‘No, I bring it to you, unless you’re not hungry,’ said Kelly about to move on.

‘No, no. I am. Umm, I’ll just have fruit and porridge… with some seeds. Aaaaand,’ said Simi pretending to ponder, ‘a bacon and egg sandwich with ketchup.’

‘Cool,’ said Kelly scribbling shorthand on her pad. ‘Also make-up are ready for you so if we could get you in your costume that’d be great.’

‘Copy that,’ said Simi with an unnecessary salute.

Kelly smiled before disappearing off to the next trailer.

‘Make-up are ready for me,’ Simi mimicked as another delighted squeal burst from her. Quickly gathering herself, she pulled her freshly pressed medieval tunic from its hanger. ‘Okay, one cake, coming up.’

Simi ogled the huge spread of salads and food warmers brimming with all kinds of deliciousness. She’d been waiting in her trailer fully made up and in costume for so long it was lunch time. With a full plate, Simi stepped onto the dining truck and looked around for her fellow kitchen wenches who she’d met in make-up that morning. Joining a new set was always daunting so having a mini-tribe made the day just a little easier. Having spotted them she headed over but as she was almost upon them, she noticed a familiar face towards the back of the truck. Without her usual nails, lashes and weave, she looked different but there was no mistaking, it was Sandra Scott. Sitting alone, picking at her food, she was far from the ray of sunshine that burst into audition rooms dazzling everyone. Today Sandra looked more like the shadow than the sun. Simi took a deep breath and shuffled between the tables towards her. She passed a huddle of electricians complaining about overtime, the director chewing his camerawoman’s ear off about their next shot and the make-up team laughing naughtily at an in-joke. Finally she reached Sandra.

‘Hey,’ said Simi.

Sandra looked up. ‘Simi?’ she said, trying to raise a smile. ‘You’re on this too? That’s fantastic.’

‘Yeah. Well, I was just coming over to say hi,’ Simi said turning to join her kitchen posse.

‘Fair enough,’ said Sandra, her voice weak. ‘Cameron said I was to sit by myself anyway.’

Simi paused. ‘Why?’

This was meant to be a dream gig not a bullet to dodge. She was intrigued.

‘Because she’s decided my character is a loner,’ Sandra said jabbing at a tomato while discreetly wiping away tears.

Simi set down her tray opposite Sandra, no longer intrigued but concerned. ‘She shouldn’t be making choices for your character. That’s not fair.’

Sandra rested her head in her hand. ‘She never stops. That’s why we’re overrunning. The director tells me one thing then she says another. It’s like I’m a puppet, The Sooty and Sweep Show but instead of Matthew Corbett with his hand up my arse, it’s bloody Cameron Christiansen.’

Simi offered Sandra her napkin to wipe her eyes, knowing all too well what it was like being bombarded with unsolicited advice.