Fiona Gibson - The Great Escape - The laugh-out-loud romantic comedy from the summer bestseller

‘How about this?’ she asks, holding up a stripey top with an ostentatious bow on the front.

Daisy cringes. ‘No thanks.’

‘Or this?’ Hannah indicates a denim mini-skirt. Daisy shakes her head and moves swiftly on, as if Hannah’s offered her a peach twinset.

In hot pursuit, but trying to appear calm, Hannah begins to feel redundant and foolish. She thinks about Sadie, in the country, nipping off to lunch parties with her babies in tow. She’d know how to handle Daisy. She’d have chosen her something – Sadie knows instinctively what goes with what – and by now they’d be giggling away in a café, a cluster of carrier bags at their feet. Someone biffs Hannah in the ribs with a rucksack, sending her staggering sideways into a rack of handbags adorned with gleaming buckles and chains and, in one case, a plastic lizard. She loses sight of Daisy, her heart racing until she pops into view again. Daisy’s sour expression suggests that she’s being dragged down the poultry aisle of a supermarket, not being given the run of a fashion emporium.

They make for Zara, where Daisy grudgingly tries on a couple of outfits that don’t fit, then they head to the kids’ section at Primark, which is even more crowded than New Look. ‘I’m gonna try these on,’ she announces, having amassed an armful of clothes.

‘Great. I’ll wait by the changing room, okay? In case you want to come out and show me anything.’

Daisy frowns at her. ‘I’ll be all right.’

‘Yes, I know you’ll be fine, I just meant if you wanted, um, a second opinion …’ But Daisy has whipped into the changing room, and all Hannah can do is plonk herself on a small plastic stool and resist the temptation to text Ryan: HAVING TOTALLY CRAP TIME. COMING HOME NOW. She desperately wants to phone Sadie back, but what would she say? Admitting how bleak things really are would mean facing up to the fact that she doesn’t have the faintest idea about how she intends to carry off this stepmother lark.

Hannah waits patiently on the stool for what feels like a week. She can actually feel herself ageing, her skin shrivelling and her bones beginning to creak. Nearby, a leggy woman in tight jeans is having an altercation with her teenage daughter. ‘You’ve got trousers just like those at home,’ the woman snaps. She’s gripping the handles of a buggy containing a screaming toddler.

‘Wanna go,’ he keeps yelling. ‘Wanna go home NOW.’ It’s a sentiment Hannah can sympathise with entirely.

‘They’re different , Mum,’ the girl declares. ‘These are a much brighter blue.’

‘Yes,’ her mum replies, ‘because the ones at home have been washed.’

‘So they’re all faded and that’s why I need new ones …’

‘Go on then, try them on …’

‘Want Daddy!’ the toddler wails. With a sigh, the woman parks the buggy beside Hannah and sinks down onto the stool next to her.

‘How come we mums end up spending so much of our lives sitting outside changing rooms?’ she says with a wry smile.

‘I know,’ Hannah says. ‘I think she must be trying on everything at least twice.’ Daisy reappears briefly, grabs a few more items from 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.