As she talks, she feels the tension dissipate. She hears herself talking about the things she knows, and she sees the students’ faces looking back at her. She’s done this before, in other rooms, with other people. They’re not so different here. She speaks about magazines, about the challenges the industry faces. About the daily life of the office. Deadlines, layouts, shoots.

She speaks well, and as she hears herself, she is reminded that, yes, this is what I have achieved, and it is not small. When she finishes, she knows she is smiling, and she knows her face is kind, and that they are listening.

‘Have you got any questions?’ she asks.

No one moves. She has a moment of sudden doubt. Were they listening?

‘Come on,’ says the teacher. ‘They’re not normally like this, I promise!’

A small, mousy girl at the front:

‘Have you met any celebrities?’

‘That’s the job. You have to.’

They’re impressed. Some of them.

‘Who?’ asks someone else.

She gives some names.

‘How did you get started?’

That from a sullen girl, somehow both sharp faced and full-featured.

‘Well,’ Titch says. ‘I was an intern, and then I managed to persuade them to give me a job as an editorial assistant. From there you’ve got to work hard – really hard – real dogsbody stuff, you know. Coffee, taxis, all that. And slowly, you gain people’s trust – you show them that you’re a good fit.’

The girl’s face has no expression. ‘What’s an intern?’

‘It’s like work experience.’

‘How did you get in?’

‘That’s hard. You have to be really persistent. You have to bug people until they give you what you want.’

‘How?’

‘How do you bug people? You call them, you write letters, you go in to see them.’

‘How do you know who to go to?’

Titch is beginning to find this girl wearing. ‘A bit of research,’ she says brightly.

The teacher breaks in. ‘We can have a little look together, later, Alisha. Other questions?’

‘Is everyone like you, miss?’

Titch whitens. The girl asking is the one with the bad contouring.

‘Hannah,’ says the teacher, his voice even, but with a hint of reprimand.

‘I’m not being funny,’ she says. She sounds quiet and serious. ‘I just mean are there normal people there?’

A boy laughs. Titch feels a cramp in her stomach, a jag of vulnerability.

‘You probably think I’m quite posh, don’t you,’ she says. ‘I am, of course.’ She can hear her voice in their ears. ‘But that doesn’t mean everyone is. There’s a real range of backgrounds in magazines.’

She pauses. She doesn’t know where else to go.

‘OK,’ says the teacher. ‘I think we should wrap it up there. Please do hang back if you have any other questions, but the bell’s about to go, so pack up.’