‘Poppy, I don’t know how you do it, but I look the best I ever have.’ I give her a quick hug, worry I might cry and cause her to have to start over. She’d do it without complaint, sweet Poppy. Who never lets me down. Who never gets cross, no matter what I do. ‘Thank you, for everything you do for me, Poppy.’ I have to leave before I do start blubbing and spoil her good work. ‘I’ll go get us a can of ginger beer. Stay here. Back in a jiff.’

On my way to the canteen, I catch Faith chatting in the hallway with Harry, both of them laughing. I don’t know where Lucy is, but she isn’t with them. Faith affects not to notice me. At the last minute, Harry turns and gives me a smile.

Lucy is gorgeous. Skin the colour of honey. Slight build. Long dark hair. Eyes that are, amazingly, vividly and all-naturally green. She and Faith suit each other perfectly – apart from the fact they both have vaginas and Faith has never, in the entire time I’ve known her, batted an eyelash at our fairer sex.

Although there’s no script, and things are far from normal between any of us, we all slip easily into character for the recording. I tease Faith about her new-found fondness for lady-loving. Faith hams it up with Lucy accordingly, exchanging sizzling innuendo and smouldering glances.

Despite the banter, Faith and I avoid eye contact.

I’m plating up Lucy’s requested chickpea and aubergine curry – Toby’s phallic vegetable, curried for Faith’s date with a chick – as Faith ogles Lucy from behind. Pugsy, capturing it all up close with his camera, verges on visible excitement at the prospect of some girl-on-girl action.

Wearing a figure-hugging, lace-up black dress and vegan leather boots, Lucy shimmies her tushy towards his lens. Laughing, Faith professes that if ever a bottom were to turn her, it would be her’s.

Guffawing in response, I speculate it’s more likely a good tongue cuts the mustard with ‘the turning’ Faith is referring to, prompting Lucy to lick her lips, juicily, at me.

Joanna beams like the Cheshire Cat at our sultry performances.

Poppy waves her hand over the small dishes of curry and rice in the manner of a seventies game show host.

From where he’s standing, behind the cameras, Harry smiles at me, gorgeously, for the second time today. Albeit we haven’t spoken since he was at my flat on Saturday, he’s kept me informed via text. So far, there’s been no word from Alex.

Harry’s unyielding support is keeping me together – I’m grateful he isn’t so petty to be holding anything against me, unlike my best friend. In my more cynical moments, I remind myself he is on commission. To some extent, I do pay Harry to be nice to me.