‘No, but…’ Liv turns back, clattering in the cupboard and taking out two mugs. She knows there’s no arguing with Amy. There’s no changing a woman so selfish, so convinced by her own actions. And now Robin Butler’s been caught in her cross hairs. ‘Just tell me next time, will you?’ she adds, defeated, worried, placing the coffee down in front of her sister.

Amy looks up from the piece of paper she’s been reading. She’s a bit more awake now, a smile on her face. ‘Hmm, what? Yeah, whatever, Liv. Why are you so bothered about him anyway? Since when have you been keen on cops?’

‘I’m not, it’s just…’

Amy laughs, no more than a cackle. ‘You like him, don’t you? Do you think he’ll come and sweep you off your feet? You’re no fucking Julia Roberts, Olivia! This isn’t Pretty Woman!’ Amy turns back to her post, still chuckling quietly under her breath.

Liv scowls, sitting down next to her. As much as Amy is right, it pisses her off that her sister finds it so amusing.

‘How was work last night, anyway?’ Amy asks, a bitchy emphasis on the word work.

Liv takes a sip of her coffee. A night at Frankie’s, no escorting for a change, just straight prostitution. Standing in a line next to the other girls, in her underwear, as a man walked up and down assessing them. Sweating with anticipation; Liv smelt his eagerness and he disgusted her. But still, she smiled, pushed out her breasts.

He made his choice, handed over his money. Frankie, charming and accommodating next to him, outlined the rules. No incest role play, no water sports, the rest you can agree with the girl. Extra for anal, extra for fetish.

Liv knows every girl has her own boundaries. But the temptation of the money is sometimes too great – the bigger the risk, the more they pay. She knows from experience that common sense is ignored as you convince yourself the end justifies the means, as taste and security go out the window. As he brings along a friend, flashes the cash so you forgo the condoms.

But: ‘Fine,’ she replies to her sister, who rolls her eyes at her one-word answer.

And it was. The man last night was okay. Straight sex, thrusting naked on top of her, she made the appropriate noises, faking sexual enjoyment. And now, she wonders, as her thoughts turn back to Robin Butler, will she ever be able to separate work and play properly again? Has she forgotten what genuine intimacy feels like? Has she become so good at simulating it, she might feel nothing when it’s real?

Next to her, Amy finishes her coffee and stands up from the table. ‘I’m going for a shower,’ she directs back, ‘since you’re in such a mood.’