My nerves rattle through three blow-dries, a colour, a cut and an upstyle. Tom still hasn’t called. With a coffee break looming, I decide I’ll call him, but first I have to convince this lady that blonde highlights are not the way to go when your face is as pale as a snowman’s.

‘But my daughter said they’d suit me.’ Her daughter mustn’t like her.

‘With your lovely complexion I think a warmer shade of your own colour would suit much better but I’ll do whatever you want.’ I’ll do whatever anyone wants today, my nerves are at breaking point waiting to talk to Tom.

‘Do you think so?’ she says, turning her head from left to right looking in front of the mirror. ‘Show me.’

I go to get the colour charts, discreetly checking my phone. No texts, nothing. My mind wonders, what’s going on at the station? Why did the cops need to talk to Kenny all of a sudden – and why is it taking so long? Rummaging through a shelf load of charts, I pick one, smiling at Sienna who is trying to hide her laughter at something her client is telling her.

I’m back standing beside the woman pointing at colours when the news airs over the speakers. The police are questioning a woman in connection with the death of Claire McCarthy. The woman the police had been searching for handed herself in at the station.

Thankfully my client is more interested in the colour chart than the breaking news. I’m barely able to communicate, pointing out possible colours while trying to curtail my emotions.

The decision is proving impossible for the woman to make. ‘Highlights or colour? Highlights or colour?’ Hurry, I need to ring my husband. Eventually she decides to take my advice and go with the colour.

‘You’re going to love it,’ I say, walking to the press to prep the mixture. I check my phone again.

‘That client’s fucking mad?’ Sienna rushes in behind me. She’s holding her knees together, bent over trying not to piss herself laughing.

‘What did she say to you, you’ve been laughing ever since she sat down?’

‘She’s telling me about a tinder date she went on… there was some mistake… the young fella was only half her age. Jesus, the things she said to him, I’ll tell you later… she’s a scream.’

Dabbing her eyes dry, Sienna goes back out on to the floor. Her long green dress floats like an angel. How she manages to look a million dollars every time she comes to work is beyond me. Always the same, never wearing her worries in baggy shirts, stretchy leggings or half applied make-up. The phone beeps. Tom.

Ring me.