When you reach rock bottom, there’s nowhere left to fall. It takes me a few days to realise this. Monday, I call in sick. Tuesday, I also stay home, where I have the epiphany that things can’t get any worse. Rock bottom. Not such a bad place. The only way is up.

Throughout my hiatus, Harry and I have been texting:

Are you ill or hiding? Shall I bring you soup?

Hiding… I’m okay, Harry, thanks.

Don’t hide too long. I’ll miss you. Alex gone underground. Don’t worry, I’m on it.

Since our argument at my flat, Faith and I haven’t made contact at all.

Wednesday, I make it into the studio for our seventh recording. The station is abuzz with the news that Faith has invited a girl to be her date this week. Apparently, they’ve slipped off somewhere to chat. Is Faith avoiding me?

‘What’s she like?’ I ask Poppy in our dressing area. It’s just the two of us.

‘Who?’ Poppy twirls my hair and then lets it fall silky and bouncy down my back. I’m lucky I have good hair. I’m grateful.

‘Faith’s date, obviously. Poppy, is that dreadful spot covered?’

‘Yes, my sweet. But promise me you’ll stop picking it.’

Faith isn’t gay. Bi-curious, maybe. She’s likely on this girl-crush-exploration after my cutting remark about her being promiscuous with loads of different men. If I’ve hurt her feelings, this could be payback.

‘What’s her name?’

‘Lucy. Look up. Not that you need mascara with your lashes.’ Poppy applies lashings of it anyway.

‘Poppy, please tell me, what’s she like?’ I repeat. The suspense is killing me.

Poppy applies a peppermint-flavoured gloss to my lips. It’s tingly and, allegedly, will make my lips plumper. I surmise from Poppy’s hesitation to talk that she’s caught wind of my falling out with Faith. ‘She’s Australian,’ she eventually divulges.

‘Is she pretty?’

‘Oh, very.’ Poppy lets her guard drop. ‘She has the most amazing green eyes. Do you know how rare it is for a Chinese person to have green eyes?’

‘I thought you said she’s Australian?’

‘She sounds Australian.’

‘They’re not green contacts, are they? It’s a bit cliché if we have another guest wearing coloured contacts. Surely?’

‘I’m pretty sure Lucy’s green eyes are real.’

She’s not the only one.

‘Miss Gracie, are you okay?’

I back off. ‘Sorry, Poppy. I’m just a bit taken aback that Faith has sprung this on us without warning. I have a few days off…’

‘Sprung what on us, my angel?’

‘Never mind.’

I don’t want to sound homophobic when I’m not. Countless nights on Soho dance floors to counter the very notion.

I look in the mirror. The mask of soft, feminine prettiness Poppy’s given me hides my feelings of guilt, resentment and profound sadness.