Magda perches on the edge of the bed. It’s not a big room, especially for two women with bursting suitcases and a week of shopping behind them, but it doesn’t need to be. Their college dorm was smaller than this, and they survived. In fact, look how far they’ve come, baby.

‘Does this have something to do with where you were last night?’ presses Evie.

‘Oh, well,’ Magda says. ‘Yeah. I ended up crashing in Katerina’s room. I can’t even remember why we went up there to be honest – I’d drunk a lot. But then we watched Parks and Rec on her laptop and I fell asleep.’

‘Oh,’ says Evie, her bubble burst. ‘I thought maybe you’d hooked up.’

‘What!’ Magda laughs. ‘No! I wouldn’t do that to you, get unprofessional on your work trip!’

‘I would have forgiven you,’ Evie tells her.

‘Anyway,’ Magda says, reorientating the discussion. ‘You disappeared last night, and I have an incredibly big suspicion as to where, and with who.’

‘We’re talking about you right now!’ Evie says, because she can’t get into it. It was amazing with Duke – natural and fun and somehow it felt like what everything had always been leading up to. There was an inevitability to it. She’s still processing that he got cross in the way that he did. She didn’t mean to upset him, pointing out the shelf life of their dalliance.

‘Well, only because you derailed my intervention!’ At this, Magda hesitates. ‘Have you seen the news today? Or rather, the gossip sites?’

‘No,’ answers Evie. ‘What’s that got to do with the price of fish?’

Magda goes to her laptop and pulls up a story about Evie and Duke, but there’s no cute headline about them frolicking in the European winter – it’s a cutting and horrible piece about Evie’s mum being in a home. DUKE CARLISLE’S WRITER GIRLFRIEND LEAVES GRAVELY ILL MOTHER ALONE IN CARE HOME SO SHE CAN NIBBLE SCHNITZEL ON GERMAN FILM SET.

Evie reads the article, getting increasingly horrified. How do they know all this? And how are they able to print it when it’s her – and her mom’s – private business? It’s like a leech has been stuck to her carotid artery and is draining her dry. This isn’t fair.

‘… Evie?’

‘How do they even know all this?’ Evie says, her voice barely audible. ‘This is my life. Not tabloid fodder. My LIFE.’

Magda scoots over and puts a hand on Evie’s knee.

‘Why didn’t you tell me how sick she’d gotten?’

‘I didn’t want you to feel sorry for us.’

‘Evie,’ Magda says, mouth agape. ‘I’m your best friend. I’m here to help you. Not pity you.’