‘And so it begins?’ Saucy sponsorships. The gossip will spread like wildfire through my mother’s church group if I have anything to do with a toothbrush commercial that’s premised on anything to do with a sex-toy. ‘On that note, I’m off to the shower.’

‘To get wet again?’

‘Your smutty mind,’ I chastise him. ‘Goodnight, Harry.’

‘You can’t imagine my mind right now,’ he says. ‘Goodnight, kitten. See you tomorrow.’

29

Actions for ‘The Plan’ gather momentum. I’d pitched the idea to Robert, who’d sold it to Jordan, who’d convinced Pussy Paws, the world’s first cat food with flea-busting properties, to sign as an official advertising sponsor of Eat Me. Liz’s genius connected the dots. The unlikely affiliation arose from an April Fool’s Day tradition. Each year, British convention calls for newspapers to run amok with spoof: deliberately sham announcements and hoaxes, written tongue-in-cheek, of which advertisers sometimes get in on the act. Logitech once announced a wireless hamster, Burger King a Chocolate Whopper. One year, Guinness claimed the Royal Observatory had agreed to an official Guinness Mean Time. This year on April 1st, Pussy Paws will run a carefully curated campaign using images uncannily similar to Alex Sutcliffe’s photographs.

Saturday, we’re on set. Faith, Poppy, me. Harry. Robert, Jordan and the production company employed by Baker & Staines for the Pussy Paws campaign.

That the original pictures exist is on a need-to-know basis and there’s barely anyone on set today who needs to know – apart from everyone involved in planning, it’s only Poppy who’s been looped in. Jordan and I are coping remarkably well, having slipped into professional mode and talking only about the necessary. Which could also be described as having slipped into our old relationship mode. Either way, we’re avoiding conflict and each other as much as possible, pretending nothing is wrong, whilst knowing darn well it isn’t right. All very civilized, for the greater good of our respective careers.

Harry observes the proceedings from the back of the set. In case you were wondering, I haven’t dwelled that he’d called me the often highly sexualised and romantically affectionate ‘kitten’ after picturing me naked last night. The me of old might have read something into it. The new and improved me doesn’t imagine it.