He recalled the agreement made with Abi back in the early days of parenthood. Eva was still in her infancy when Abi’s career began to take off, and by the time Beth came along, Mark’s career had stalled while Abi’s was firmly in the ascendant. It made sense for him to stay at home with the children, and part of him had welcomed it. Once the girls were older and more independent, then he could focus on his work once more. Abi was earning enough to cover their outgoings, and by the time Beth had started school, they were able to sell their starter home and buy the house in Willow Park – their forever home. He was lucky, and the fact was not lost on him. But it was also true that the bargain they’d made had cost him something. He realized now, as his headache waned, that it was not just work he had given up, but the friendships that had gone with it. Yes, he still had friends, but they were closely connected to his family. His social life revolved around the tennis club and, to a lesser extent, the school. He had no close friendships of his own – one by one, he’d let them slip away. When the Campbells had moved in next door earlier that year, he had hoped that some kind of warmth might develop between him and Ross Campbell. They were both stay-at-home dads, both married to high achievers. But Ross was only interested in cars and rugby. And Mark realized now, thinking back on the hours he’d spent in the pub with Andrew the previous night, how much he missed those close friendships that sprang up on set, the easy camaraderie. For a moment, he considered the possibility that he was lonely.

Just as he was having that thought, his phone sounded with an incoming mail, and when he checked the screen he saw that Andrew had indeed sent him the script and the brief, just as he’d promised. Read these and get in touch, he’d typed. Adding: Brain bleeding through my eye sockets. Hung-over to fuck, you bastard.

It made Mark smile, warm feelings flushing through him. Two minutes later, he was at his desk, downloading the first document, passing his eyes over the opening pages. He was still there a couple of hours later, when he heard the car pull into the driveway, held fast by the images flashing over the canvas of his brain as he read through the script, as though a part of him that had been asleep for a very long time had just awakened, blinking and stretching in the daylight. Reluctantly, he closed down the documents, and went outside to greet them.

3

The pink hair was a shock.