But once the cameras stop rolling, and my worry over the pictures bubbles back to the top of my mind, I’m not inclined to celebrate surviving the close call. When the set clears and everyone else races to the pub, I tell Poppy and Faith I’ll be along in a minute. Instead, I stay put in the dressing room, ruminating for some time what to do next. Building up the courage to rope Harry into my drama. First, I try to reach Jordan one more time.

‘Good afternoon, Baker and Staines, Trudy speaking, how may I help?’

Trudy, bless her, is the only woman at Jordan’s office who’s ever been pleasant to me. ‘Trudy, hi, it’s Grace.’

‘Grace, love, just a mo, I’ll put you through, I’m sure he’s in,’ she says in her bubbly Northern accent.

I’m mulling over what I’ll say when a familiar voice answers. ‘Hello, Jordan Pipers phone.’

Husky voiced Rhiannon, who has worse manners than I imagine a Russian mobster employs.

I don’t even bother – I put the phone down first.

I’m pottering around the set, organising the kitchen cupboards, trimming the fresh herbs growing in pots on the benchtop and then, in the dressing area, folding and hanging all of our clothes when Harry appears at the door.

‘Am I interrupting?’

He looks gorgeous. Messy hair, a little longer than usual. Flushed cheeks, like he’s rushed to get here. It’s the first time we’ve been alone since the night I fainted on him at the club.

‘In fact, I was about to call you, Harry.’

‘How was the show?’

‘Fine. Bit of drama to begin with. But, um, that’s not it. Harry, I’ve got myself into a bit of a pickle. I could do with your help.’

Harry smiles. ‘Faith told me what happened. It’s why I’m here.’

Faith never mentioned calling Harry before she left with the others – probably for the best.

‘You were right, Harry. Alex Sutcliffe is a snake.’

‘We’ll sort it. Don’t worry.’

‘I don’t know what Jordan was thinking…’

‘Have you eaten?’

‘Shall we hit a bowl of Whiskas?’

‘Ha! No, I was thinking I could take you somewhere nice for lunch,’ Harry says.

‘I’m afraid I’ve lost my appetite, Harry.’ I respond. I’ve had a mouthful of rice with beef and black beans and one crispy prawn cracker. Too late, I realise, it would have been nice to go to lunch with Harry anyway. Then again, I’m trying to be professional, and not get my hopes up about anything personal with him.

It’s been two weeks since events at The Tricycle Club. It’s odd how, even as my agent, Harry hasn’t enquired about my relationship ending with Jordan – maybe he thinks it hasn’t ended, given I’ve been vague for the purposes of the show?