‘It is crap – completely crap,’ he agreed, and closed the bedroom door behind him.

Philip’s words and the thought of Lawrence galvanised her into action. She pulled her very large make-up bag from the top of the dressing table and sat on the pink pouffe, before laying out all the products she intended to use, neatly and in rows. She liked doing it this way, looking at the array of colours, creams, lotions, eyeshadows, lipsticks, glittery powders and pencils for lip, lid and brow and then all of her brushes, puffs and sponges, which sat in an old pencil pot. There was a strict routine to putting on her make-up, it was artistry almost, and she took her time, settling for nothing less than painted perfection. It felt especially important tonight. The sound of Imagination’s ‘Body Talk’ filled the room as she prepared to transform from number three hundred and sixty-one into a goddess. Her dad was right: she needed to find out what she had in her pockets and make the very most out of it.

As she blotted her lipstick on a tissue from the box, her mum walked straight into her bedroom and took a seat on the edge of Bessie’s bed. She never showed the same courtesy as her dad, as if she believed there was nothing going on inside that room regarding which her contribution would not be entirely welcome. Bessie had already decided that when she and Lawrence went official, if he ever came up to her room, they would shift the chest of drawers to block the door. Sex in her own bed would be a very good thing; the memory of it would keep her warm when she was alone or chilly. Just the thought of his head on her pillow, his long, dark eyelashes that grazed his cheek with every blink and his mouth that twisted at one side in a lopsided smile that was to her beautiful, was enough to send a jolt of longing right through her bones.

‘I said, are you feeling better, love?’

‘Yes, Mum, a bit, but . . .’

‘Life goes on,’ her mum cut in.

‘I was going to say, I’m not going to let it stop me. There’ll be a way for me to get back on track.’

‘There absolutely will!’ her mum said, squeezing her shoulder. ‘You don’t want to phone Michelle and get her to come over and get ready with you?’

Bessie shook her head. ‘No.’ I need to think about what I want to say. I need to have the words straight in my head and I’ll practise my speech as I walk to the rugby club. ‘I think it’s best I meet her there.’

‘You look very pretty.’ Her mum studied her face.

‘Thanks.’ Bessie glanced in the mirror and yes, she did look pretty.

‘I can’t understand it.’ Her mum shook her head now and stared out of the window.