‘Don’t feel obliged to say that.’ Paula ran her fingers through her new fair hair. ‘I still haven’t decided if I like it yet.’

‘Well, okay, so the reason my mouth was hanging open is just surprise. On account of the fact you’ve had exactly the same hair since the age of twelve. Until now.’

‘I guess I had a rush of blood to the head. You’ve always done a radical hair change when you need to reboot yourself after heartbreak or whatever.’

‘True. I have to come clean with you: it doesn’t actually work as a life-rebooting method,’ said Anita. ‘But meanwhile, I think it looks fantastic.’

Paula shrugged. ‘I can always cut it off if I hate it. Ooh, quick, we need to get in there.’

‘You can share my bucket of wine,’ said Anita, as they headed into Cinema 2.

Once they were settled side by side in their seats, Paula tucked her hair behind her ear and Anita noticed her friend’s cheekbone was slightly swollen. There was a large bruise almost concealed under foundation, with a small scabbed area where the skin had broken and healed.

‘What happened there?’ Anita asked.

Paula’s hand shot up to her face. ‘Oh, a patient was in a bit of a state, arm kind of flew out and knocked me against a cupboard.’ She then bunged on a Liam Neeson tough guy voice. ‘Doctoring is a dangerous game.’

‘It looks hurty.’

‘My professional medical opinion is that it is indeed hurty. But won’t scar, luckily. I mean, I need perfect skin to go with my new glamour-puss hair.’

If it were anyone else, Anita would have pushed a bit, challenged them. Is that the truth? Were you stumbling about drunk? Did someone hit you? But there was something about Paula’s certitude, her deeply adult assurance, that made Anita feel as if she couldn’t question her.

The movie was the species of British bonnet drama usually seen on TV. There seemed to be a lot of lavish period gowns swishing through opulent rooms, sumptuously filmed. Famous actors seemed to be doing a lot of award-worthy acting. But Anita barely engaged with the film. She couldn’t stop sneaking looks at Paula’s blonded hair and bashed cheekbone. She couldn’t stop her thoughts pinging off at wild angles.

After the movie, Paula drove them both to Newtown to find somewhere still serving food so that Anita could obtain more sustenance than cinema wine and nuts. While she wolfed down a kebab and Paula took tiny nibbles on baklava, Anita talked on and on about Brooke Lester.

‘I mean, how horrifying is it that she almost died from being shoved against a table.’

‘Well, a thick glass tabletop—that makes for a hard edge. It’s effectively the same as a blow with a blunt instrument to her pregnant abdomen,’ replied Paula.