‘So what’s up? I haven’t seen you post?’

Maddy starts to explain that she’s away from home.

‘Then re-post. You can’t have these long gaps.’

It’s only been a few days, Maddy thinks, defensively.

‘If you want things to take off, then you have to feed the beast. Consistent. Constant. Remember the rules I gave you?’

‘Yes,’ Maddy says, inwardly squirming. She feels told off. Like she’s been caught cheating on a diet plan.

‘If you want people to take you seriously, that is. A brand is a constant job. And you’ve been doing so well until now.’

Maddy is about to explain herself – about the phone being broken and to thank Manpreet for liking her Christmas grotto post, when Manpreet’s tone changes.

‘But that’s not why I called,’ she says. ‘It’s delicate, but I was wondering why the last invoices haven’t been paid?’

This is why she’s a successful business woman, Maddy thinks. Because Manpreet isn’t afraid to get what she wants or to ask direct questions. She’s been so fixated on the fantasy of Manpreet becoming a friend in real life, but now she remembers that this relationship is just a business one.

‘Oh, haven’t they? I had no idea. I’ll see to it,’ Maddy apologises.

They talk for a minute more, Manpreet explaining that she has to dash as she’s hosting a dinner. She wishes Maddy a happy new year and then rings off and Maddy imagines her bossing around her private chef and laying her perfect table.

She logs in to her bank and sees the balance of her joint account is pitifully low. Trent usually tops it up and deals with their accounts, but he hasn’t this month and she thinks of the credit card bill that’s about to hit the account. How is she going to settle up with Manpreet? Let alone carry on using her services?

Chastened by her call, she puts some bread into the toaster and, whilst she waits, she scrolls through posts from her key influencer accounts, careful to write nurturing, encouraging comments, knowing she’ll need these accounts to reciprocate. That’s the whole point of social media. I’ll scratch your back, if you’ll scratch mine. They call it networking, but everyone knows it’s more dog-eat-dog than that glib corporate word implies.

She’s going to have to post. She can’t put it off any longer. It’s New Year’s Eve after all and she’s been radio silent enough for Manpreet to notice. But how can she possibly enthuse about this dismal Airbnb when its character-less blandness is distinctly off-brand?

Maybe she can do something outside, she decides, even though she’s all about home comforts. She can tell her followers she’s on a little break. She’ll work it out, she decides, opening up the travel mirror and putting her face on, tying up, then letting her hair loose, styling it beneath her beanie with a pout in the mirror, then remembering her fur-trimmed hat and putting that on instead. Fur and lip gloss always makes her feel like she’s upped her game. As her grandfather always used to say, ‘A little dab of powder, a little dab of paint, makes a little lady what she really ain’t.’