Chapters (64)
- Cover
- About the Author
- Dedication
- Chapter One
- Chapter Two
- Chapter Three
- Chapter Four
- Chapter Five
- Chapter Six
- Chapter Seven
- Chapter Eight
- Chapter Nine
- Chapter Ten
- Chapter Eleven
- Chapter Twelve
- Chapter Thirteen
- Chapter Fourteen
- Chapter Fifteen
- Chapter Sixteen
- Chapter Seventeen
- Chapter Eighteen
- Chapter Nineteen
- Chapter Twenty
- Chapter Twenty-One
- Chapter Twenty-Two
- Chapter Twenty-Three
- Chapter Twenty-Four
- Chapter Twenty-Five
- Chapter Twenty-Six
- Chapter Twenty-Seven
- Chapter Twenty-Eight
- Chapter Twenty-Nine
- Chapter Thirty
- Chapter Thirty-One
- Chapter Thirty-Two
- Chapter Thirty-Three
- Chapter Thirty-Four
- Chapter Thirty-Five
- Chapter Thirty-Six
- Chapter Thirty-Seven
- Chapter Thirty-Eight
- Chapter Thirty-Nine
- Chapter Forty
- Chapter Forty-One
- Chapter Forty-Two
- Chapter Forty-Three
- Chapter Forty-Four
- Chapter Forty-Five
- Chapter Forty-Six
- Chapter Forty-Seven
- Chapter Forty-Eight
- Chapter Forty-Nine
- Chapter Fifty
- Chapter Fifty-One
- Chapter Fifty-Two
- Chapter Fifty-Three
- Chapter Fifty-Four
- Chapter Fifty-Five
- Chapter Fifty-Six
- Chapter Fifty-Seven
- Chapter Fifty-Eight
- Chapter Fifty-Nine
- Epilogue
- Acknowledgements
‘Tell you what,’ says Harri, sounding much friendlier now that she knows I can’t say no. ‘We’ll chat to Tabitha and call in something amazing for you to wear. I bet that if we reached out to some brands, they’d love to gift for this. She can style you! We can do a few videos for Stories, or something.’ Oh, no. I think I’d rather go on breakfast telly while wearing no clothes at all.
Chapter Twenty
ImTV
Imogen
I would say the day dawns, but it’s still dark when I’m standing outside the flat at 5.15 a.m., with two jumpers under my coat. I don’t want to risk the driver ringing the doorbell and waking up Downstairs Colin. I was seized by a strange urge to show off to Gemma and Emma about being on television, but it occurred to me that would definitely jinx things—the universe would punish me for being proud, and my slot would get cancelled and replaced by some actual news. Actually, I would really love that. Maybe I should have gone around bragging to everyone I know.
It’s been raining, and the streetlights are still on, their gleam reflected by the puddles and exploding off the wet pavement like fireworks. After a few clashes with Tabitha—mercifully I was able to talk her out of some stripy backless bodycon, on the grounds of possible strobing—she managed to come up with something not too terrible. I’m wearing high waisted, wide legged royal blue Mother of Pearl trousers, and a soft, pale grey jumper with just a hint of pink in the knit. Harri was diplomatic. ‘This is a styling challenge, because it’s all about messaging. I know you want to put Imogen in something really wild and cool, and I’m sure there will be time for that. But we’ve got a very clear objective here. She’s just a normal young woman. On TV, they’ll want her to come across like a mad slut, some kind of cautionary tale. She’s really not. She’s just every woman who has ever had a sexually confusing experience and wants to wear nice trousers.’
Looking at my phone, I wait for a message saying that the car is going to be late, or that it’s actually parked three streets away, but no, a clean, shiny, sober Mercedes is pulling up just as a text arrives to confirm the number plate. Before I can tuck and roll into the back, the driver is out, opening the door with a courteous ‘Good morning, Miss!’ He does not follow it up, as I fear he might, by squinting at my face and saying Aren’t you that whore from the internet?