But now Becky struggles to remember those lessons as she affects to study the newspaper carefully. There is her picture – at the beginning of the second row: an old black-and-white shot, taken from an online graduation brochure for an evening class in film-making at the local university. It’s woefully out of date but up until now there’s been no reason for her picture to be on the internet at all. In this picture, her hair is shorter, her eyes less lined, her choice of clothes still resolutely teenage. The woman she is now hides behind long hair and slightly better clothes, instead of baggy clothes and walls.

‘God. I’ve aged badly,’ Becky says, trying for a laugh. ‘I can’t believe you’ve spent money buying this paper. You’re funding trash. This is a paper that used to publish photos of women with their tits out to help men get through the day without looking at soft porn. I’m not sure anyone should be taking lectures from this lot on women’s issues.’

But Maisie doesn’t pick up on the thread that might otherwise direct the conversation down another path and instead she says quietly, almost childishly, ‘Mum?’

‘Yes?’

‘I really hate that you’re in the papers for a story about someone getting raped.’

‘Nobody was raped.’

‘I know that. But it’s still a story about that.’

‘I don’t like it either. It’ll blow over.’

‘OK. I fucking hate Amber Heath.’

‘Language.’

‘Sorry.’

‘I’m sorry if this is hard on you at school. Just remember that … this isn’t me. It’s a story about someone I work with.’

‘OK.’

‘Focus on your revision.’

‘I will. Are we going to be all right if the company goes under?’

‘Why would it go under?’

‘If nobody wants to work with Matthew any more.’

‘That wouldn’t be very fair, would it?’

‘The world’s not fair. You’ve said that, like, a million times.’

‘I know, I’m sorry, I’m really trying to be less cynical. Here, look at my new smile.’ She grins but Maisie is unconvinced. ‘Look, please don’t worry. I can always get another job.’

‘Are you going to?’

‘No. I want to make my film. I’ve put a lot into that. I can’t walk away from that. And besides, I completely love my job. Shouldn’t that count for something? Why should I have to lose all that over a story that has nothing to do with me?’

‘Can I meet Emilia?’

‘You can come to set and hang out, absolutely.’

‘Can I bring Jules?’

Becky’s phone rings. It’s Sam, Emilia’s agent, again. She diverts the call. ‘I have to get going,’ she says quickly. ‘Maybe work on your chemistry or Spanish today?’

‘Sì.’

‘Oh, very good. Chemistry it is then.’ Becky kisses her quickly, puts the paper under her arm, and heads for the shower.