Then I went reluctantly home to tidy the house and prepare dinner. David actually helped me now, picking up groceries and running the hoover on the days when Marietta didn’t come, and it made such a difference. I had time to myself, to sit by the pool and finally get a tan, to read my acting texts or start jogging round the neighbourhood, though usually the heat meant I didn’t get far. The only sticking point of the day was when Abby eventually came home. Often, she went straight back out again, to acting classes, supposed castings, meetings with producers. She was like a ghost now, and the house felt like mine and David’s, the children ours.

I should have known such a state of affairs couldn’t last. This wasn’t my home, and Madison and Carson weren’t my children. David was not my husband and, if I was honest, I didn’t want him to be. I was just so happy that someone was finally paying me attention, that the horrible starving time was over. It’s terrible, the things we’ll put up with just to feel seen.

I was dropping Madison off at school one day, Carson sleeping in the back, when her teacher came out to meet me. Miss Oliver was her name, not much older than me, with long, straightened blonde hair and a Southern accent. I wondered if she’d also come to LA to make it in the movie business. I couldn’t imagine why you’d live here otherwise – it was a city that seemed barely fit for humans.

‘Hey, Casey. Do you have a minute?’

‘Sure.’ I put on a polite smile. ‘Is something wrong?’

Madison had gone ahead into the school, head bowed. I noticed how she walked like an older person, weighed down by life, not skipping like the other kids.

‘It’s just . . . I’m a little concerned about Madison,’ said Miss Oliver. ‘I should speak to her parents, really, but there’s never any answer at the number we have.’ The school had Abby’s cell number – was she not picking up? I wasn’t really surprised, but it was supposed to be for emergencies.

‘Here, I’ll give you mine.’ I found an old flyer in the footwell of the car and scribbled my number on it. ‘Is it about missing school for auditions? I know it’s a lot, but we always try to make up . . .’

‘It’s not that. She’s doing well academically, and well, we’re a school in Hollywood, we understand about auditions. It’s just – I noticed bruises.’ She said the last bit in a rush.

I didn’t understand at first. ‘All kids fall, don’t they?’

‘Yes, but . . . there are patterns that we’re taught to look for. Bruises that couldn’t come from falling over, in certain places.’