Laura sat perfectly still and let the whirlwind her friend’s presence always created settle. Spritzi’s suggestion of breakfast together wouldn’t happen, of course. She’d sleep through her alarm as she always did after a night out. And when she eventually did get up she’d fly around the flat like a maniac getting ready and dash out the door with a piece of toast in one hand and a coffee in the other, as she always did. They often ran out of mugs because they would all end up rolling around in Spritzi’s car until she’d clean them out and the whole cycle started all over again. Laura was going to miss her.

Outside, the car revved to life and burbled away, blending with the sounds of nearby traffic. That was something Laura was looking forward to, the absence of traffic noise and the blare of sirens and horns that were a regular occurrence outside their busy main road flat. There’d be nothing more than the odd roar of a motorbike, the caw of a crow or bleat of a sheep at home.

She chewed her lip at the thought of home. Spritzi made her feel much braver than she was. After years of hairdressing Laura had settled on a style that tamed her blonde curls to straight. It had meant constant work with straighteners but she liked it and she’d add deeper honey or bronze highlights depending on her mood. Gareth had been on at her to update her look. He liked his staff to reflect current styles and the more out there the better. It had been Jazz who’d suggested something more vibrant for her hair. Trust me, she’d said, and after a few drinks and with Spritzi’s encouragement Laura had let Jazz loose.

Now, she dragged herself to the tiny bathroom, took a breath and looked in the mirror. There was no avoiding the vibrant stripes of colour. Jazz and Gareth had loved it, even Spritzi had expressed enthusiasm, but Laura hated it and it had been the last straw. Gareth had gone on about her not embracing the ethos of his salon. The day after Jazz’s hair dying experiment a week ago, he’d raved on longer than usual, told her she needed to get with it or get out. Normally she’d remain silent in the face of his demands, swallow her annoyance and get on with her work, but not that time. Emboldened by anger, she’d given Gareth her notice and he hadn’t fought her on it. In fact, he’d said she could leave at the end of the week and she had. Spritzi had begged her not to and had offered to cut her hair short or dye it black, but it wouldn’t hide all the colour. It would wash out over the next few weeks but until then…