‘So, business or pleasure?’

Jemima looked up to see the prosecco stewardess casually leaning on the seat in front.

‘Err… bit of both. Did a bit of work, a lot of drinking mimosas. I didn’t expect to like LA so much and now I keep thinking about…’ Jemima trailed off.

‘Hun, I get it,’ said the stewardess as she cooed a friendly welcome to a train of passengers shuffling down the aisle, ‘Seen that face a million times. Looking for a fresh start?’

Jemima shrugged. It was a thought that surfaced whenever things got tough. Extracting herself from troublesome situations had become her go-to solution and something of a speciality. Dad dies suddenly? Run away to university. Fall out with your boss? Become a struggling writer. Even in Brownies, the ceaseless pressure to acquire a sleeve full of badges had led her to quit and join the Sea Cadets. Of course all this only ever gave her temporary respite, like the moment between jumping out of a frying pan and into the bowels of a raging volcano. The reality was, university had been a nightmare, she’d almost lost her flat trying to make it as a writer and the Sea Cadets had only taught her one thing: she was a first class landlubber. But having relied on her vanishing skills for much of her forty-two years, Jemima didn’t know any other way even if she did leave other people’s misery in her wake. She ran her fingers through her hair, holding it in a tight bun as she overheated.

‘Fresh starts are good but… all that glitters is not gold. My cousin Bradley moved to Culver City and ended up joining the Latter Day Saints. Now he’s a missionary in Vanuatu. He’s had malaria four times,’ said the prosecco stewardess, taking a wistful sip from one of the glasses on her tray, ‘Anyhoo, I’m Susan. Yell if you need anything!’

Jemima watched Susan head to the galley kitchen, bemused.

She thought she’d got lucky finding a cheap flight home at late notice but she was beginning to see the cost – tangy prosecco and slightly bonkers cabin crew predisposed to over-sharing. In need of a distraction, she closed her eyes, transporting herself back to the sea views from Rebecca’s Santa Monica apartment. Just picturing those vast beaches made her feel better. From the moment she’d stumbled out of LAX airport into that LA sunshine, she’d felt a calm descend. Her father, a Philadelphia man, had always held a deep mistrust of Los Angelenos, in part, on account of ‘their teeth being too white’.

When Jemima had first arrived, she’d wondered if, aside from her ebony skin and long legs, she’d also inherited her dad’s mistrust. But though there were some dazzling dental displays and a few too many fairy lights everywhere for her liking, she’d felt an unmistakable sense of belonging. When she introduced herself as an author, even if the person hadn’t heard of her literary debut, Beverly Blake Investigates, they were so thrilled she was living her dream that she began to wonder why she wasn’t that enthused on her own behalf. And after a week in LA, her shoulders dropped and tension ebbed away. Far from being the devil’s playground for people with brilliant-white teeth, LA was a chilled-out city filled with artists and possibility. She loved it. And of course there was no Miles which made even an average city great. By that criterion even Milton Keynes was superb.