‘Mmm.’ Bessie thought it best not to disclose that her mum thought Michelle’s mum was a bit ‘relaxed’ in her approach to parenting. ‘Shit!’ Bessie had momentarily lost her concentration and, while considering her friend’s question, pressed down a little too firmly. She dropped the razor beneath the soap-scummed water and watched in horror as a neat row of dark beads of blood bloomed on her shin. She sloshed water on to them and watched as the beads very quickly grew into three large splats before forming a single persistent strawberry-coloured trickle.

‘Urgh!’ Michelle yelled, for the second time in so many minutes, seemingly finding nothing wrong in sharing suddy, hairy water with her friend, but the addition of blood was apparently quite repulsive to her. ‘You’ve cut your leg!’

‘Thanks, Cagney and Lacey, I can see that.’ It stung.

There was a gentle knock on the door. ‘You all right in there, lovey?’ her mum asked. ‘Thought I heard a kerfuffle?’

‘No kerfuffle, Mum, all good. Just cut my leg a bit.’ She pulled a face, worried that she might be in trouble and doubly worried about being scolded in front of her friend.

‘What do you mean, you’ve cut your leg? How have you done that in the bathroom?’ Her mum’s tone carried the beginnings of frantic.

‘It’s okay, Mrs Worrall – it’s not too bad,’ Michelle said reassuringly.

The pair of them stifled their giggles and, with razors held aloft, threw their heads back to laugh silently towards the ceiling.

‘Why are you in there with her, Michelle? What are you two up to? Can you open the door a sec, please, girls?’ It was phrased as a question, but her stern manner and clipped tone left Bessie in no doubt that this was an instruction.

Michelle hitched her top lip and made a face towards the door. Bessie wanted to laugh again but felt the pull of loyalty. She grabbed the hand towel from the metal loop by the sink and held it to her shin before hobbling to the door and opening it.

‘Hi, Mrs Worrall!’ Still in her knickers, Michelle waved from her perch on the corner of the tub.

‘Hello, dear. What are you doing, apart from ruining my hand towels?’ She looked down. ‘Have you been shaving your legs?’ she asked a little curtly.

Bessie nodded and bit the inside of her cheek, embarrassed at her mum’s tone.

‘For the love of God, Bessie! I told you not to! You have fine down that’s not noticeable and, once you’ve shaved it, it grows back thicker and then you have to get rid of it! Fancy doing that on your birthday, of all days,’ she tutted.

Bessie couldn’t figure out why it was worse to shave her legs on her birthday rather than on any other day.