‘So, keeping my personal life off limits, what did you think of the venue?'

‘Fabulous! Really, really good. I just hope it's licensed for weddings.'

‘You could get Carrie to get married in a register office a couple of days before and then have a blessing at Somerby. It could look nearly like a proper wedding.'

‘I had thought of that and it's my back-up solution, but selling the idea to Carrie will be really difficult. It's just not traditional.'

‘But it's been done by a lot of celebs lately.'

‘I know, but I want to pursue the normal route first. If it's possible, it would be much the best.' She paused, knowing that she should now take time to thank Hugo for taking her to such a beautiful house. She bit her lip. 'Thank you so much for taking me to Somerby. It's really lovely.' There, it was done.

Hugo sighed again. He seemed a lot less cheery than he had been on the outward journey – depressed, almost. 'That's OK, Sarah. I am only too happy to help you. And Fen and Rupert, of course.'

‘How did you meet them?' With relief, Sarah steered their conversation off the rocks and into calm water. She could listen to Hugo go on about what Rupert got up to at school until they finally got home.

Bron was just locking the car, having put postcards about her mobile hairdressing service in all the local post offices in the area, and anywhere else who would put one up, when her phone rang. As she burrowed about for it she wondered if leaving the salon had been rash -she could spend more on fuel than she earned driving all over the country to do her work. But how could she have borne to go on working there? She'd be forever picturing her boss in a red nylon thong – not a pretty sight.

She found the phone at last. It was Roger's mother. 'Hello, Pat!' Bron tried to sound upbeat because she could tell that Pat was anything but.

‘Bron, I don't know what to say. Are you still speaking to me?'

‘Of course! Why shouldn't I be?'

‘Because of what that wretched boy has done. And I hear you've had to give up your job, too!'

‘Well-'

‘Have you found another one?'

‘Not yet. I've been quite busy and-'

‘Well, that Sasha will have to give you severance pay, all that sort of thing.'

‘You don't need to be so upset, Pat. You and I can still be friends. Not sure about Sasha,' she added, under her breath.

Pat was still riddled with guilt-by-association. 'But how, when my son has behaved so appallingly?’

Bron exhaled, quietly she hoped. 'Shall I come round?’

It was Pat's turn to exhale. 'Would you? I hate to ask, in the circumstances, but I've got an important do on tomorrow and I really need my hair doing. Not' – she went on hurriedly – 'that that's the only reason I want to see you. I hope you don't think that.’

Bron laughed. 'I'd love to come and see you and do your hair. We're friends. We must try and keep Roger out of it.'

‘Hmph! Sometimes I wish I could keep that boy out of my house! What a way to carry on!’

Bron was glad to be getting out of the house and if Pat paid for her hairdo, and she'd probably insist on it, it would give her a little petty cash to live on. Could she get enough weddings and clients to go properly freelance? she wondered. Or would she have to go further away and find another salon to work in? Carrie's wedding would certainly help.

It was both strange and familiar to park her car in Roger's parents' drive. His father would be at work and had he been home, Bron would have been far more reluctant to visit. She and Pat had always got on well, but Roger's father was another matter. Vince and Bron had never seen eye to eye.

Pat's arms opened to Bron at the same time as she opened the door. 'Lovie! How could he do that? He's such a silly boy!’

Bron returned the hug sincerely. 'We weren't right for each other really. We wouldn't have made each other happy ultimately, or why did he sleep with Sasha?’

‘Strumpet!' said Pat and Bron giggled.

‘That's a good word!'

‘A very satisfying one. I've been practising. Now come on in. I've bought your favourite biscuits; we can get it all off our chests. How long has he been having an affair with your boss?’

This simple question gave her a bit of a shock. 'I've no idea!' The word 'affair' implied it had been going on for some time. Had it, or had it been the first time? Something told her it hadn't. All the lies and deception that must have gone on made her humiliated in retrospect. She shuddered. 'Has she moved in, do you know?'

‘I think so.' Pat put her hand on Bron's arm. 'He's bringing her to lunch on Sunday. I insisted. She said she didn't want to come – I heard her in the background – but if you do the dirty on someone, you have to face up to your wrongdoing.’

Bron realised suddenly that Pat was far more upset about this than she was. 'Oh, Pat, let's have coffee and those biscuits. I'm fine about it now. I've got a lovely little cottage to rent – for not too much money – everything's lovely!’

Pat led the way to the kitchen where she clicked the kettle on. 'It's just like you to be brave about it, but he's behaved very badly.’

Pat's expression made Bron think she was about to send him round to her house to say sorry, as if he'd broken a window playing cricket or something.

‘Really, don't worry about it. It's fine.' Had Pat not been Roger's mother, Bron would have gone on to say it was a merciful relief not having to live with Roger any more. He was controlling, bad-tempered and not great in bed.

‘It's OK, really it is. Now what's this event you're going to? Are you happy with the colour? Or is it just a cut and blow-dry? I could come round early tomorrow if you like.'

‘Could you? That would be wonderful! It's this lunch thing with the Golf Club wives.’

Relieved to have got off the subject of Roger, Bron sat down at the kitchen table while Pat made coffee. 'What are "The Golf Club Wives"? It sounds like the title of a sex-and shopping blockbuster!'

‘Not quite as much fun as that, sadly, but pretty daunting. Vince wanted me to get involved with them in case any of the husbands are people he wants to get in with. We none of us play golf but we put on little social events between ourselves.’

There but for the grace of God go I, thought Bron as she nibbled oat and honey biscuits and sipped coffee. She could just imagine it – competitive fundraising with Women Who Lunched.

‘The thing is,' went on Pat, 'Mrs Bedlington, the chairperson-'

‘You have a chairperson? Golly!' muttered Bron.

‘-is quite a dominating woman and I would like to look my best for the occasion.'

‘I'll come upstairs and help you choose an outfit if you like. My friend Elsa – you know? The one who made the dresses for that big wedding, who had to be a stand-in bridesmaid? – well, Ashlyn's mother – Ashlyn was the bride, if you remember – well, Ashlyn's mother-'

‘I think I'm still following you,' said Pat, 'though it's not easy.’

Bron laughed and went on, 'Well, she made Elsa get her colours done. It was a present for being a last-minute bridesmaid. She made me go too. It was huge fun! There were three of us trying on jewellery. It was just what I needed…' Her voice tailed away. Pat already felt quite guilty enough without Bron rubbing it in. She changed the subject a bit. 'Getting people to give up wearing black is always a bit of a problem, apparently.’

Pat seemed totally confused. 'What do you mean, she got her colours done?'

‘Oh! Don't you know? It's a firm – well, a franchise, I suppose – called Colour Me Beautiful. They tell you what sort of colours you can wear.’

Pat humphed. 'It sounds a bit like Mrs Bedlington to me.’

‘No! It's not bossy, it's liberating! They take all your make-up off, or most of it, and then they hold all sorts of different colours against your skin and you can see which ones work and which don't.' Bron thought for a few seconds. 'Actually, it's not unlike choosing the right colours for people's hair. Some colours make people look like death and others make them glow.' She peered at Pat's hair for a moment. 'I think we could put a semi-permanent on yours, just for a bit of a lift. We haven't got time for foils and all that.'