‘Ha,’ he says, then. ‘God, listen to me, yakking on and on. I don’t know how much time you’ve spent in the make-up chair but Kayla will tell you: I talk a lot trying to keep from falling asleep, don’t I? This job isn’t a shift down the mines, but they are long days.’ He yawns for effect, and it strikes Evie as self-conscious, as if he’s given her more than he intended to and he’s trying to double back.

Kayla laughs again as she does something to his jawline, charmed, and says in her South African lilt: ‘I love our chats, Duke. You know that.’ And then to Evie: ‘He’s lending me your book. I’m excited to read it. Do you want to take a seat?’

‘Thanks,’ Evie mutters, adding: ‘They say you need to warm up my complexion.’ Kayla motions her over to the chair beside Duke.

‘I can do that,’ Kayla says. ‘I just need two more minutes with Mr Carlisle here and then we’re good to go.’

Willow-or-Dream leaves, and Evie takes off her coat to sit back in the make-up chair facing the mirror. She’s opposite Duke, and their reflections mean they immediately have eye contact. Evie notices how extraordinarily symmetrical he is, how angular his features are. In contrast she seems doughy and pale. The strip lighting of the trailer doesn’t even dim his handsomeness, let alone eclipse it.

‘Don’t say anything about my eye bags,’ Duke jokes, noticing her notice. He says it tentatively, double-checking that she has indeed thawed out and it’s okay to converse. Evie gives him her renowned closed-mouth smile, the best she can manage. It’s her way of saying: Fine. Let’s tolerate each other whilst we have to sit side by side. Again. ‘Kayla has done her best, haven’t you? I’m just not sleeping well right now. Diet, exercise, make-up, it can do a lot, but nothing hides a lack of quality REM does it?’

Evie is unsure if it’s a rhetorical question or meant for her and Kayla.

‘You look … great,’ she says. It sounds hollow. She feels his eyes roam her face, perhaps in appraisal of her own eye bags, evidence of that jet lag. She swallows, unsure of the feeling in her stomach as he gives her the once-over, and before she can think of anything witty to say Kayla announces that she’s done and he’s free to go. There’s a knock on the door and a woman in a headset with a clipboard says there’s five minutes to go, although to what she doesn’t specify. Presumably the next shot, Evie thinks. There’s so much happening, so much action and movement and activity all the time, just like she remembers from her childhood.

‘So,’ Duke presses, lingering behind her as Kayla stuffs white tissues into the collar of Evie’s jumper.