Harry and Faith are ominously silent. They don’t laugh. I keep looking.

It’s more of the same. I’m tearing after Alex in the rain – looking not what I’d call athletic, but the shots aren’t as unflattering as I’d imagined. The next picture shows me outside The Tricycle Club, pleading with Gordon the bouncer to please, please, please let me in.

And then…

Me, slinking to the back of the long queue, desperately trying to reach Faith on her mobile.

Me, flailing my arms in uproar as Alex snatches my cab, the photo taken from inside the moving vehicle.

Me, wandering the streets of Soho alone and piss-wet through.

Me, entering Harry’s apartment block – rendering me unable to meet his eyes now, sitting in my front room with his offer to help me.

Me, looking less like the glamour puss I’d supposed I was and more like a drag queen in a black leather skirt and racy red top, staggering drunkenly between two perfectly formed Barbiesque sisters, about to gate-crash the Baker & Staines cocktail party. Shots of me hovering on the footpath as Jordan storms away from me, Rhiannon’s arm in his hand.

Me, unkempt among the tacky fluorescent backdrops and on-ecstasy revellers at the 456 Club in Brixton in the early hours of this morning. And slumped in a windscreen-chipped minicab, the Rastafarian driver toking a marijuana spliff, as I made my way home. Through the back window of the cab, the sun is rising.

There’s one last picture from last night and it’s mounted beside a station-approved promotional photograph of Faith, also dressed in black leather skirt and skimpy red top – the outfit she wore to promote the competition. The images are underscored with a handwritten caption: Gracie’s Leap of Faith Flops. With both of us in almost identical clothes, the comparison is striking. Where Faith is all long legs, sleeked hair and sex-kitten pout, I’m control-top tights, hooped earrings and amphetamine grimace. The cocaine, though only a tiny amount off a finger nail – I didn’t have any more voluntarily or make the same mistake twice – had made my jaw jittery again last night, for some time.

‘I didn’t mean to dress like you. Faith, I—’

‘Never mind that,’ she snaps. ‘What were you doing in that club? What were you thinking crashing Jordan’s work function? And were you on drugs? With those girls. Again?’ Faith looks at Harry. ‘Sorry, Harry.’

He throws his hands in the air to signify no offence taken.

‘I know you’ve had a rough trot lately, Gracie, but it’s too much,’ Faith insists.