‘Oh, before I forget, Sonny says can you bring his present.’

‘Tell him no.’

‘Okayyy,’ she says, confused. She leaves. I watch her go.

#FROTHEH

The next evening I’m in bed after my column has gone up. I’m watching the comments and the likes. I’ve really sent her up in this one. I’ve even got a codename for her now. ‘Frotheh’. Or should I say, #Frotheh. After the way she pronounces ‘frotheh coffeh’. I felt mean coming up with that but then I thought about how embarrassed she makes me feel, and those texts, and I thought, she deserves it, and more. Anyway, it’s entertainment. I’ve written about how she was in Corrie and had one line and repeats it regularly after a few drinks – as well as all the impromptu singing she does in public, on the street, especially now in the run-up to Christmas.

Someone has commented:

She’s fucking insane

And I have liked it.

There’s a knock on my bedroom door. She comes in with a G&T. ‘Here you go, darling. Evening shade.’

I angle my phone away as I take the drink. ‘Thanks.’

She looks curiously at the phone and I can see the screen lighting up with more comments. I sip my drink and wait for her to leave the room. She gets the hint.

I look at the space she has been standing in and feel like I want to call her back. Her expectant face …

How dare she be expectant with me? It’s not fair.

She turns at the door. ‘These columns,’ she says. My stomach plummets. ‘Someone told me that the last one was … um, was about me?’

Like she hasn’t read it.

‘Possibly,’ I say. ‘Inspired by.’

‘I think we need to have a chat about what constitutes reality and what is fair and what is not fair.’

I feel positively cruel, then. Also incensed. ‘It’s the way it works. It can’t just be real because real isn’t enough to keep people reading. I only exaggerate for dramatic effect. You know about that. We aren’t so different, you and I.’

‘Mmmmmmm.’

‘You have no idea how hard I work.’

She looks on the verge of tears. I can’t bear it.

‘Look.’ I get out my laptop. I show her. ‘They’re a hit. There’s a comment here from a man who says you sound hilarious.’

She looks for a while. She scrolls. ‘Okay,’ she concludes. Her face brightens.

‘And,’ I say. She looks at me. ‘I know you were texting Art.’

She looks ashamed. ‘Truce?’ She sticks her hand out.

‘Truce,’ I say, shaking her hand.

‘I’ll never text Art again about you,’ she says. ‘I can promise you that wholeheartedly.’

‘Good.’

She sits down next to me on the bed and leans around my laptop.