‘Which bit are you struggling with?’

‘My own quote.’

Siobhan laughs. ‘I’m putting: Becky says, I like eating dropped pasta off the floor.’

‘That’s better than what I’ve got. Oh God,’ Becky slaps a palm to her forehead. ‘I’ve been so busy, I’ve completely forgotten to do the expenses. Would you mind? Please?’

‘Because I’m not busy at all.’

‘I’ll make it up to you.’

‘I want to play Jason in your movie then.’ She blows along a row of nails. ‘I’m going to put that in the press release now. If Simon dies before cameras roll, the part will be played by Siobhan. At the very least you owe me a pint and a sharing platter.’

‘I know you won’t let me forget.’

Becky hands over the print-out. She begins to pack her phone and some other papers into her bag.

‘Going somewhere?’

‘I’m taking Maisie to Camber for her birthday. I’m having a couple of days off.’ Becky clocks Siobhan’s raised eyebrows and speaks quickly. ‘It’s her sixteenth, a special one, and besides, I can’t keep on ditching her whenever work gets crazy. I’ve done that a lot recently.’

Siobhan tries a smile, but it is effortful, far from her usual wide-eyed generosity.

‘So do you want me to do the expenses because you’re busy being a hotshot producer, or because you’re fucking off on holiday? I’m finding it hard to keep up.’

‘Both. Please, do me this favour?’

Siobhan doesn’t answer the question and instead asks, ‘Where are you staying then?’

‘A place in Kent that was recommended to me.’

‘Who by?’

‘Matthew.’

‘Oh how bloody lovely for you and your good hair.’

‘Thanks, it needs all the support it can get,’ Becky says, trying to steer them back to their usual chatty rhythms.

‘And does that support come from a hair salon, or does Matthew trim it himself?’

‘Simon Bach did it, actually. He’s playing my haircut in my next film so …’

‘Can I be honest actually?’ Siobhan says, her smile now entirely flatlined. ‘This is all a bit fucking galling given I started work here before you. I get that Medea was your idea, but doing your expenses while Matthew gives you foot rubs and sends private chefs to prepare your morning porridge like you’re Beyoncé?’

‘It’s not forever. It’s just while he’s feeling bad that he nearly fucked up my film.’

‘I thought the whole thing was a totally baseless rumour?’

‘It was. But nobody was accusing me of being their rapist. I’m having to fend off reporters while keeping my work going, I’m—’

‘Wow, I’m going to get one of my mates to bang him just so I can tell the papers it never happened and then get a private jet off him.’

Becky doesn’t laugh like she’s meant to.