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‘From what I hear, people with anger issues rarely change.’ I don’t mean to raise my voice, but for goodness sake – she wastherein court. She heard all the details.

Tom’s head snaps in our direction, and I lower my voice to a whisper. ‘Tom still has nightmares about Olly. He’s terrified of him, and rightly so.’

‘I know you’ve both been through the wringer,’ says Margaret. ‘I know he did wrong. More than wrong. But forgiveness—’

‘As long as I’m still breathing, Olly is coming nowhere near my son,’ I say. ‘Tom doesn’t want to see his father. And it’s his right to decide. Social services and the courts assured us of that. There is no way I’m setting up visitation. I’m getting organised. The house is coming to order. I’m doing everything on my own. We’re leaving the bad times behind us.’

‘Maybe in time you can forgive,’ says Margaret.

‘Forgive?’ I snap. ‘You know what happened to Tom under Olly’s care. I’ll never forgive him. Or myself.’

I break down then, words choking in my throat.

Margaret looks at her white fingers, clenched tight around her tea mug. I know she feels bad about Olly’s upbringing. ‘I’m sorry I brought it up,’ she says. ‘It was thoughtless. You’re right. You can’t forgive and forget. Not after what he did.’

On the way home, we stop at the shopping precinct. There is a little pharmacy here, next to a flower shop.

I’m often picking up bits from the pharmacy, but this time I buy something new – a box of platinum-blonde peroxide.

We’ve moved house. I’ve changed my clothes. Cut my hair. Now it’s time for something bolder.

It’s only a change in hair colour. But it symbolises something bigger.

I am a new person without Olly. Capable. Confident.

This is a fresh start.

Kate

6.38 p.m.

Mascara. Should it be all stiff and gritty like this? Does makeup have a sell-by date? I suppose I haven’t used it in a while. Probably not since university, now I come to think about it. Oh well.

And this lipstick … it’s bubble-gum pink, given to me by a blonde friend years ago. I don’t think it suits me, but I’m not about to go andbuya lipstick. I only ever wear it a few times a year – today being one such special occasion.

Happy Birthday, Kate. Twenty-six today.

Monday isn’t the ideal day for a birthday but Col and I are making the best of it with a rare night out.

I assess my reflection in the work toilet mirror.

Harsh strip-lighting, coupled with a lack of windows, gives my face a ‘cyber ghost’ effect, turning my skin ash-white and eyebrows see-through. It’s impossible to see where ‘plain’ ends and ‘too much makeup’ begins.

Col, of course, is unlikely to notice my makeup. He notices very little about my appearance, except when I’m wearing a particular green jumper he likes – one that’s tight around the bosom.

Right. Makeup (badly) done. Now to change in the toilet cubicle.

I can’t use the extra-large disabled cubicle, since I’m not disabled. So I opt for the normal-sized one and end up noisily bumping my elbows and knees against walls, trying to climb into my dress.

Yes, I’m wearing a dress.

But it’s just a plain shift with no patterns or embellishments.

I don’t have any sheer or tan tights, so I’m wearing the same thick, black tights I wear to work, coupled with flat black sandals. Technically, the sandals are summer sandals and should be worn with sheer or no tights. But they are the nearest I have to going-out shoes.

I think I can get away with it. It’s nice having a husband with low standards. He’ll be delighted just to see me showing my legs.

Right.