I raise my eyebrows. ‘No point in washing all that hair when you’re only going to have a fraction of it left.’ I comb it through, plait it and tie it off with bands before reaching for my scissors. I realise everyone in the salon is now watching us. A couple of customers have their phones out and are videoing the event. Cassie winks at them in the mirror. But up close I can see her swallow in anticipation. ‘Ready?’ I ask.

She nods, and her fists clench in her lap. For once, Cassie Barrington is unable to speak. She blows out a breath as I start to cut.

Once it’s done, everybody cheers. Cassie moves her head back and forth, trying to get used to the missing weight. ‘Okay?’ I ask.

‘Yeah. It feels so weird. My neck’s cold.’

‘You’d better invest in some warm scarves then; there’s lots more to come off yet!’ I send her to the rear of the salon to get her remaining hair washed and when she returns, she’s back to her excited self again. I settle her in her seat and start combing and snipping.

‘I just realised, it must be coming up to your ten-year wedding anniversary,’ she says, eying me in the mirror, occasionally glancing at what my scissors are doing.

‘It’s on Friday actually.’ I try not to think about the fact that my planning of it has almost ground to a halt. Madeline still hasn’t got back to me about the cake and the decorations and she was also going to help me with the room layout. I still haven’t put together a playlist, and I need to try on my dress and fit in time for Becky to do my hair. And aside from all that, my trust in my husband is still at an all-time low, despite the fact that on the surface we’ve kissed and made up.

‘This Friday? Nice.’ Cassie pauses and reaches for her glass. ‘Are you doing anything special for it? Ten years is a big deal.’

As she sips her water, I reluctantly tell her about the upcoming party, praying she doesn’t ask for an invitation. If she comes, I just know I’ll spend the whole evening being annoyed that she’s there. Plus, everyone will be gawking at her and she’ll end up being the centre of attention as per usual. I realise my thoughts are mean-spirited and uncharitable, but I can’t help them.

‘Ooh, a party at the Regis. Sounds like a laugh. Is all the old gang going to be there?’

‘Not really,’ I reply, trying desperately to think of a way to change the subject. But my mind is coming up empty.

‘What about Lou Schiavone? And Danny and Will?’

‘Oh, well, yes. They’re coming.’

‘I haven’t seen them in ages.’