‘I was living at the time at the Hacienda Hotel and that cost, not a lot, but it cost. So I was desperate to work. But in this, which was not a screen test, I was raped by two men. And that is all I can tell you. The point of what I am saying is that Roberto heard about this and paid money for the film, well that’s what he said, anyway, and I have it in my possession to this day, the one copy. But what I am talking about, is the revenge, the attempt to change my status, to eradicate what was the truth in my case. That I had no talent. And I am getting to that.’

Ever had started to speak, he wasn’t sure what he was a going to say but felt the moment demanded a comment and was relieved when she said,

‘Let me finish.’

And then, after a brief pause, acknowledging the abruptness of her command, a please followed.

‘He had a saviour complex, I imagine, and asked me to marry him. My only condition was already dealt with, that he get hold of the film, you know, buy it or whatever. I was relieved at the time to be rescued, as that is what it felt like. I was by now, in my mind at least, just a whore. The next part I did not want to happen.’

Lomita again shifted in her chair, this time more to alleviate her doubt at continuing.

‘He had the legs of the producer and the director and the cameraman smashed to splinters with baseball bats and the two actors were shot. Killed. Those three men spent the rest of their lives in a state of terror in wheelchairs. Did I feel better? Did it make things any better? Was my talent or status altered?’

‘Are you trying to tell me my father has no talent?’

Ever presented this with no aggression, but with an empathy to her story, and strangely an ironic smile.

Lomita didn’t take it negatively, but she took a calming breath to regain any composure that might have been lost by Ever’s question.

‘No, I have no idea if he does or not.’

She put herself back on the tracks.