‘What the hell did you drink last night?’ I ask, wetting some tissues and handing them to her. She shakes her head from side to side, eyes red, face green. An alien on the floor of the staffroom toilet.

My heart goes out to her. I have been here, sitting on this floor, apologizing to my helpful crew who tried to pull me back on board. The words, sorry, sorry, sorry uttered a hundred times. I always promised myself I’d never ever drink again. It’s been a while since I felt like that, too long maybe. But I was that soldier. So I won’t judge Anna. She is my colleague who needs my help keeping her hair away from the puke.

‘Is there anything I can get you?’ I hand her a bottle of water from my bag. The thoughts of drinking it make her gag. ‘Take a few deep breaths, Anna, you’ll be fine in about three days.’

‘Fuck off,’ she manages to mutter.

‘Ah, feeling better already?’ I giggle, trying to coax her back to normal, to bring a bit of that gothic pale back to her face. ‘Late night?’

Without answering, she pulls herself upright and drags herself to the mirror on the far wall. Eyes open wide, Anna stares into the glass.

‘Am I going to die?’ she says.

‘I don’t think so, Anna, but I wouldn’t bet on it, it’s only Tuesday.’

A sarcastic smile creeps onto her face. She turns away from the mirror and rests her hands on the counter behind her. Her face is snow white now, more familiar.

‘What do you mean by that?’

‘Nothing,’ I say. ‘I mean nothing, I’m just joking.’ Anna can be so moody, it’s impossible to know how she’ll take anything you say. But she’s no pushover. If she doesn’t agree with you or like what you’re saying, she’ll pull you up on it. She’s never trying to keep anyone happy, not even herself.

I didn’t mean to give Anna the impression I was judging her. Anna can do what she likes. In fact, at the moment I wish I was her, twenty-one again. No obligations to anyone but myself. Hangovers on a Tuesday… bring them on. No major money worries or a teenager who might be hiding something, a husband who definitely is. Then, an irrational thought crashes into my brain. Christ, I hope Tom’s not having an affair.

Believing Anna to be capable of looking after herself from here on out I head for the door to begin my day, cutting, curling, colouring – whatever the client wants, the client gets.

Anna splashes water on her face then wipes it dry with a tissue. When she turns to lift her head, I see it.