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‘Oh, don’t be like that. You know what I mean. Your hair was always so pretty and you looked after it so nicely. At least you did until you dyed it and chopped it all off.’ Her eyes narrow. ‘Are you having a psychotic episode? Is that what this is?’

‘What?’

‘You know, like that American singer girl who chopped off all her hair and went on the rampage.’

‘Do you mean Britney Spears?’

‘That’s her.’

‘No, Mum. I’m not having a psychotic episode and, before you went charging in there like some out-of-control combine harvester, my hair actually looked quite chic.’ I reach up with my hands and start smoothing it down, hoping to minimise the damage, just as Dad appears from his study.

‘What’s all the commotion?’ he asks. ‘Oh, hello, Athena. Good trip?’

‘Hi, Dad. Yes, it was fine, thank you.’

‘So fine, she came home and felt the need to mutilate herself,’ Mum interjects. ‘Look at her hair, Martin!’

Dad sighs. ‘Not this again. What am I supposed to be seeing this time?’

‘It’s gone,’ Mum tells him in the kind of tone that you’d use if you’d just found your car had been stolen off your driveway.

‘So it has,’ Dad agrees mildly. ‘A new style, Athena?’

‘Yes.’

‘I like it. Very smart. The Spartans would definitely approve. In Sparta, women would traditionally shave their heads as part of the pre-marriage rituals and then wear their hair short after marriage.’

‘Sounds like Britney would have fitted right in,’ I say to Mum.

‘Oh, for goodness’ sake,’ she huffs. ‘You’re impossible, the pair of you.’

As we follow Mum down the hallway to the kitchen, I glance at Dad. He’s clearly enjoyed winding her up again as his eyes are twinkling with amusement. Sometimes, I have no idea what my parents see in each other, and Mum does drive me insane periodically, but it’s good to be home nonetheless.

26

‘Oh, Athena, I am sorry. What a p-r-1-c-k.’ Hebe has never been one for bad language and, on the rare occasions she feels she has to use it, always spells it out, substituting numbers for letters where she can, as if that somehow makes it less shocking.

‘It’s OK,’ I tell her. ‘Well, it isn’t really because I was starting to think there might be something between us, but there’s no way I could be with a man like that.’

‘No, it’s a huge red flag. Still, it’s encouraging that you’re putting yourself out there.’

‘I’m not sure I’d describe finding one man attractive as “putting myself out there”.’

‘But it’s a start. If you found Nathan attractive, there must be other men out there you’d like who don’t have his, umm, flaws. Maybe you should sign up for one of the apps.’

‘Absolutely not.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because they’re basically a meat market for weirdos. If I had a pound for every one of my friends who’d signed up to a dating app, only to receive a load of dick pics, I’d be a rich woman.’

‘They can’t all be weirdos. My friend Sasha met her husband online, and he’s lovely.’

‘Then he’s the exception that proves the rule. Most of them are weirdos, and I don’t have the time or the inclination to sift through hundreds of profiles, most of which are completely fictitious.’

‘Fair enough.’ She takes a sip of her tea and looks at me thoughtfully. ‘What about Trevor?’ she asks after a while.

‘Trevor?’