‘I’m not pissed.’ Actually, that wasn’t entirely true. I hadn’t eaten anything apart from painkillers since God knew when. ‘Don’t be silly. True professional, me. But I might just have a quick top-up before –’

Amanda took my arm, gliding me swiftly through the door toward the studio. She was like a little wiry foxhound; I was clenched between her teeth and she was not going to let me get away again. I debated bashing her over the head with a crutch and making a run for it. A stumble for it.

‘No time, darling.’ Her headset cackled. ‘In the break, maybe.’ She assessed me with speed. ‘You should have been to make-up.’

Daisy appeared in the corridor, checking her mobile with overwhelming indolence, and Amanda glared at her.

‘That phone should be off, young lady. You’re very pale, you know, Maggie.’

‘Pale and uninteresting,’ I joked. But nobody laughed. Anxiety set in again.

‘Amanda.’ This was the point of no return. I took a deep breath, pulled her to one side. ‘I’m really not sure – I really don’t think I can do this, actually.’

‘Course you can, darling. Gosh, if I had a pound for everyone who nearly changed their minds before we started, I’d be a millionaire! And they all come off loving it. All wanting more.’

‘This is me, Amanda, remember?’ I muttered. The old platitudes would not wash, of that I was quite sure. Pissed or not.

She had the grace to flush slightly. ‘Look, I’m going to get Kay up here with some blusher for you. And you,’ she poked Daisy with her clipboard, ‘get Maggie another drink for her nerves. Stick some wine in a water-bottle. Just don’t let any of the other guests see, for Christ’s sake.’

We were at the studio door. We were in the studio. It was so hot in here already. Sally had taken the floor now to do her bit. The audience was laughing at some feeble joke. They loved it, lapped it up. Charlie rushed in, rushed to my side. ‘All right, Mags?’ No one ever called me Mags, least of all Charlie. Unless …

‘Oh, you know,’ I grimaced. ‘Fine and dandy.’ I imagined slapping my thigh like a principal boy.

Charlie smiled, his teeth shining brilliantly white under the bright lights. ‘Just remember, darling, you’re going to get closure now. And that’s what you need.’

‘Closure,’ I repeated like a well-schooled parrot. ‘What I need.’

Headlines from the days after the accident suddenly flashed up on the studio monitors. My heart began to race as I was forced to read them. The Sun screamed ‘CRASH COACH CARNAGE’; the Express enquired politely ‘HORSES ON THE MOTORWAY: WHO IS TO BLAME?’; the Mail screeched ‘GOVERNMENT’S ROADS CAUSE TRAGEDY’.