Nicole felt her nail poke into the stockings as she yanked them all the way up. She looked down. Sure as hell, a run, a killer run, a ladder from ankle to thigh. She threw the robe back around herself, ran out to the kitchen, surveyed the damage – repaired it at top speed, with a glance at the green unblinking eye of the microwave-oven clock. Five more minutes she didn’t have.

Once back in the dubious sanctuary of her bedroom, she took another ten seconds of overdraft to stop, breathe, calm down. Her hands were gratifyingly steady as she found and put on a new pair of hose, a white blouse, and a dark green pinstripe suit that not only looked professional but also, she hoped, played up her eyes. The skirt was a bit snug but would do; she’d go easy on the Danish this morning, and leave the sugar out of her coffee – if she got the chance to eat at all. She slid into mocha pumps, pinned on an opal brooch and put in the earrings that went with it, and checked the effect. Not bad, but she was late, late, late. She still had to get the kids dressed, put on her makeup, and maybe even grab breakfast for herself. She was past morning mode by now, past even Panic Overdrive, and into dead, cold calm.

Kimberley knew she didn’t want to wear the Magic Mountain sweatshirt Nicole had picked out for her, but had no idea what she did want. Nicole had hoped to hold onto her desperate calm, but that drove her over the edge. “You figure it out,” she snapped, and left Kimberley to it while she went to deal with Justin. He didn’t care what he wore. Whatever it was, getting him into it was a wrestling match better suited to Hulk Hogan than a working mother.

After Nicole pinned him and dressed him, she went in search of Kimberley. Her daughter hadn’t moved. She was still standing in the middle of her pink-and-white bedroom, in her underwear, staring at a tangled assortment of shirts, pants, shorts, and skirts. Nicole felt her hands twitch in an almost irresistible urge to slap. She forced herself to stop and draw a breath, to speak reasonably if firmly. “We don’t have any more time to waste, young lady.” In spite of her best efforts, her voice rose. “Here. This shirt. These pants. Now.”