, who doesn’t have a life, who’s too scared to seek out any kind of relationship. Don’t preach at me, when you’re too cowardly to do anything new!

The sentences had cut Alison to the quick, had dug into her like barbs that were impossible to remove. Her own daughter calling her a coward, jeering at her as if she was nothing. It had hurt. Really hurt. When she did have a full and busy life, with work and her telly-lover Internet friends. When she had been going out recently as well, thank you very much, on her two terrible dates! So what did Robyn know about anything?

Oh, there had been apologetic messages ever since, on Alison’s voicemail, and texts too, telling her that she hadn’t meant it, she was so sorry. Fed up with the incessant beeping of her phone, Alison had eventually texted back with a brief: It’s okay, don’t worry about it – but it was not okay, whatever she might say, and they both knew it. A line had been crossed. A slap had been dealt. And however much Robyn might wish she could take the words back, they were out there now, and there could be no unsaying of them.

The worst thing was, Alison recognized herself in her daughter’s ugly description. However much she disliked the idea of being a coward, she knew, deep down, that Robyn had a point. And this recognition had remained lodged in her head the entire weekend, buzzing around her thoughts like a demented bluebottle, even when she tried to distract herself by sorting out the shed or immersing herself in a good film. My daughter thinks I’m a coward, she kept thinking miserably. And I am.

But anyway. It was a new day now, a new week, and here she was, cutting the hair of Molly, who was in her late fifties at a guess and who seemed very pleasant, wearing a navy blouse with a seagull print, and who had gleaming chequered lino in her kitchen and a posh coffee machine. The last thing Alison wanted was to spread her dark mood around and infect another person, especially a new client whom she was supposed to be impressing. Had she even spoken in the last five minutes? No. Gloom had swallowed her up for too long now, and she needed to bring out her inner perky.

‘Got anything nice on this week?’ she asked chattily, pulling strands down on either side of the woman’s face to check she had matched the lengths correctly. Perhaps the left was just a fraction shorter than the right, she decided, straightening up.