‘Almost. Now I’ve created this complicated past, she wants one final, dark secret to tie it together.’

‘No sweat. One of those girls is bound to have something depraved lurking in their pasts.’

Jemima grimaced at his judgement but then wavered as once again, Simi’s stalker story barged its way to the forefront of her mind. It was ideal and would give Eve exactly what she wanted. It was dark, had edge and motivated so much of Beverly’s new backstory but it was also a step too far.

‘That sounds fantastic!’ Miles whispered in awe before Jemima had even finished explaining.

She began to feel woozy. He was right. It was fantastic in an awful but perfect way. But if she went for it, she would be done. Yes, the book would be finished but so would her friendships.

‘They will hate me for this. Chance, a friend of mine, said it’s too harsh.’

‘Blimey, you showed an unfinished manuscript to someone? They must be special. What have you done with the real Jemima Abeson?’ snorted Miles. ‘My dear, if you’ve written Beverly as an interfering know-it-all or hopeless love puppy who dates duds and the girls recognise themselves in that, that’s a good thing. Sometimes honesty is necessary.’

Jemima repositioned herself on her bed, drinking in Miles’s words. That was what Chance had said but coming from Miles, the words felt less like sage advice and more like scheming justifications.

‘Even if that were true, who am I to put their past in print?’

‘Jem-Jem, what kind of friend would Simi be if she didn’t donate that story to you? Think about how you’ve supported her career over the years. The money, the time learning lines. For Christ’s sake, you’ve given her a place to live, rent-free… She owes you.’

Jemima rubbed her temples. Miles truly was a master of spin.

‘I’ve got to go,’ said Jemima, hanging up before Miles could respond.

She fired up her laptop and began typing, her breath heavy as words poured onto the page.

Chapter 33

Meagan

Meagan took a bracing gulp of her afternoon coffee and looked around her freshly painted but still unfurnished office. If it weren’t for the girls she wouldn’t have got this far and so for that, she was thankful. However, for the ongoing headache Simi was giving her, she was not. She checked her emails then texts. Not a dicky bird from Simi since her Cake audition that morning. That’s gratitude for you, Meagan sighed. She perched herself on the filing cabinet she’d borrowed from the PR company up the hall, her coffee mug precariously balanced on a pile of actors’ headshots. Every week forty more arrived in the post from thespian hopefuls. They weren’t to know Meagan already had her dream team, twenty-three comics – and one actress, their headshots mounted on her new headshot wall. Her eyes drifted to Simi’s photo, a black-and-white portrait that was damn near faultless, even if Meagan did say so herself. She’d directed the photo shoot and yes, her first impulse had been to do what she does with her comedians and have Simi mug for the camera in a charming, post-watershed, yet approachable way. However, in the end, Simi had educated her on what was actually required of an actor’s headshot and the end results were stunning. They captured Simi’s kindness and vulnerability but also her underlying tenacity. Meagan studied the photo as a realisation dawned. If Simi hadn’t intervened, this image of her would never have existed. Casting directors would never have seen her true essence and that would have been because of Meagan. She suddenly felt a heaviness. Did she really know what she was doing when it came to managing Simi? Acting was a whole new ball game and one she was in danger of messing up with all her interfering. She paused mid-sip of her coffee as a sobering thought coalesced. Was the reason she didn’t need to intervene with her comedians because they were doing well or were they doing well because she wasn’t interfering? The very notion made her nauseous.