The point of the role was … well, when he read the book he felt like George. Every thought and feeling and worry. Duke’s mother isn’t dead, but she’s seldom present. What Evie said, about him being a little boy, it’s played on his mind. He can hear Phoebe’s voice ringing in his ears: of course he’s like a little boy, because little boys need parents to help them become men, and nobody guided him through that. Since he was eleven years old, he’s more or less raised himself – his dad never known and his mother drunk. It’s a romance, this movie, but for him George is a talisman for a man holding himself back because of his relationship with his parents. For George, it’s supposed to be positive: he loved his mum so much and she’s gone. What does he do now?

For Duke, he wants that chance to love his mum so much; it’s simply always been impossible. And yet, he keeps trying. Does that make him a fool? What does Duke do now? Where is he supposed to put this love he has to give? Nobody seems to want it.

‘I’ll be fine,’ Duke tells Daphne. ‘I will.’

They head to her trailer, and he sits on her sofa as she takes off her make-up, transforming from Hermione to herself. She throws him a wipe so he can do the same. His dermatologist says wipes are the devil’s work, but he’ll cleanse properly at the hotel. It comes away orange. It’s incredible how much stuff they have to put on your skin to make you look ‘normal’ in 4D. Nobody actually looks like Duke Carlisle, not even Duke Carlisle. No wonder nothing is ever good enough – he’s comparing himself to an apparition. A myth of his own creation.

‘Brad said the photos of you and Evie are everywhere,’ Daphne says, throwing her hair up into a high messy bun. ‘So that’s good. It’s not lost on me that you could have said no, because it helps me too. I appreciate it.’

‘Just doing what I’m paid to do,’ Duke says to the ceiling.

‘Poor little superstar,’ Daphne says, plopping herself down on the sofa next to him. She reaches out a hand to his and holds it. Her tone changes. ‘You’ll get what you’re looking for, you know. I know it doesn’t feel like it, but you will. I see it for you.’

‘Yeah?’ Duke says, looking at her.

‘I see a doting wife, and an army of kids all with that hair of yours – happy beach vacations and huge Christmases. It’s just … well, are you accepting unsolicited advice?’

‘If I say yes,’ Duke retorts, ‘by definition doesn’t that then mean it’s actually solicited?’