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‘I don’t know yet. Show me some ideas.’

Her face lights up. ‘Don’t shoot me down, Athena, but I’ve always thought you could really carry off a pixie cut with your face shape. It won’t completely cut out the silver, but it will soften it and in a few more weeks, we can trim again and get it out fully. If that’s what you want.’

That’s rather more extreme than I had in mind. ‘I don’t know,’ I say. ‘I don’t have the body curves to compensate. Wouldn’t I just look like a man?’

‘It’s because you’re the shape you are that I think it would suit you,’ she enthuses. ‘It would show off your long neck and your cheekbones much more than your current style. If you were more curvaceous, it would actually work less well because it might make your head look disproportionately small in comparison to the rest of you. Do you see what I mean?’

She pulls out her phone and taps for a while before handing it to me. On screen are a number of pictures of short-haired women and I have to admit that the style does seem to suit them. Am I ready to do something that radical, though? I’ve had long hair since I was little, and I’ve always been rather proud of it. But maybe now is the time for a completely new Athena, to shake off the Tims and Nathans of this world.

‘Fuck it,’ I say. ‘Do your worst.’

‘Really?’

‘Really.’

Lucy gives a little squeal of delight before leaning forwards and wrapping her arms around my shoulders from behind.

‘You won’t regret this, I promise,’ she breathes. ‘I’m going to make you look fabulous! And it’ll also give plenty of time for you to tell me this long story about your poor choices.’

* * *

It’s a little over two hours later when I finally emerge into the chilly winter air. Without the curtain of hair to protect it, I feel the cold instantly on the back of my neck, but I’m too elated to care. I’m blonde once again and, although it was a shock seeing my long silver locks being cut away so brutally, Lucy was absolutely right. It’s going to take some getting used to, but I do really like my new style. My head feels lighter, not just because I’ve lost my mane, but because I genuinely feel this is a fresh start for me. No more being Tim’s victim. No more being Nathan’s fool.

Lucy had listened attentively as I’d told her the story about Nathan and, when I finished, her opinion was typically succinct.

‘Wanker,’ she’d declared forcefully, keeping her voice just low enough so that the other customers in the salon wouldn’t hear. ‘Men like that should have their balls cut off to stop them breeding. There are already far too many of them in the world. Kudos to you for calling him out.’

‘The only thing I still don’t get is why he’d block his fiancée,’ I’d told her. ‘Nor why she’d be sounding like she was trying to get back in his good books in the messages I saw.’ Although I’ve tried to push Nathan firmly out of my mind, this has been bothering me and I can’t seem to set it aside. ‘I mean, if I was pregnant and my fiancé just walked out and blocked my number, the only messages I’d be sending him would be ones telling him not to bother coming back.’

‘Yes,’ Lucy had countered after thinking about it for a while. ‘But if we believe him about her being controlling, maybe she was playing nice to try to lure him back so she could take charge of whatever narrative she wanted to create.’

‘Why would she want to do that, though? By deserting her, he’s given her carte blanche to cast him as the villain of the piece and her the helpless victim. Job done.’

‘Perhaps she knew she’d overplayed her hand, and she just wanted the messages as evidence that she’d tried to do the right thing and he’d rebuffed her. I mean, leaving him aside for a moment, she does sound like a very unpleasant character.’

I’d smiled at that. ‘Mm. Then they deserve each other, don’t they.’

I’m still mulling the whole call-blocking thing when I arrive at Mum and Dad’s house a little while later. I’ve barely pressed the bell before the door swings open and Mum is wrapping me in a huge hug.

‘Athena darling,’ she gushes. ‘I’m so relieved to see you home safe and sound, and oh my God!’ She steps back, placing her hands firmly on my cheeks and tilting my head forward until my chin is resting on my chest.

‘What are you doing?’ I ask her.

‘Looking for the wound,’ she says, sounding agitated as she starts to feel my scalp. ‘I knew this would happen. Why didn’t you tell us you’d been attacked? Tell me it wasn’t a machete. It was, wasn’t it? Someone attacked you with a machete. You hear about these things on the news. I told you it wasn’t safe.’

‘Mum, I literally have no idea what you’re talking about,’ I say to my stomach while she continues to run her fingers frantically through my hair, doubtless ruining the chic style that Lucy took such pains to create.

‘That’s why they shaved your head!’ she exclaims, as if I’m being particularly obtuse. ‘They have to cut off the hair to get proper access to stitch up the wound. Oh, my poor, poor daughter. We should never have let you go.’ She sounds like she’s actually tearing up.

‘Mum,’ I say, wrenching my head out of her unexpectedly firm grasp. ‘Nobody has attacked me, OK? I just fancied a change of style, and Lucy suggested this.’

‘Lucy?’ Mum sounds, if anything, even more horrified. ‘Are you telling me Lucy did this to you?’

‘Before you ring her up to tear her off a strip, I fully consented.’

‘But why? Your hair was one of your best features.’

‘Thanks, Mum!’