‘Hands?’ I repeat, holding up mine for inspection. Whilst not quite the claws of a crone, they could certainly do with attention.

‘Deep-nourishing serum is big news right now,’ the woman explains. And so it goes on, with the goodies stacking up rapidly – the toners and sheet masks and ampoules of joy, giving me an almost sexual frisson as I picture Andy’s face. Not because I’d ever want to do it with him again – I wouldn’t, even if he were the last man on earth, begging me with a million quid stuffed in a pillowcase. No, the source of my pleasure is in imagining how aghast he would be, if he could see me now – spending something akin to the monthly grocery budget on my addled face.

As I glide out of the store, clutching my crisp white paper carrier bag, it occurs to me that perhaps the woman’s rosy glow was in fact induced by the commission she was racking up rather than any personal skincare regime. But what the hell, she earned it, and I’m boosted – to the point at which I have already decided to arrange a little get-together tomorrow night.

So what if I’m now bankrupt? If I had to justify my spending – which I don’t, and never will have to ever again – I’d just say my hormones were thoroughly to blame.

Thursday, August 15

Isla is here for dinner on this warm summer’s evening, along with Penny and Hamish, her boat-dwelling boyfriend. My thinking was that we could sound out Penny about whether she’d be willing to offer her fashion expertise, and possibly even help come up with potential events to put on at the museum. Apparently, things are so dire, there needs to be some kind of urgent action plan.

Izzy was chuffed to be allowed to chop the vegetables for a huge goat’s cheese lasagne, and we have eaten at the garden table. Thankfully, there’s been no sighting of the Lesser Spotted Ludo tonight – and Izzy feels terribly grown-up to be allowed to stay up a little later than usual, on a school night too.

My plan, of course, is for Penny to be persuaded to go in for a meeting with the museum’s management team. ‘They’re really excited,’ Isla is telling her, when I reappear after taking a reluctant Izzy up to bed. ‘Obviously, you were a huge player in Seventies high street fashion – but there’s the Glasgow connection too. They’re thinking a fashion event could really work for us, and maybe Girl Friday could be a part of that. D’you have any original clothes from your shops?’

‘Oh, they’re all long gone,’ Penny says.

I look at her. ‘Really? Didn’t you keep any original pieces at all?’

She shakes her head. ‘It was a very long time ago, you know. We’re talking forty years, remember?’