I ran a hot and deep bath and prayed Mum wouldn’t hear it running. We weren’t allowed more than a few inches of water. It was a hangover from when Dad was alive. He had grown up sharing bathwater between him and his four siblings. He was the youngest so always got the cold dregs with everybody else’s dirt in. Because of this, Mum said, he had never really thought much of a bath, preferring instead to run a sink of hot water and wash himself over with a flannel. Mum would do the same to us. I’d have to stand in the freezing bathroom when I was a child and she would roughly wipe me then rinse me off, the water running down my body and soaking into the bathmat she made me stand on. After he died she let us have baths, but only shallow ones or else she’d feel guilty.

While I waited, I lined the shampoo, soap and Jago’s razor for my legs on the side of the tub. After I’d scrubbed every inch of myself, I got out and put my dressing gown on and wrapped my hair in a towel. Once that was done, I unlocked the bathroom door and went onto the landing.

‘Can I borrow a skirt, Mum?’ I yelled as I opened the airing cupboard door and began to grab anything which looked vaguely smart.

I heard a mumbled reply which I took to be a yes then spent the next hour trying everything on three or four times.

When I finally went downstairs, Mum smiled at me. ‘You look lovely.’

‘Thanks. I’m a bit nervous.’

‘Parties always used to make me nervous. You’ll be fine when you get there and start chatting to people.’

Just then there was a knock on the door. Mum glanced at me then went to open it.

‘Hello, love.’ It was Gareth.

‘Gareth said he’d drive you,’ she said, before I had time to protest. ‘I know you’d asked Jago to take you—’

‘No, it’s—’

‘You’ve done your hair so nice. We don’t want you turning up like Worzel Gummidge.’

I was about to press on with my protest when I stopped myself. Of course she was right. I’d used her hairdryer and dried my hair so it was straight and shining like a sheet of copper. It had taken ages and I knew that ten minutes on the back of the bike would destroy it so I nodded reluctantly.

Mum beamed and kissed me on the cheek. Her face grew hesitant but she forced her smile to stick. ‘Enjoy yourself, love.’

‘Come on, Cinders,’ Gareth said, ‘let’s get you to the ball.’

As I walked past him to the front door I narrowed my eyes and glared.