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a nearby rail and struts back into the changing room.

      ‘Pretty, isn’t she?’ the woman observes. ‘Lovely sense of style she’s got.’

      ‘Yes, she has.’ Hannah manages a smile.

      ‘Takes after you,’ the woman says kindly.

      ‘Thanks.’ Hannah falls silent, feeling deeply uncomfortable about taking credit for Daisy’s fashion sense. ‘Actually,’ she adds, ‘I’m not her mum.’

      ‘Oh?’

      ‘No, I’m her …’ Hannah tails off, wondering how to put it. Stepmum still doesn’t feel accurate; she fears she’ll never be remotely qualified to assume such a terrifyingly grown-up job title. ‘I’m sort of … seeing her dad,’ Hannah adds, realising that’s completely wrong too. They’re getting married, for God’s sake. They’ve chosen rings, booked the registry office and bar-cum-restaurant for a small party afterwards, and she’s bought that fat nurse abomination. They’re even planning a honeymoon somewhere down the line, although they have yet to book anything as Petra hasn’t come back to Ryan about when it might be ‘convenient’ to look after her own children. The cello comes first, naturally, taking Petra all over the world to give performances. Hannah imagines it strapped in the aeroplane seat beside her, being asked by a flight attendant whether it wants chicken or fish.

      ‘Oh, hell,’ the woman cries as her toddler breaks free from his buggy restraints and her daughter glides out of the changing room. ‘Right – we’re getting out of here.’

      ‘Can’t I have these trousers?’ the girl bleats.

      ‘I said you’ve got some at home. What d’you think I am, made of money?’ Manhandling her toddler back into his buggy, and starting to march away, the woman flings a quick glance back towards Hannah. ‘Enjoy your day with your, er …’

      ‘Thanks. You too.’ Hannah checks her watch as Daisy finally ambles towards her. ‘Wasn’t there anything you liked?’ she asks, now feeling horribly hot in the stuffy store.

      Daisy shakes her head. ‘Nah. But there is something …’

      ‘Oh, what’s that?’

      Daisy pushes back her hair and meets Hannah’s gaze. ‘You know for the wedding, right?’

      ‘Yes?’ Hannah says eagerly.

      ‘Well,’ Daisy fixes her with a defiant stare, ‘I’d like my ears pierced.’

      ‘Really? Well, I guess you’ll have to talk that over with your mum and dad.’

      ‘Oh,’ Daisy mutters as they make their way down the escalator.

      ‘Anyway, are you hungry yet? I’m starving …’

      ‘Yeah. A bit.’ They step off the escalator and squeeze their way through the buffeting crowds towards the exit.

      ‘The thing is,’ Daisy says, ‘I really need to get it done today.’

      ‘Well, I’m sorry,’ Hannah replies, ‘I can’t let you do that without your mum or dad saying it’s okay.’

      ‘But it’s my ears,’ Daisy shoots back, ‘and the thing is, if I get it done today, it’ll be all healed for the wedding and I’ll be able to take out the boring plain earrings and put in ones I like. ’Cause you’ve got to leave them in for six weeks. How long is it till the wedding?’

      ‘Er, six weeks.’ Hannah pushes the main door open, steps out of Primark and takes a big gulp of cool air.

      ‘See! I’ll have to get it done today.’

      ‘I … I’m just not sure, Daisy. It’s quite a big, significant thing. You might feel sick and queasy and one of your parents should …’

      ‘No, I won’t. I’m never sick. I have never actually been sick.’

      ‘Really?’

      Daisy shakes her head. They’ve stopped on the pavement next to a man who’s shouting that he can save everyone from all the greed and nastiness in the world. Hannah is tempted to ask if he can help out with the earring issue.

      ‘And it’s not a big thing,’ Daisy adds firmly. ‘It’s just two teeny holes and they use a gun.’

      ‘A gun?’ Hannah is trying to maintain a pleasant expression, which is becoming trickier as she recalls her own ears being pierced at sixteen, courtesy of a darning needle and a lump of cold potato held at the back of her lobe.

      ‘Yeah,’ Daisy says. ‘It’s really easy. Why don’t you phone Dad and ask him?’

      ‘I, er …’ Hannah pulls out her mobile. It doesn’t feel right, calling Ryan to confirm what she already knows; that he won’t allow it and, worse, it’ll imply that she’s incapable of handling the situation herself. She feels ridiculous now, having pictured the two of them trotting happily along Oxford Street, stopping off for cakes and Daisy realising that Hannah’s sole purpose isn’t to steal her father and ruin her young life after all.

      ‘Well, are you gonna phone Dad?’ she demands.

      ‘Okay. I’ll do that.’ Bristling with irritation now, Hannah calls Ryan’s mobile, which goes to voicemail. He’s not at home either, and she doesn’t bother leaving a message, because how pathetic would her voice sound, drifting out of the answerphone, wittering about earrings?

      ‘Claire’s Accessories,’ Daisy announces. ‘That’s where everybody has it done.’ Hannah smiles tensely. Then a brainwave hits her. Of course: Sadie will know what to do. Capable Sadie, who’s managing to live in that teeny village in the middle of nowhere without going mad, while raising not one but two babies and going to lunch parties. Hannah feels guilty now, being so distracted when her friend had called earlier. And if Sadie can’t offer a snippet of sage advice, then who can?

      Damn, she’s not picking up either. Probably at another lunch party by now. ‘Phone Mum,’ Daisy barks. ‘Mum’ll say it’s okay.’

      ‘Fine, but I have to get something to eat first, okay?’ Boldly, without any debate, she takes Daisy by the hand and whisks her into Prêt à Manger.

      Here, none of the sandwiches is deemed acceptable. A plain bread roll is chosen, even though it’s really offered to accompany soup (Daisy wrinkles her nose at Hannah’s suggestion of soup, as if she’s trying to trick her into consuming vomit).

      ‘Dad said I could have my ears done for the wedding,’ Daisy mumbles, picking a crumb off her lip.

      Hannah has an overwhelming urge to tip a large glass of chardonnay down her throat. ‘Well, we’ll see,’ she murmurs.

      ‘You’ve got your ears done,’ Daisy ventures as they leave.

      ‘Yes, Daisy, but I’m thirty-five! And I was sixteen when I had it done and you’re only ten. There’s a big difference.’

      ‘If you don’t let me have it done,’ Daisy growls as they head outside, ‘I’m not coming to your wedding.’

      Hannah stares at her. ‘You really mean that? You wouldn’t come to your own dad’s wedding because of ears?’

      Daisy shrugs. ‘No.’

      ‘But he’d be so upset! Can you imagine how he’d feel if you weren’t there?’

      Daisy juts out her chin. ‘I want to wear earrings at the wedding.’

      ‘What about clip-ons?’ Hannah suggests desperately. ‘There were loads of nice clip-ons in New Look. Come on, we’ll go back and choose you a pair …’ The thought of braving that store twice in one day is beyond horrific. But Hannah is prepared to spend the whole damn night in New Look if it’ll settle the earring issue.

      ‘I don’t want clip-ons.’

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