‘Minnie, you hear me?’ said her mum. ‘No drinking either; if I smell it on your breath tomorrow you won’t be allowed out again, we clear?’

‘Yes, Mum.’

A few minutes later she heard the door slam. Minnie walked over to the flat window with her towel wrapped around her. She looked down to see the hunched figure of her mother walking towards the Tube station, pulling her coat up around her ears against the cold.

They’d had a good day today, she and Mum. Will and Dad had been out at a car boot all day and Mum had been batch cooking for the Salvation Army bake sale tomorrow. She’d made a dozen chicken and veg pies and she’d let Minnie help. Baking was one of the few activities Minnie and her mother did together. Mum patiently taught her how to knead the pastry, then roll it out with just the right amount of flour. Today, Minnie had been in charge of the casings while Mum stewed the filling. ‘Well done; good, even thickness,’ her mother had said over Minnie’s shoulder. Her mother rarely gave compliments. Minnie had glowed with pride.

Her mum was softer somehow when she cooked, too busy in her own head to criticise. Sometimes, she even sang as she baked, she sounded happy. Today, while they were baking all those pies together, Minnie hadn’t thought about Hannah Albright once. Baking was like a holiday for her head from all the bad stuff.

As she stood by the window she felt nervous about going out. The knot in her stomach was still there. What if blondes didn’t have more fun? What if Hannah turned up? What if her new hair just drew more of the wrong kind of attention?

Up in the sky a single firework exploded, tendrils of light hung in the air leaving a shadow of brilliant white behind it in the grey, cloudy darkness. Something about that firework made Minnie feel hopeful; it wasn’t supposed to be there. Maybe it was planned for a bigger display at midnight and had been let off by mistake. That lonely firework, all the brighter for going out alone.

15 August 2020

‘What is this place we’re going to?’ asked Bev.

‘Hair by Clare,’ said Leila. ‘They do your hair in the proper fifties style, with curlers and a set.’

It was Saturday morning. Leila had booked for Bev, Minnie and Fleur to all have a hair trial ahead of the wedding in December. She had decided if they were going to be her bridesmaids, they would all have to embrace her favourite decade.