‘That’s just actors, isn’t it? Best friends by day two on set, cry at the wrap party, don’t bother replying to each other’s emails the following week.’

‘He and Matthew are good mates, aren’t they? They worked together on that Russian sports film. Matthew’s really pulling it out of the bag for you, isn’t he?’

But it’s not a question.

‘He hasn’t done that much,’ Becky insists. ‘I’ve been making all the calls and doing all the meetings. Besides, it’s a good role for Simon.’

‘Chill,’ says Siobhan. ‘I’m just saying he’s obviously going above and beyond because he totally loves you.’

‘He totally loves the film.’

‘Come on. You’re his number one girl since you testified in his defence.’

‘Testified?’

‘You know what I mean.’

‘Well what else would I have done?’

‘Don’t get me wrong, I’d have done exactly the same.’

Becky looks up, face flushing hot with shame at the memory of giving too much, anything, to that iguana-faced Sun reporter.

‘While we’re here.’ Siobhan places her hands on both her hips. ‘I want you to know that I don’t need to be mollycoddled. Yes, I dropped Emilia into both your minds as a casting suggestion, yes it was kind of genius on my part, but it’s not like I own her. I’m happy she’s attached to your film. It’s good for all of us. But it sucked to find out the news online. Like one of the civilians. You could have just texted me.’

‘I’m sorry.’ Becky’s face burns a degree warmer. ‘I’ve been preoccupied.’

‘Throw me a bone here! I’m stuck doing, like, ninety per cent of the shit stuff and you’re planning how many ballgowns you need for awards season.’

‘I’m thinking five?’

‘Seriously though. Don’t get too grand.’

‘I was being thoughtless, I’m sorry. All the stuff in the papers has been freaking me out a bit.’

‘Well,’ Siobhan says, reaching into the filing cabinet and pulling out a bottle of pitch-black nail polish. ‘With great power comes great responsibility.’ She has no tools, no nail polish remover; she smudges her nail borders, botches the job and yet, cracks on. ‘God I love this colour. It’s so goddam goth,’ she says. ‘Yeah, all that stuff in the papers with you was heavy. Not sure I’d like my face in The Sun. I’d prefer the Guardian, to be honest.’

‘A better class of witch-hunt?’

‘If someone’s going to accuse me of terrible things, I want them using really long words so my mum won’t understand when she reads it.’

‘That’s very strategic.’

‘Strategic is a good example of what I’m talking about. That’s a classic Guardian word.’

‘Can you look at this press release for me? I’m doing a shit job.’