‘They don’t have to judge her mental stability in the papers!’ says Becky, tears pricking her eyes. ‘Like somehow it, and therefore she, is to blame for the thing that’s made her feel bad. She doesn’t deserve to have this splashed about everywhere. Nobody will hire her again.’

Damaged, damaged, damage.

Done with this body.

The thoughts come despite Becky’s resistance.

She takes a deep breath and tries to swallow back her tears and anger.

‘Mum? Are you OK? Can you even hear me? Oh my God, why are you crying?’

She hates herself. She thinks of the miserable-looking girl on the kitchen floor pinned underneath Matthew. She sees now that she was pushing him away and yes, he pinned her arm back, holding her down at the wrist. Now Becky cries for her. She cries and she cries and she cries and thinks she must do something, she must do something about all this.

‘I’m gonna call Dad,’ says Maisie.

‘Don’t. I’m OK.’

‘You’re being weird.’

‘I just feel really sad for her. And angry. She didn’t cause this situation. A man decided to talk about her. It’s not fair.’

Becky puts a palm over her mouth, gasping silently as a piece of the past dislodges and slips inside her. Who is she to judge when she did the very same thing?

She crammed the gap in her history with the most readily available story. Inside her mind she condemned Scott for a crime without either trial or evidence, and she thinks, at speed, the thoughts crash into themselves, she must at least try and get that evidence now. What if she followed that blue-veined line to his office and tore the fucking tuxedo that he’s planning on wearing to his awards ceremony right off its hanger? Stamped and spat on it? Would it help her live her life in peace to know what the truth of all of it is? Whatever the fall-out, surely it’s worth risking for peace of mind?

As Maisie makes the finishing touches to the table before the guests arrive, she pushes her phone into Becky’s hand. ‘Sorry, Mum, but there’s more.’

Someone has got hold of a picture of Becky, Sharon, Emilia and Matthew eating together at the window table of the restaurant, laughing and joking.

Hadn’t Matthew talked about a private room? Instead, they’d been led to a table at the front of the restaurant.

The female employee and newly minted producer, the maverick female director with impeccable feminist credentials, and the celebrated young actress making waves in highbrow cinema. Sitting with Matthew. Unwittingly vouching for him, every time they laugh and pass food to one another.

Chapter 16